Soundarya.

A mark. A stain. A disgrace!

She was all of that, my Soundarya. My daughter, Soundarya. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes and we thought the world was perfect, Vijay and I. We were a family, our beautiful daughter completed our family. And so, we named her Soundarya. And today she is beautiful only to my eyes, sometimes even my eyes deceive me. She stumbles and falls down and sometimes, I don't rush to pick her up. She falters and forgets words and sometimes, I don't correct her. I have done it for three years now. I don't have the strength in me to correct her, to make her what she was meant to be - Soundarya, anymore.

I have a son, Aditya, all of five years old, handsome, too mature for his age and perfect. God made one perfect child for me. I fight to not stay angry at the injustice of it all. I shall not ask why I was chosen, to be the mother who had failed. And yet, I can't forget the downcast eyes, the heavy sighs that surrounded us when we told them that Soundarya will be like this - moody at times, incoherent at times, clumsy at times...and at times like these, I forget I have Aditya. Something tells me, he understands. I wish he did not. A five-year-old had no business trying to fight the shadows that strangle the word, "special".

"Oh, she is a special child? Yes, we admit special children in our day care center."

And on our way out, Aditya asks, "Ma, is Soundarya special?"

And I am faced with one of those heart-wrenching decisions again. To burden a child with the realities of life or to leave him in the dark bliss of ignorance for some more time?

Soundarya stumbles on nothing, falls down and bruises her knee. Aditya rushes to help her and I make my decision.

"Yes Adi, she is special. Because God decided to make her special. God was so fond of her that he wanted to make sure everyone here in our world realize that she is a special child, special to God, special to us. She is God's gift to us, Adi. We always have to take care of her and love her."

"Did you hear that, Soundarya?"

Soundarya - his voice has so much conviction, so much love, so much beauty when he says her name that I wonder if I feel for my daughter what Aditya feels for his sister...

"God loves you Soundarya. We all love you."

The younger of the two consoles the older and they whisper to themselves in a language only children can understand. I watch from a distance as if afraid to intrude and I cry.

***

"She does not eat her food. Mrs.Watson said she tried and all she does is cry for Aditya."

"Okay. We will work something out."

Vijay's indifferent tone annoys me.

"We have to work something out, now! She can't go on like this. I can't go on like this."

I notice Aditya shrinking away to a corner of the room, noticing the familiar strains of anxiety in my shrill voice. This is not the first time.

"What do you want to do?"

"Me? Why can't you decide for a change? She is your daughter too!"

"I didn't mean that Poornima. I was just..."

"Or let me do this. Let me run away from all of this so that noone can blame me..."

I start to cry again. Vijay waits for a few moments, walks towards Aditya and takes him to his room. He no longer hugs me when I cry. He used to do that the first year. Now, I just cry myself to sleep. It's easy to sleep, to not live and face life, but Soundarya is in my dreams too. Only, in my dreams, she is beautiful, flawless and she hates me. I am grateful that she is capable of such emotions atleast in my dreams - be it love or hate and as I drift in and out of consciousness, I try to quell the voice in my head that seem to haunt me every night, "You hate your own child!".

***

I wake up late, with a headache. Vijay has left a note for me, stuck to the fridge door, "Dropped Adi at school. I will pick him up from Joy's place when I come back from work. Get some rest. Soundarya is still asleep. I love you."

I feel guilty for the previous night and I suddenly want to see Vijay and tell him that I am sorry. I start calling him, when I hear Soundarya calling out for Aditya, "Adi, Adi...". I walk towards her room and she looks at me with questioning eyes, "Adi...". She doesn't say much else. I wonder, irrationally, if she cannot call me, "amma" because she knows what goes through my mind sometimes. I walk towards her and hold my hands out to her, "Come here. Talk to me. Say a-m-m-a...".

She leans against the wall and watches me as if I were a stranger in her life. Her eyes move slowly, taking in each part of me. She holds my gaze for so long I think I cannot look into her eyes any longer. She has large, brown eyes. She looks at my expectant hands for a few moments and slowly turns her head away, towards the window. My arms drop down, lifelessly.

I look at the small figure framing the window - tousled hair all around her little face, small gold earrings that catch the sunlight at times. I go near her and without touching her, observe my daughter, as if seeing her for the first time. She has such a pensive look on her face - it suits her. She is not pretty, as children her age are. Her left leg is shorter than her right leg and she often leans to one side as she walks, like an old woman. Her left eye is smaller than her right eye, but just as expressive. No, she is not beautiful as girls her age are. No one oohs and aahs when she talks. No one rushes to pick her up when she seems to fall. They just twitch their lips and whisper among themselves.

I hold her by the shoulders and gently, make her face me.

"Soundarya, Soundarya, Soundarya..."

I say her name, clearly, lovingly until she suddenly raises a hand and touches my cheek. I wait for her to do something that would make me love her so much, that it will hurt. I wait for her to wipe my tears away with her tiny hand. I wait for her to hug me. I wait for her to treat me as her child.

Instead, she takes her hand back and puts her wet fingers in her mouth. Her face assumes a comical expression as she tastes my salty tears.

I laugh, hysterically.

***

It is Aditya's big day today. He plays the role of the genie in Aladdin and the magic lamp. His school has been preparing for the play for the past six months. Aditya is excited to be the genie.

"Did you iron my costume?", he demands.

I smile at him and say yes for the third time.

"Now Aditya, don't be nervous. Genies are not nervous. Be confident and smile at the people."

"Ma, I can't smile. I am a genie. I grant wishes, I can't keep grinning at people!"

I shut up and help him get ready. Vijay is trying to give Soundarya her dinner. She is sulking and does not want Aditya to leave her.

"Adi..."

"It's ok Adi. Appa will take care of her. We are getting late for the play. They will join us soon as Soundarya has her dinner."

Instead Aditya leaves his costume bag down and goes to Soundarya.

"Soundarya, if you have your dinner soon, you can come see my play. I am going to be a genie..." and he waves his hands, in his best possible imitation of a friendly genie. Vijay smiles and I do too. Soundarya begins to cry.

She repeats his name and holds on to his sleeve. Vijay and I watch helplessly.

"Soundarya, I am not leaving you. I will be with you always", Aditya holds her close and its as if the words were spoken by someone a lot older than five years.

She cries loudly now and begins to hit him. I try to pry Aditya away from her. I receive a few of her slaps - tiny slaps on my cheeks, her nails scratching my face and leaving little red marks. I am used to them by now - the only way she knows to touch me. And as Aditya and I walk away, she frees herself from Vijay and before I can stop her, bites Aditya on his right arm.

He screams in pain and I do the one thing that comes to my mind then, I drag her aside and slap her - a resounding slap for the years of pain she has given me. Soundarya stops crying instantly and moves away from me, as if I were evil, a witch come to hurt her, a bad dream.

Aditya cries silently. And so does Soundarya. She walks towards him and touches his hand. He shrugs her hand away and says something that makes me forget my own pain, "I hate you, Soundarya, I really hate you."

And her face - the expression in her eyes, keeps coming back to me as I drive Aditya to the play. It's as if she understood every word of what he said, as if its import had killed something within her. She watched him with those surprised, tear-filled eyes until we walked out of the house. And then I realize what it was that I read in her evocative eyes but did not comprehend until later - hurt.

And it is as if I found my daughter again. It is as if I had become a mother again.

***

"Your son was amazing! We loved the genie!", his bubbly English teacher tells me, shaking my hands vigorously.

I smile and say thank you. Aditya grins shyly and hides behind me. Mrs.Kapoor ambles towards me, smiling widely.

My cell phone rings.

"Vijay, Adi was great today. You missed it. Is Soundarya giving you a hard time?"

"Poornima, Soundarya was not feeling good. I am with her at St.Johns hospital. Can you come here? Do you know the way? It's on Woodhill drive..."

My heart skips a beat.

"Your son is a natural on stage, Poornima", Mrs.Kapoor is saying, patting Aditya's head.

I try to smile, excuse myself and Aditya and first walk, then run towards my car. I drop my keys down, curse and take the car ahead instead of backing out of the parking spot and go over the pavement.

"Mom!"

I stop the car and try to take a deep breath. Aditya deserves an explanation.

"Adi, Soundarya has fever and we are going to see the doctor now."

He nods, with a frightened look on his face and asks no questions.

At the hospital, I know something is wrong when I take one look at Vijay's face.

"I just talked to the doctor. She is doing better now. She wouldn't stop crying when you left with Aditya and then she started turning blue, stopped breathing...but she is out of danger now. Its ok."

I look through the glass door, at the little figure huddled under blue hospital sheets and wires running around her. But, what concerns me further is the way Aditya presses his nose against the door and stares at his sister, stiff and unmoving, I can't even tell if he is breathing. Vijay moves towards Aditya and I motion for him to stop. I need to handle this. Vijay is too exhasusted to argue. He walks inside and sits with Soundarya, holding her hand.

I stand next to Aditya and look at my husband and daughter through the glass door.

I hear a sniff and Aditya says, "It's my fault. I made her cry and now she won't wake up, ma"

"No Adi. It's not your fault. Soundarya will wake up but...she is sick because I did not understand her, because I have not been a good mother to her."

And once again, I forget I am talking to my son. It's as if I am conversing with someone my age, exchanging views, arguing, consoling each other...

"Does Soundarya hate me?"

"No, Adi. She loves you...she loves you more than she loves me or appa...you are her big brother who will take care of her forever, remember?"

Adi nods, his eyes still on his sister and he says, "Ma, God gave me the best little sister."

"And the best daughter I can ask for", I whisper, hoping Soundarya will hear it, someday.

I put my arm around my son and we stand together, hoping, praying for Soundarya. Vijay looks up at us and motions for us to come in.

We take tentative steps towards Soundarya, tentative steps towards the destiny that Soundarya will carve for us. We sit around her, taking turns to hold her hand, talking to her, waiting for her to wake up, to complete us.

And she does. She opens her eyes and smiles at Adi and then at us. And in the bluish glow that night, I realize I have the most beautiful daughter in the world - she creates beauty all around her - beauty in a brother's love, beauty in a father's tears, beauty in a mother's realization, beauty that defines life, us - my beautiful daughter, Soundarya.
***Excerpt***

The harmony in my life.

I sit down on the sand, facing the ocean, far away from whispering couples and boisterous teenagers. In some dim corner of my mind, I notice the beauty of the marked moon, I notice how it catches each of the rising waves, giving it its moment of glory before it dies - like my own life until now? At some sub-conscious level, I feel grateful for the stinging chillness of the wind hitting my face. But today, I will not let the calming elements of nature console me. Today, I want to think, alone.

But instead I cry. I cry for reasons I don't fully understand. I cry until the wind dries my wet cheeks. I cry like a man who has lost, a man who is lost.

And I have neither lost nor am lost. Without her. Because she is still with me.

***
"I am getting married."

Priya says it in one of her matter-of-fact tones. She has several tones, their repertoire, almost a second nature to me, in just two years? I feel I know her like I know myself - natural, instinctive.

So, I do what comes naturally to me. I laugh.

"What's so funny? He happens to be a sensitive, good-looking gentleman..." and she adds, "unlike you!", when I continue to laugh.

"Poor guy. Did he not take a good look at you?"

"He did! And he happens to like me. A lot. He said he liked me from the time he met me first at the coffee shop!"

"Oh...that guy. The oh-am-so-goody-goody-I-will-turn-up-fifteen-minutes-early chap!"

"Yes and that chap has a name - Arvind. OK, Prem, please be serious, for once?"

"As you wish, madame. When do I get to meet him? Obviously you are joking about the marriage bit, right? You didn't already say yes, did you?", I ask in mock anger.

My feeble attempt to make her feel guilty. And I lose, as always. The girl never gives me a chance!

"Of course not. That was just to get your attention. Am not saying yes, until you give the go-ahead, buddy!"

And she tilts her head a bit to the side - something she always does when she is happy - and smiles.

For a moment, I feel a pang of something I can't quite place my fingers on. I touch her lightly on the head and tousle her hair - "I am going to miss you, Priya."

She doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes and leans against my hand for a few seconds.
***
"Excellent", I make a little circle with my thumb and forefinger and Priya's mom laughs.

"Have few more idlis, Prem. You seem to be growing thinner by the day!"

I am about to reply when Priya rushes in, "Amma, do you think I should wear a saree instead?"

She looks adorable.

"You look fat."

"Amma! See what Prem is saying...", she turns to her mom, with a querulous tone in her voice. Her childish pout delights me, I grin and Priya's mom rolls her eyes as if she were settling a fight between two children.

She is still a child, atleast to me. Just as she is about to walk off in a huff, I catch her hand and say, "Arvind is going to be swept off his feet today".

She has such an expectant twinkle in her eye, I suddenly feel protective about her - he better keep my Priya happy. My Priya? I smile to myself - not anymore. I let go of her hand and wonder for the first time, if I really want Arvind to be swept off his feet...

***
That night, she calls me late in the night to tell me all about Arvind.

"I was waiting for mom and dad to sleep. So many questions...do you like him? Does he seem like a decent boy? Did he ask to meet again?"

I interrupt and let her catch her breath, "Well?"

"Well? Well what?"

"Well, do you like him? Did he ask to meet again?"

"Uh huh"

I wait and she says, "Prem?"

"Still here."

"You know how all your life, you wait for this one perfect person? The one person who understands you even when you don't say a thing? The one person who knows you better than yourself? So much so that he completes your thoughts even before you have finished having them?"

I wait for her answer.

"...well, you know, that's kind of impractical. There is no such person. Well, I have you but..." and then she pauses as if her own words confuse her.

I realize I am holding the receiver tightly and I also realize I am holding my breath. Why? She is my friend and I should be happy for her. But, all I feel is a slight sense of relief that her perfect guy is just a figment of her imagination and Arvind is none of those. I assume.

"...but you know, Arvind is sweet, patient and he adores me. He has that look in his eyes, you know what I mean? I can go on waiting for the right person and maybe I will never find him...but I just know that Arvind will keep me happy..."

I still say nothing.

"So?"

"So..."

"Will you meet Arvind?"

"No."

Why did I say that? I should want to meet Arvind now, to make sure he is right for Priya - I am after all her best friend, I should do this for her...

And I hear myself say again, "No, Priya, not tomorrow. This week is not good for me..."

"Prem, you promised! You have to meet him. He is waiting for me to say yes..."

"Oh?"

"...or no. Please, will you meet him sometime this week? I have told him so many things about you..."

The idea of this stranger knowing me intimately, as Priya knows me, infuriates me. I know I am being irrational but several other feelings overpower the practical me.

"Why? You don't have to go behind my back, talking about me, to your sweetheart!"

"Prem, stop being silly. Remember the time when we went forty five minutes late to the carnatic music concert and we tried to bribe the gate-wallah to let us in...I was telling Arvind about that and we had such a laugh...you must..."

"I suppose he had a good laugh and preached about why I must be on time?"

"No...Arvind..."

"Priya, all this talk about Arvind is getting really tiresome. Can we do this someother time? I have an early morning conference call to attend..."

"Prem...ok", she says in a small voice and I know she will cry after she hangs up.

And still, I say bye and hang up. That night, sleep eludes me for a long time. Early morning, I have a dream about Arvind and Priya laughing and pointing...at me! I wake up, feeling just not right.

What is the matter with me? Am I just not ready to let go? Or am I confusing friendship with something else? Why is it that a part of me wants Arvind to hurt her so that she comes running to my arms? That can't be love - I shouldn't want to hurt if I am in love...

I make up my mind. It's just best for her and for me, if I move away from her, for sometime. Time will clear my thoughts and direct our lives. Time...that's all I need.
***
The next few weeks, I feel miserable. I don't return her calls. Her emails to me still announce that they are unread. I avoid her, perhaps hurting myself more than am hurting her. I hardly stay in my apartment, making my working days as long as possible and working even during the weekends.

One dreary Saturday afternoon - it had rained the whole day; I remember because she walked in slightly shivering, rain water dripping from her clothes - she decided I had given time enough time to steer our lives. She decided it was time she took our lives into her hands.

She sits down next to me. The silence around us interrupted only by the constant pitter-patter of the rain outside.

"I am sorry."

"Yes, you are."

"I just thought I needed some time to sort out...my life. Without you."

"You can't."

"Sorry?"

"Your life is a mess", she smiles and it's as if everything is the same between us, "What makes you think you can sort it out without me?"

I smile at her and fight back an impulse to hug her tightly.

"You think I will run away that easily and let you live your life the way you want to, you idiot?"

She continues, "I can't let go that easily, Prem. I know that you can't either."

And I suddenly wonder who the child in our relationship is.

"Priya, I know that. I don't ever want to..."

But, she doesn't let me complete what I wanted to say. Instead, she talks about Arvind. She likes him. She wants to say yes and she is still waiting for me to say yes.

And I say yes. Just like that.

"But, you haven't even met him!"

"Yes, but I have heard a hundred things about him, from you. I am sure he will be a nice and boring husband - no surprises! And if he is not, I will kill him for you."

We laugh together and I wish, I could make that moment last forever.

***
I know she is probably getting ready for her engagement tomorrow. I know I should probably be with her now. I just can't bring myself to face us together, one more time. So, I walk to the beach and sit down at her favourite spot. It reminds me of time spent in her company, of laughter, of friendship - of all the things close to my heart. And then I cry.

I am not sure how long I have been sitting there. I think about friendship and love. I think about Priya and Arvind and I know we have taken the right decisions in our lives - Priya and Prem...

I know it is Priya. Even before her hand touches my shoulders. Even before she sits down next to me and takes my hand in hers. I just know. And these are the little things that confuse me - this feeling of nothingness, lightness when she is around, it's as if there is not another person sitting next to me - I can be myself - boring, witty, caustic, funny, whatever I want to be because I know she will understand...

"I thought about it for a long time too", she looks at the waves as she talks and for once, I see their turbulence reflected in her eyes.

The wind carries her hair all around her tear-stained face, hiding it from me. She tries to smoothen out stray strands of hair with her right hand and the moonlight reveals a bride's delicate hand - the mehendi has not even dried.

"Arvind knows am here...with you. Everyone's so excited - my parents, Arvind...they are all talking about the engagement and I just needed to be alone, to listen to the voices in my head. But, then I realized, I just wanted to hear you talk. I knew you'd be here."

We sit there, seemingly no different from the other couples who sit at the beach that day - holding hands. But we don't whisper like them - the silence between us talks for us. I know we are different because we are friends. We were meant to be friends. To be anything else would be unnatural, incomplete. And that night, holding Priya's hand, I know as she does that we will always be friends.

"I love you Priya. I should have said this a long back, without hurting you...I love you as I can love no one, perhaps not even my wife."

"And I love you too...",

It's as if the wind is whispering those words to me.

"...in a way, I can never love Arvind. I am sure I will be insanely possessive about him, I would not want his eyes to even dare to settle on another pretty woman, I would want to own him, make him mine and I am looking forward to that. But you...are different. I don't want to spoil what we have by trying to thrust newer meanings to it. Its perfect as it is."

It was as if she had just read out my thoughs to me. And she - my thoughts - convinced me that our decision was taken if not rightly, atleast for the right reasons. Sometimes, we gain by letting go but I had everything I wanted, I was letting go to gain nothing, to lose nothing. I was letting go so that I could still hear the harmony I hear now - in the waves, in her words, in my thoughts - years later when I want to hear it again.

And then, I hug her, without guilt, without thinking - my moment of glory. And I know she will always be with me.

***
***Excerpt***

The argument.

"One plate samosa, one coffee. Is the leg better now?", I smile at Murugan. A pleasant smile suffuses across his young face and he says, "Much better ayya. It now hurts only here." and he bends down and points to the region around his ankle.

"Another great story ayya? I shall not disturb you", and he is gone as quickly as he appeared. That is one smart lad, I think to myself, watching him talk with the same comfort with several other regulars in the restaurant, if you could call it that.

"Anandam Coffee shop" - the billboard declared in a slightly garish red. The m tilts down at an angle, as if to bless the customers. The walls inside are painted an unrecognizable shade of brown, that has peeled off in corners. A few rusty fans make sure that the smoke from the kitchen swirls inside in a haze. I cannot say why but sitting in this little smoke-filled place, my mind settles down to a lazy calm, that I cannot seem to achieve anywhere else. I come here every evening with my little notebook and pen, looking inside my mind, looking around me for inspirations and ideas.

I write, for a living. I manage to make ends meet with what I write - articles to the tamil magazines, short stories and if I am lucky, interviews with people who are a lot more famous than I am. Murugan always serves me. I don't tip him much. I don't eat much but over the years, we have established a comfortable rapport. I listen to his stories about his life, his boyish ambitions, his dreamy-eyed goals and see a part of my self that I left behind a long time ago...

But this story is not about me. It is about two women, as different from each other as can be. It is about clashing ideals, friendship, fate and a mother's love. That is probably how I will introduce my article if it ever gets published. For now, let me call it what it is - an interesting conversation between two women, powerful in curiously different ways.

Initially I struggle to make out much from the girlish chatter than goes on. "Gosh, you have lost so much weight!", "Do you remember Manjunath from our Eco class?" and so on. I pretend to jot down notes as I doodle, waiting to shape their conversation into something interesting. I did not have to wait for long.

"How old is she?", Divya asks, lightly touching the child's cheeks.

"All of two years and seven months...". An unmistakeable touch of pride that only a mother's voice can convey.

"She is adorable. So a year before she goes to school?" Casual, almost disinterested.

"Yes, a little more than a year. I wonder how I can bear to be away from her for so long, once she starts going to school...". A touch of wistfulness?

"What do you mean? Have you taken a break from work, Madhu?!" Surprise evident in her slightly elevated tone.

"Uh, yes of course. I planned to take a break of a year and then I thought, maybe I should wait until she goes to school..." She seems to be revisting the decisions of the past. She finds in her a need to validate her decision. The hint of a defensive edge in her voice confirms my inference.

I continue to jot down my thoughts, derivations, interpretations as the conversation takes on a slightly serious tone.

"And you...have you found your Mr.Right?"

"Still searching. Am confident I will find him!"

As if on cue, Divya's cell phone rings and she speaks in hushed tones, audible to Madhu.

"No Gautam, I can't make it today. Sure, some other day. Yes, I'll give you a call"

A final comment from Gautam makes her laugh and she hangs up, shaking her head, "Guys, can't live with them, can't live without them!"

"So, how did you find him?" Divya winks at Madhu

"I didn't. My parents did...I don't think I could have done a better job!", Madhu winks back but the import is lost on Divya.

I write in my notebook,
Divya has a look of incredulity on her face.

I try to string words to match her thoughts -
"The poor woman?" or "I hope he doesn't give her a rough time, she may be naive but she is my friend?"...I also notice that Madhu is not at all discomfited by the look on her friend's face. Does being a young mother make one accustomed to such looks? Or do they just convey an ignorance that she does not bother to correct - maybe she waits for time to answer the question?

"So, how do you like being a mother? A full-time job, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Doesn't leave you much time for anything else. Sometimes, you don't want time to do anything else...", Madhu smiles and Divya nods, unconvincingly.

"But Madhu, what happened to the journalism course that you were going to take? Remember, you wanted to travel the world...this is, this is...quite a surprise."

Madhu pats her daughter's head absently, "Sometimes, life takes us on a journey that we least expect, maybe its not what we had in mind, but its interesting, challenging and it makes sense...you know what I mean?"

Divya does not know. Or she wouldn't be looking at her wrist watch with that now familiar impatient gesture. Madhu looks over her head and catches my eye. I smile at her but she doesn't see me.

"So, it's been fun catching up Madhu but now, I have to go. I still have some work to do for the demo on Monday."

"It's been fun Divya. Do call up sometime, it gets boring when she takes her naps, you know?"

Divya smiles back at Madhu ruefully, or so I thought.

As they get up to leave, a gentleman enters the shop and looks around for a bit before his eyes settle on Madhu and the child. He smiles and walks towards them.

"Madhu! You never keep track of time, do you? We have to go now or your mom will kills us!" He taps lightly on Madhu's head, fondly, as one would to a child.

Madhu smiles and introduces her husband to her friend, "Dinesh, this is Divya..."

Divya stares at the soft-spoken, handsome young man and pauses before extending her hand. He gives her hand a cursory shake before lifting his daughter up. His attention is already completely on his daughter who has suddenly started talking non-stop.

I try once again to read what each fleeting flicker on Divya's face conveys - "And finally I lose to a young girl of not even three?" or "There are men, much unlike the Gautams of this world?" or maybe they are just feelings that sometimes one does not like to acknowledge or express - surprise? jealousy? disbelief?

Divya watches the three of them walk out. Dinesh has his hands draped around Madhu, and his daughter leans her head on his left shoulder. He leans down to whisper something to Madhu that makes her blush and cast her eyes down.

I write down the last line in my notebook,

"And Divya knows she has lost the argument."

***Excerpt***

The choice - 2

I am running out of titles, I guess...my earlier story also titled "The Choice" here :)

I pass the card through the shredder and watch it strip one path of my uncertain fate into little bits. I switch off the light and sit on my chair next to the bed, in semidarkness. The curtains flutter as if whispering to me and I watch the moonlight filtering through it and falling on my wife's face, as if the heavens had made their choice. And I had made mine.

Shreya...Shreya. As if I had to shush even to say her name. Even her name must not escape my lips, aloud. A day away from reality and my life had changed. How did I let my mind waver thus? Seven rounds around the fire, three priests chanting vedic verses, even the sacred yellow thread that she still wore around her neck...none of them could shackle my fickle mind. No, I am not fickle. I did not as much as think for a second that I would stray for another woman. But, Shreya was different. Shreya never left me to reappear in my life now. She was always there. I just closed my eyes and thought she was not near.

She fidgets in her sleep, charming even with her mouth slightly open. Suddenly she knits her brows and pouts in her sleep, adorable, a child struggling with a bad dream. And I mirror her expression. Why did she have to be so perfect even in her imperfections? Maybe I need Shreya because I want to fight with a woman's irrationalities and her vagaries, to delight in her moods and quirks...I tire with a woman who offers me no excuse to sense that she is human as I am, and that she makes mistakes as I do. The more she struggled to please me, the more perfect she became, the farther away I reached, with someone who was as flawed as I am, with someone who did not make me feel guilty with her every gesture.

"How do you manage it, Arun?"

"Manage what?"

"Being married! Aren't you bored? Don't you look at other women?"

"Other women..."

"Take me for instance...aren't you wishing you can take me out on a date?"
and then she laughs, carelessly. Everything about her seems frivolous, irresponsible...exciting? As she talks, little curls of her hair fall over her forehead, her smile seems not to touch her eyes and yet I find her irresistible. I don't know why. Maybe because she is just the antithesis of Sumathi - playful and unpredictable. Maybe that's how the human mind is made, to want what it cannot have, to tire of what it should cherish, to beg for a change even when life seems perfect.

"Oh, come on, everyone knew you had a crush on me years ago! I don't blame you for that...but isn't it more than a coincidence that we ran into each other at a conference? Aren't the signs trying to tell us something?"
She moves her fingers as if she were a fortune-teller, reading the signs and she laughs again. It always threw me off. Is she suggesting something or just giving me a hard time?

And then my cell phone rings and the jangle annoys me further.
"Sumathi, yes, am busy...yes, I will be home before nine. No, don't wait for me! I cannot understand why you have to wait every night, stop being silly..."

and I hear the hesitant pause from the other end and say, in a softer tone, "I am not very hungry. I had a late lunch, take your dinner."

And I know she wouldn't. Stupid, old-fashioned woman! I look up at Shreya who seems amused at my embarassing conversation.

"How cute! The wife waits to have dinner with you!"

And suddenly, a trait that should have been endearing, grates me further.

"...while the husband flirts with his lady love!"

I flush and stand up and she puts a hand on my arm.

"Now dear, am just messing with you...sit down, we have so much to catch up on. Do you still play the guitar? Tell me all about your life..."

I must have been an idiot. I had been an idiot in love. Maybe I still am or maybe my definition of love itself is skewed up and I just liked to believe that what I felt was love. I sit down and we talk for a long time. And every fifteen minutes an image creeps into my head and I catch a glimpse of Sumathi hovering near the dining table, peeping out the window, waiting for me...and I resist and push it away. Is this the feeling that assumes the fanciful identity we call love? Or is this just my guilt appearing to frown at me? Something stings my eyes and her words float, meaninglessly around me,

"So, call me up anytime or email, whatever. Lets catch up...'s been fun talking to you!" and she leans over and kisses me lightly on the cheek. I take the card that she extends towards me and try not to think about my wife.

Shreya links her arm with mine and we walk out of the restaurant together.
"We should meet up sometime soon. I fly back tonight. If you ever do come to Washington, holler and I'll be there...have always been there for you, haven't I, Arun?", she winks at me and my heart skips a beat.

She leaves in a cab and I take a long walk before catching a cab home.

The house smells of incense, of Sumathi. The dining table is clean, as if she never waited the whole time for me. She sleeps curled on one side of the bed. So delicate, so vulnerable...her cheeks glisten as if a stray tear forgot to dry. I run my hand over her head and lean close to her just to take in her smell - a smell of anxiety, faithfulness and love. Something that I myself can only sense not experience.

She stirs again and this time, smiles in her sleep. I smile too. Maybe she can teach me to love as she does, completely and unselfishly...

I walk towards my window and stand staring at the darkness outside. The moon seems to wink at me, at a choice well made.

***Excerpt***

Aunt Maria's love story.

"There comes a time in every person's life when she believes she must have been in love."

An excited wave of murmers ripples through the small audience punctuated by a few giggles arising from the younger ones. I feel as I always do at the beginning of Aunt Maria's story telling sessions - eager, curious and impatient to hear the rest of the story already.

"Aunt Maria has quite an imagination, can't wait for what she cooks up this time!", Nancy whispers excitedly and winks at me.

"Nancy, Latha, stop that giggling or you are doing the dishes tonight!", Aunt Maria warns, waggling her finger at us, in mock anger. I smile back at her. She has always been Aunt Maria to all of us. Aunt Maria who baked delicious, warm cookies for us, the quintessential apron tied around her, her chubby hands working deftly to feed several eager mouths. Her silvery bun was always tied high above her head and her eyes did not betray her age - young and twinkling, those of a child about to eat a candy.

Her stories were always reserved for Saturday nights or when there was a powercut, which was every other week. We light candles in the patio and cuddle around Aunt Maria. She sits in the hammock and surveys her audience shrewdly. A gentle breeze disturbs the candle flame and we huddle closer.

"I was a pretty little thing of about eighteen when I met him at the University library. I worked weekends at the library from nine to five. He came every Saturday and lingered behind until it was closing time. He never checked out a book once."

"How did he look Aunt Maria? Tall, dark and handsome? Maybe a stubble?"

"You imp, shush!"

Aunt Maria adjusts her glasses and continues, "He was lanky and tall, tall enough to reach the last but one shelf of the book shelf in the library. I remember because that is the reason why I talked to him the very first time. He was trying to reach a book in the uppermost shelf and I said,

"Sir, would you like me to help you with that?"

He looked amused. Perhaps he thought it was funny that someone as short as I wanted to help him.

"Yes and No, Maria."

The fact that he knew my name irritated me a bit.

"It's almost closing time, Sir. If you need further help, I will be at the front desk."

He said nothing and I walked back to the front desk, annoyed at his impertinence. He left without saying goodbye.

The next morning, he came to the library at noon. I ignored him. He browsed through the different aisles as he always does - fiction, autobiographies, romance, horror - he did not seem to have any preference. Afternoons usually see just a couple of regulars at out library. An old man sat there leafing through a small book, punctuating the silence in the library with his tiny coughs.

Unconsciously, I followed the young man who seemed to be in no hurry to pick a book. He walked casually from book to book, sometimes he would pick a book and smell it, sometimes, he would run his fingers around it, sometimes he would just walk around.

He puzzled me. After what seemed like hours, he picked a thin book and settled down with it, his back facing me.

Inspite of myself, I really wanted to know which book he had picked. So, I held my head high, walked nonchalantly towards him and pretended to arrange the books on the table.

He smiled at me but said nothing. He was reading 'Love Story'. I was happy with his choice. Satisfied, I was about to move back when he said,

"Do you also like Erich Seagal, Maria?"

I did not want to answer him, but it seemed an innocent question and I longed for any conversation that day to get me through the day.

"Yes, I see you took your time to pick the book."

"Oh, I have read it before, many times."

He offered no further explanation. Sitting across him, he looked a lot older than I had thought he was - maybe in his late twenties. He seldom blinked and I found it disconcerting to look into his eyes and talk.

"So, are you a student at the University?", I decided to ask him a few mundane questions so as to not appear rude and then get back to my desk.

"Professor. I teach English."

Again, an awkward silence that he seemed to be entirely comfortable with.

"OK, I better get back to work...", I got up to leave when he said,

"You look remarkably like her."

I don't know why but I sat down again.

"You have her eyes - small but expressive, taking in more than it reveals. Green."

"Look, I don't have time for this kind of..."

"She loved books...this was her favourite book..."

and then suddenly,

"I am David, nice meeting you Maria", he held his hand out to me.

"And that was our first meeting. Now, let me get some goodies out for you kids before it gets too late...", Aunt Maria ambles towards the kitchen and an excited chatter breaks out among us.

"Do you think he will propose to Aunt Maria?"

"Whom does she resemble? his wife? sister?"

"Am sure Aunt Maria can make something up to finish the story. That's probably why she went to the kitchen!"

And we laugh, but a small part of me believes and wants to believe that the story is true...maybe that's why aunt Maria never married, maybe he was the one...

Aunt Maria returns with a large round plate full of chocolate sprinkled brownies. We bite into the warm soft brownies as she continues,

"Our first meeting was anything but normal but his words echoed in my head the following week and I wondered what he had meant and why he had been so cryptic."

The next Saturday, I searched for a copy of "Love Story" and settled down with it, my feet propped on a chair nearby. I was so engrossed in the book, I did not hear the tinkle of the bells tied to our library front door that announced a visitor.

"You have read it before too, haven't you?"

I jumped in my chair and the book fell down.

"David! You startled me!", I said, holding a hand to my chest.

He smiled - the same mysterious smile, always a touch of sadness in it.

"Yes, I have read it before. I can read it again any number of times and I am sure I will cry each time I read it!"

"You are blessed - a book can make you cry. I try and yet I cannot."

Here I was talking to this stranger about things that I little understood. Yet, as he stood there looking into my eyes, this time I did not draw my eyes away. I felt something powerful in the silence that surrounded us. It showed me shades of his past and I felt sad for him.

"When did you meet her?", I asked, about the woman who I knew nothing about except that she looked like me.

"We took the same classes here. I knew I would marry her the day I met her."

"She took a long time to say yes, didn't she?", I ask, smiling at him.

"Yes, she said she knew it had to be me but decided to sleep over it", he chuckles softly and I am happy to see him happy.

We talk about his wife, her life and now his life without her. I don't feel weird anymore, I want to stand there and talk to him for as long as I can, I want to know about this woman that I could not be, whose eyes I had...I don't feel bad reminding him of her, I want to remind him of her.

And a few months later, he just stopped coming to the library, just like that. I always wondered if there could have been something more between us but life is like that, isn't it? Always leaves you asking for more..."

With that aunt Maria gets up and softly blows out the candles one by one. Everyone talks in low voices about her story, a more subdued gathering than before.

I wait for everyone to leave and stand next to aunt Maria as she cleans the dishes.

"Aunt Maria?"

She appears not to hear.

"He did not just stop coming, did he?"

She looks up at me and shakes her head ever so slightly.

"He asked you to marry him, didn't he?"

Again the almost imperceptible shake of the head.

I gently take the dish-cloth she holds in her hands and hold her hands in mine,
"Tell me, Aunt Maria..."

"Oh, I did fall in love with him."

"I knew it! And then, what happened?!", I ask excitedly.


"I asked him to marry me..."

Her voice grows soft, so soft that the wind almost does not carry it towards me,

"He refused. He said he couldn't bear losing her again."

***Excerpt***

Another Mega Serial :)

Chapter 1: The Retirement.
Chapter 2: The phone call.
Chapter 3: The Visa Interview.
Chapter 4: Off to America.

***Excerpt***

Chapter 1. The Retirement.

Mr.Raghavan hears every single tick of the grandfather clock. He hears the rustling of the leaves and the chattering of the evening birds, the sounds of dusk. Each heightens his feeling of loneliness. A feeling that he is too proud to acknowledge. Sixty years of life lived as a proud man and that is how he will live the rest of his life, with his head held high. He picks up the Hindu once again and tries to concentrate on what he is reading. The sudden ring of the calling bell surprises him. He walks with small quick steps to open the door, expectation lighting up his face.

"Raghavan, how are you? I thought I would drop by for a quick evening chat!"

The house owner, Gangadharan could not have chosen a more inappropriate time to pay a visit to Raghavan. Within a few minutes, he realizes that the latter is not interested in any kind of small talk with him. Slightly hurt, he leaves the small house, already pondering on his next victim.

Raghavan settles back into the chair and takes a deep breath.

What did that Gangatharan think? That, he had time to discuss the town gossip because he was "retired" now? He would not and would never be a part of the useless old men talk group. No job in their hands and nothing useful to talk about all evening but rumours and gossip! Ask them anything about politics and general knowledge and they would gather their veshtis and disappear from sight! Worthless fools!

The shrill ring of the telephone distracts him and he hollers into the receiver,
"Raghavan speaking."

***
"Did you have your dinner?"

Parvathi's typical questions. Questions that drove him up the wall but of late, he had begun even to miss those simple conversations with his wife.

He grunts a yes into the receiver because he knows that no other answer would satisfy her.

"Did you turn off the gas? Have you taken your tablets?"

Ignoring her questions, he asks,
"How is the baby? Have the rashes gone?"

"Yes, she is better now. Do you want to talk to Sanjay? He is in the kitchen with Neelima..."

He senses the disapproval in his wife's voice and smiles. Softening down considerably at the thought of his simple, old-fashioned wife stuck in America, he asks,

"How is your leg now? Can you walk easily?"
She had fallen down while trying to get on to an elevator at a store.

"Yes", her voice trembles a little and she says, "By God's grace, as soon as the baby is five or six months old, I will find my way back. What does an old woman like me have here in America anyway?"

Raghavan remains silent for sometime. Somehow, even the thought of making his wife go to America alone did not prompt him to accompany her. He did not have a fascination for cars, clean roads and big buildings - "Oh, these roads are so dirty, mama", Neelima had purred a few years back, "The same dirty roads that you grew up on!" is what he would have liked to tell her - he did not care for an immigrant treatment in America. He was proud to be an Indian and his soil would see him breathe his last. No amount of pleading from his son or wife and half-hearted requests from his daughter-in-law could convince him otherwise.

"Take care of your health. Am sure Sanjay and Neelima can manage once you leave. Bye."

Raghavan feels better after talking to his wife. As he closes his eyes, he thinks of the time Sanjay was born and the thought lulls him to sleep.

***
The milkman rings the bell and Raghvan searches for his spectacles in the semi-darkness. By force of habit, he looks at the clock and thinks to himself that he is late for work today. As his head clears, a dull realization hits him that he is no longer employed. Old and retired. He moves slowly doing about his morning chores trying as best as he can to spread his activities till mid-day. The temple bell rings heralding a long day ahead for him. His thoughts drift back to the day that Parvathi had dragged him to the temple...was it only six months back?

"It is such an honor! How many people do you know who have been awarded, "an employee of the year" shield?"

"It is not a shield and I know of many of my friends who have been recognized as "Employee of the Year" Why must I spend my time chanting at the temple when I can spend it at office doing justice to my award?"

"Today is an auspicious day. You will have to come to the temple with me..."

And the argument had lasted till the temple steps. Parvathi had insisted on an archanai and she did not let go of him until she had adorned his forehead with prominent Vibhuthi marks - "For Drishti!", she had warned him, when he tried to take it off.

***
And six months later, here he was, with a so-called voluntary retirement forced upon him by his unctuous boss - "It's like this Mr.Raghavan, we think you would benefit by this proposal...". And suddenly, his sense of importance and pride was gone, without a warning. He was not Raghavan, Vice President of a prestigious company but just Raghavan, retired and biding his time for the end. He had decided then that he would not be a part of any of the religious groups in his neighbourhood, chanting what they little understood, preaching what they little practised. He would still lead a meaningful life...but somehow, his life seemed without any direction now. He was not the bread-winner of the house, but an old man living on his pension. With nothing to concentrate on the major part of the day, he started having unwholesome thoughts about his own old age and death. A sudden noise interrupted his listless thoughts...

He looked up and Gangadharan cleared his throat again. Raghavan decided to put an end to these visits. He opened his mouth to say something acerbic and was interrupted by Gangadharan,

"Raghavan, do you have a few minutes to spare?"
Was he mocking him? Of course he had a few minutes, he had his whole life ahead of him to spare but he would probably not waste it on Gangadharan!

"I need to talk to you about a personal problem..."

Raghavan took a closer look at the other man and noticed tell-tale signs of weariness on his face. He motioned him to sit down.

"We probably don't know each other well enough for me to confide in you..."

Can't this man talk except in circles?

"but I know you are a capable man and I really have nowhere to turn to for some sensible advice..."

And in his own circuitous way of speaking, Gangadharan confided his problems to Raghavan.

"You see, it's not like my son does not love me or respect me anymore. It's just that he has so many responsibilities now, what with the baby and all and I am probably just a burden...but I have nowhere else to go. I have spent my pension money on my son and I cannot imagine living in an old age home. Rangachari and Sheshadri are in a similar situation themselves..."

Raghavan listened silently.

So, the loud old men's club had its own share of problems...

He still did not understand clearly the purpose of Gangadharan's visit but now he had a new problem to solve. His mind clicked to work immediately, a well-oiled engine going about its tasks. He asked a few questions and tried to sort out Gangadharan's problems. Not that he had a solution at hand but two heads were better than one and it was obvious Gangadharan needed someone like Raghavan to listen to him more than anything else.

It would be far-fetched to say that a strong friendship forged between the two old men but a bond did develop. Raghavan began to look forward to Gangadharan's daily visits. He even spoke to Gangadharan's son, who appeared to be scared of him. Gangadharan even went to the extent of suggesting that Raghavan should visit America to see his grandchild. A severe look from Raghavan silenced him, but that night Raghavan did atleast consider the possibility of a trip to America.

Parvathi returned from America with suitcases full of gifts for her husband, her relatives, her innumerable temple friends and ofcourse a load of stories to share with her husband about America, her daughter-in-law and her grandchild. She seemed surprised at her husband's sudden change in temperament since the retirement but did not guess that it had anything to do with Gangadharan. For her, he was just another cup of filter coffee that she had to make every evening and she was glad to do so.

And Raghavan finally made peace with his retirement.

I gave up on the dhtml when I noticed the absolute positioning messes up the display on smaller screen sizes. Also, I had the story written with Raghavan going to America and his funny experiences there but it's way too long for a Saturday morning, so the end folks!
***Excerpt***

Chapter 2. The phone call.

The next day, a call early morning made Raghavan take the one big step that he had hesitated to take for many years - he decided to go to America.

"Appa, amma's leg has become worse because of the cold. Yesterday, she took a walk outside and slipped on some of the ice on the pavement..."

Raghavan's face clouded with anger and concern...

"Appa, it will probably be good for amma if you also come over. I don't think she can travel back so soon...and you haven't seen the baby yet."

And Raghavan finally made up his mind.

That evening Gangadharan almost danced with joy. "You are indeed lucky Raghavan, you have a son who wants you with him in America!"

"Save your joy! He is only calling me so I can be a nurse to Parvathi while he goes to work! His new wife would have probably complained!"

And they had discussed life in America and what all arrangements Raghavan had to make - visa, warm clothes, Indian music CDs because they would not be available in America...

"Just because I am living in my son's house doesn't mean I will depend on him for anything..."

Gangadharan nodded his head in agreement.

"I will still buy grocery, take my evening walks, go to the library once in a while..."

Gangadharan nodded some more, a little hesitantly this time, "Won't you need a car to...?"

"Car, shmar, I will walk, when I was little, I..."

And several hours later, Gangadharn left with dreams of America.

***Excerpt***

Chapter 3. The Visa Interview.

The Visa office was too crowded for Raghavan's liking. A round man, around Raghavan's age came panting into the hall, sweating profusely, he seemed to be running for the past fifteen minutes. He looked around for a few seconds and settled down near Raghavan to catch his breath.

"I thought I would be late for my appointment", he offered by way of explanation to Raghavan. He was a retired judge and Raghavan approved of judges. So, he decided to talk to the judge to kill time while he waited for his turn.

"Nowadays, all of India wants to go to America", Raghavan began loudly.

"Yes, yes, my son and daughter are both there for the past 10 years...", the judge nodded vehemently, spreading a few drops of sweat around him, "and they have not spoken a word of coming back..."

"Yes, these kids have forgotten where they hail from, money is the culprit!"

The conversation was gaining momentum and Raghavan was about to launch into one of his favorite discussions when his name was called for the Visa interview.

"And what is the purpose of your visit to America, Sir?", the young American sitting behind the counter asked politely.

Raghavan took an instant dislike to him. Who did this young man think he was? God?

"I have applied for a visitor's visa which means I will be a visitor in America. I am visiting my son."

"And when do you intend to return Sir?"

As soon as possible! Raghavan bit his tongue and said, "You see my wife is in America with my son and she has fallen down and hurt her leg. As soon as she gets better, we both will return..."

"Only son?"

How did this young upstart care if he had 18 sons?

"Only son and I know not why he wants to live in that Godforsaken place, leaving a country like India behind. I think the younger generation need some advice from us - their priorities are mixed up! Everyone can earn money - when I was Vice President of..."

Half-an-hour later, Raghavan waved goodbye to the judge and left the consulate with a visitor's visa in hand.

***Excerpt***

Chapter 4. Off to America.

Raghavan was a man of very particular tastes and habits. He detested any change in his routine and more importantly his food.

The airhostess rushed to Aisle 24, seat A yet again, the third time in the past two hours.

"Yes Sir, how may I help you?"

"Yes young lady, you can help me! I have asked for Indian Vegetarian meals. This seems to be neither Indian nor vegetarian!"

The airhostess resisted an impulse to hold her head and scream.

"Sir, this is an Indian vegetarian meal, Sir. This is dal, basmati rice and vegetables with it, Sir."

The repeated use of Sir annoyed Raghavan.

"This food has no salt. The vegetables are unrecognizable and I would like a complaint form please!"

"You can get that as soon as you land, Sir."

Raghavan took a deep breath, carefully wrapped the meal that he had in hand and gave it to the airhostess, "Please take this back. I will ask for a refund and also file a complaint the moment I land!"

"Very good sir", the airhostess walked away shaking her head.

Raghavan took the remaining one banana out of his yellow bag and started eating it and noticed with interest how the teenage Indian boy with the weird crew cut was eating his food with zest.

"You like this food, young man?"

"Uh Huh, much better than anything my girlfriend cooks, dude, err...Uncle!"

While Raghavan did not approve of "dude" either, he was curious about the teenage boy and his "girlfriend".

"I see, your girlfriend does not cook very good Indian food?"

"You see man, she is from Romania and does not very much approve of Indian vegetarian. Her ex-boyfriend was also Indian and somehow she just hates Indian food, man!"

This was too much information for Raghavan. He closed his eyes and was soon snoring away much to his companion's amusement.

***Excerpt***

My "arranged" love-story.

"This blue saree will do, ma!", I said firmly, hoping that my mom would not ignore the tone of finality in my voice, "and I most certainly will not wear that garish kasu malai!"

My mom looked forlorn. She assumed her most persuasive tone and tried one last time, "Vandana, you should look like a bride today! It will be very embarrassing for us if Srikanth's sister turns up better dressed than you!"

"I am not a bride yet. I have told you a million times before, if I don't like the guy, I say no and that's it!"

"Yes yes, but you will like him. He works in an MNC in Chicago. Do you think I should wear this kasu malai?", my mom asked, excited again at the prospect of imposing the monstrous family heirloom on the unsuspecting visitors.

Let me make myself clear. Do not mistake me to be one of those shyly grinning, drawing-kolams-with-delicate-toe, avid arranged-marriage proponent types. I am not and will never take a tray bearing four cups of strong filter coffee and will most definitely not look down when I serve coffee to the guy.

Well, in my defense, there were just three cups (Srikanth's dad had to fly out for a business meeting), I did not make the coffee and I took a real good look at the guy.


And Srikanth's sister, Niveditha (she pronounced it like "ivy"!) came dressed in baggie pants and a short top, chewing bubble gum to complete the look. I threw a look at my mom that could have killed but she was busy making small talk with Srikanth's mom.

"BE Mechanical from IIT Madras? I see...our Vandana is a gold medalist too" and then in a much lower voice, my mom adds, "She has a Bachelor's degree in Architecture from Anna University." She also throws an accusing look at me as if to say, "If only you had become an engineer or a Doctor..."

At this point, my mental state is vacillating between deep embarrassment mixed with humiliation and indignation. I plop myself down unceremoniously on my sofa and pick up last week's Kumudam. I stare at the same page for several minutes while I mentally put down all Mechanical Engineers from IIT, Madras.

"Umm, do you also have difficulty reading Tamil?", a gentle voice, a smile not to wide so as to suggest that he is trying to hard, not too small to not show off his dimples. But his question certainly did not please me. Mr.America can't read Tamil. How cool!

"I believe the least a person can do in his life is learn his or her mother tongue well. I can read Tamil very well."

"I agree. I've been trying to pick up bits of it reading stuff online...", having expected a hearty volley back, I must say I was taken aback a little.

"The kesari is delicious!"

"Mom made it. I can hardly hold a ladle straight."

There! Now let's see Mr.America digest that. So much for his perfect idea of a dainty, homely wife!

"Mm, I don't blame you. Being an architect must be a pretty demanding job! More interesting than anything I do atleast!", he chuckles.

I bite my tongue. I can't think of anything wrong with what he said and that annoys me. I so do not want to like Mr.America.

"Vandana, why don't you sing us a nice song? Mrs.Krishnamurthy tells me that Srikanth is a big fan of carnatic music! He has attended MS's concerts in America."

God! My mom is literally gushing now. Yes, am sure he is a big fan! Rich Mr.America appreciates music made by the little Indians.

"I am not prepared ma. I'll probably forget all the lines and mess up."

N"ivy" who till now was disinterestedly studying her nails, suddenly looks up, "Oh, do sing, Vandana. I would love to hear you sing too! I can always chip in with the right lines."

The nerve of that girl! Chip in with the right lines?! Now, you've asked for it lady. Stand back and prepare to be amazed.

"Our Niveditha has been learning to sing for the past five years..."

I launched into one of my favourite songs, drowning out Mrs.K's voice, a short, nevertheless complicated song. I finished with a flourish, thrilled with my perfect rendition.

"Wow! That's amazing, Vandana! You do have an excellent voice!"

Ah...so, Mr.America approves...now why does that make me grin like this? I turned to N"ivy" and she smiled at me and cooed, "That was lovely Vandana!" I noticed Mrs.K perceive me with additional interest. I can hear her saying already, "Our Vandana sings so beautifully, why don't you sing the song that you sang when Srikanth and I came to see you for the first time, Vandana?"...

"Now, I know what I will listen to in my free time after we get married!", Srikanth winks at me and my heart suddenly skips a beat. Darn! He reminds me of the cute guy I had a crush on in my first year...only, Srikanth looks better.

No, am not falling for his curly locks and evil dimples. I have heard one too many horror stories about unsuspecting Indian brides and their green card holding husbands...

My mom suddenly stands up and with a knowing smile, tells Mrs.K and N"ivy", "Let me show you Vandana's medals and a few photographs." And before I can object, am left alone in the room with Srikanth. He seems relaxed and comfortable.

No! Think of the horror stories! Concentrate!

"You know, Vandana, I am planning to come back to India for good."

I tried to appear nonchalant. People should appear to do that at times, be nonchalant that is. It makes them look cool, not that I wanted to look cool or anything.

"To be honest, the money is great and I can't complain but I just think I will be happier here."

And before I could respond, the gang returned and my mom surveyed us closely. She seemed satisfied with what she perceived. Unconsciously, I had been leaning forward to listen to what he had to say. I stood up immediately.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Vandana. I will call you sometime soon!"

A firm handshake and a gentlemanly nod and they were gone.

Now, I am not going to pretend that I did not like him. I did. But one can-almost-be-termed-a-conversation and good looks alone just did not tilt the scale enough. This state of my mind changed quite dramatically over the next few weeks. With every passing day that he did not call, I began to eagerly wait for his call more, anticipate brilliant conversations lasting several hours with him and in general, pine in a very unhealthy fashion (atleast in my opinion) for any interaction with him.

The call came. Three weeks later. i recognized his voice immediately. I was seething with anger and thrilled all at once.

"Hi Srika, Srikanth!", I gushed, just like my mom, into the receiver. Sometimes, I have an incredible tendency to get on my nerves.

"Vandana? I am sorry I couln't call earlier. Some thing came up."

What a vague excuse!

"Uh Huh, am sure. How are Niveditha and your parents doing?"

"Good. I was a bit worried that you would be annoyed at me. I really should have called earlier!"

"Yes, I guess you are right."

And so on and so forth, we had a pretty good conversation over all. Just short of an hour. I hung up smiling and had to stop myself from flitting about happily. That's just not me. Anyway, mom seemed pleased with the proceedings - "Your father would have been so happy" - and cooked up goodies almost everyday for me!

Srikanth called up pretty regularly after his first call and in general, things were quite nice and dandy. I continued to be a bit defensive with Srikanth though, just in case...but a hint here and there, a few spontaneous compliments and I was expecting a formal proposal pretty soon. Which is why I was quite unprepared for what was to follow.

He called me on a Sunday evening. He probably thought going to work the next day with a whole week in front of me would distract me enough to not feel too sorry for myself. He was wrong. I cried the whole week.

"Vandana, I called to say I will be flying back to Chicago next week."

And here I was thinking he was asking me if I would marry him within a week's time. I was about to open my mouth in protest when he said,

"I am not sure if you were already expecting this or if this comes as a surprise to you but I am getting engaged day after tomorrow. Her name is Sheetal, I've known her for five years and it was quite a struggle to get my mom to agree but it all worked out in the end..."

Obviously, this was all a bad dream. I pinched myself and realized that moment that Sheetal is one name that I would hate for the rest of my life. I could not talk coherently for sometime, somehow I was not thinking logically - too many thoughts swirling in my head, nothing seemed to make sense - Why? Why did he flirt with me then? Why?...I did what my dad always used to tell me - "Just take a deep breath, its not as bad as it seems..." - and the thought of my father brought tears to my eyes. I took a deep breath and said,

"Well, I am happy for you Srikanth. I hope Sheetal keeps you very happy. I have a few designs that I need to finalize, talk to you later."

I hung up the receiver and closed my eyes. The phone rang again and I let it ring.

Bits and pieces of conversations that we shared over the past few weeks came floating back inside my head, I remembered the way he winked at me, the look in his eyes after I finished my song...and a fresh surge of tears wet my cheeks.

My mom walked in and in a single breath, I blurted out to her, "Amma, Srikanth called...said no, he has a girlfriend..." and buried my face in her saree. She held me tightly and did not let go for a long time.

I must say I recovered pretty well after this incident. He tried calling a few times after that day but mom always gave him the right excuse before he could say much and I was grateful to her for that. I really did not fancy playing the part of the pitiable girl whom the cute guy dumped! I found myself thinking often if this was my doing after all. Maybe I had found the perfect guy and let him go because I was too conceited? Maybe I will see a hundred other guys but never find my charming Mr.America again...well, anyway easy come, easy go. Only in my case, it was not an easy go. I did not realize the depth of my feelings for him until he said goodbye.

So, you will not be surprised why I almost ran into him, deep in thought, at Spencers and still did not recognize him. He looked quite different too - quite a visible stubble, dark glasses, a crumpled white tshirt and an old pair of jeans.

"Vandana."

And that's all he said.

I froze.

Familiar feelings, a giddy rush of blood to my cheeks, a sudden nervousness. I felt my heart beat so fast, I almost feared for my health, in one dim cavern of my mind. Surprisingly, I managed to think pretty logically in those few moments. I realized if I would ever feel anything like love, it would be like this. I also noticed something strange - that he looked back at me with almost the same intensity of feeling with which I was looking at him now - was it pity? sadness?

Anyway, I had made up my mind. Since neither of us had said almost nothing, I decided for once to speak my mind and not listen to my ego.

"Srikanth, I just wanted to say that I was very disappointed the other day after you called...no, disappointed is not the word. Agony is probably closer to what I felt. I like you a lot (darn! I just cannot say the word love) and was hoping you would propose. I cried for a week, as a matter-of-fact. But, am over it now. I can..."

"Vandana, I love you."

Literally, a hundred butterflies flying in my stomach and all around me. I must be dreaming. Again! No, I smell his musk. He is really hugging me!

"I just wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions! Gosh, I can't even play a joke on you without you turning my life upside down!"

Although I would have loved to stay in his arms for a much longer time, I moved away and demanded (hoping my loud inquisition would make him not notice my tears of joy!),

"And why this sudden urge to play such a mindless prank on me? Sheetal is not even such a believable entity!"

"Then, why are you crying?"

(Cursing inwardly), "Answer me now. Why?"

"Because I had to be sure...that you were sure."

And that was that. I really needed no further justification. Ofcourse, I couldn't let him know that.

"You know, Mr.America. This just will not do. Before we get married, we need to establish some ground rules of conduct that we will adhere to and..."

"I take it, that's a yes."

You bet your bustle, Mister. It is a yes. And that, in short, is the story of how I married Mr.America. I will not have you think that I am just your mushy, little Indian girl who was swept off her feet by an NRI.

...Oh, what the hell, think what you want. I am married to the guy with the dimples!

* * *
***Excerpt***

The Wish (My 55 word short story)

He whispers in her ears; she leans forward to listen, oblivious to fleeting
stations, cries of "chai!", brisk winds and me.

I make a wish.

Years later, we discuss in tired,low tones, my mother's health, finances, home loans...

I don't notice the wistful sixteen-year-old until later.

She reminds me of a wish come true.

***Excerpt***

A proposal.

Karthik,

I write this letter not because I wish to hide myself under a cloak of obscurity, nor do I aim to charm under the guise of anonymity. I am who I am and much as I yearn for your acceptance I fear I cannot change myself for you. I am skipping ahead here, let me tell you the purpose of this letter. I write this letter to tell you that I love you. There is nothing extraordinary or admirable about my love. I love you for selfish reasons. I love you for the silliest reasons. I fear they would make little sense to you. But, I am not afraid of rejection. I also do not promise to lead a life pining for you, should you refuse.

I am neither sentimental nor emotional. I detest anything pink and I think romance is for the mentally weak. Or so I used to think until I met you. Now, I seem to yearn for mere moments spent in your company. I dislike this yearning. I close my eyes at night and you appear in my dreams. I wish to not dream so. I also would like to give the giggly girl you were flirting with yesterday, a black eye. I wish also to make myself disappear, should you hold her hand tomorrow. I should also mention now that I will be a jealous wife, reasonably jealous - after all isn't that part of what defines passion?

I confuse myself with my feelings for you. I do not think you are particularly attractive. I just like the way your hair falls over your left eye. I do not think you are tall enough or muscular enough - just that I spend five minutes every day imagining my head leaning on your shoulders. I think you have a pretty irregular face, not as chiseled a chin as I would like, nor as sharp a nose. Yet, I cannot bear to glance away when your eye steals my sight. I do not necessarily understand these feelings. I do not believe that I would have to. After all, love is not something to be understood or defined. Love is what an old married couple feel when they take their slow evening walk to the temple, not hand in hand, not even talking to each other - it is what each silent moment is filled with, between them, all around them. Or so I imagine. I could be wrong. All I ask of you is this - if I am wrong, will you spend your life with me, telling me what is right?

I do believe I love you. If this is not love, will you be by my side and teach me to love?

Yours
Anuradha

***Excerpt***

A not so short story :)

* * * And that folks, is The End!* * *
***Excerpt***

1. The world of Padma Maami.

"I knew she would tell me the news soon...after all it has been three years since their first child...have you seen my granddaughter, swetha? She is a darling...has quite an accent too...", Padma maami gushed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, even the tired laugh lines on her aged face seemed to be alive, twitching as she spoke about her NRI daughter's sudden visit. She sat cutting vendakai on an aruvamanai, the little round bits cut mechanically and with surprising precision. She paused for a second to wipe her forehead with her podava thalapu - she still wore a nine yards saree, mostly silk although well worn. She still wore kumkumam on her forehead, a big red vermillion dot that now looked a bit smudged, kohl lined eyes often hidden behind old fashioned spectacles and an aquiline nose that could identify any spice from just a whiff. One often found Padma maami sniffing at her rasam when noone looked and adding a touch of coriander, a pinch of her home made rasam mix and viola, as Mr.Srinivasan often said, appreciatively, slightly patting his tummy, "Amruthama iruku, Padma...".

Mr.Srinivasan was a small, round person with a balding forehead and an avuncular, genial air about him, in sharp contrast to his wife, who looked and often was demanding, particular about her preferences and unforgiving about mistakes unless it came to her only daughter Madhumati (Madhu for short), who happened to be the subject of Padma Maami's animated conversation with her neighbour, Lakshmi Krishnamurthy. Lakshmi maami was a placid, contended small woman who admired her close friend Padma for being everything that she wasn't but she prided on being Padma's confidante and emotional anchor. When the two women started their daily chatter, even their husbands knew better than to interfere.

It was no secret that Padma maami wanted Madhu to marry Lakshmi's son, Srikanth, who secretly nursed a crush on Madhu when they both had been neighbours in India but now was happily married having realized he could never hope to match Madhu's wavelength, or attract her free, almost impertinent spirit. He, like his mother was satisfied in life, delighted in small pleasures that life had to offer and like everything else in his life, did not want to struggle for anything, be it a career or love. As much as the older women looked forward to the match, Madhu frowned upon it initially and then in no uncertain words made it clear to Srikanth that she had other ideas about her soul mate. A confused Srikanth, although initially disappointed, had managed to convince his mother who talked Padma out of it. Padma maami was not happy about her decision being rejected.

A few years later, to further complicate matters and strain the mother-daughter relationship, Madhu had come back from US during a short vacation and had announced that she was in love with an Indian artist, born and brought up in Virginia. Padma maami was scandalized, "My daughter marry an uneducated artist? Atleast if the boy were from MIT, Harvard, I can understand...who is this Ketan? How does he make a living?" and the battle had raged for several months before Mr.Srinivasan decided to firmly put his foot down and settle the affair one way or the other. In his usual affectionate way, he had managed to persuade his wife that his daughter was capable of an intelligent choice, "Padma, think about it...Madhu is an independent girl, very smart, nammalaye vithu saptiduva...we should not judge Ketan before we meet him..." and slowly, Padma maami had relented, although she maintained a frigid silence whenever anyone talked about Ketan in her presence. Over the years, mother and daughter had managed to make peace.

A few events had taken place now and then that would make Padma maami shed huge tears and complain bitterly to Lakshmi, "My own flesh and blood and she thinks her mother need not set eyes on her paethi...could there be anything more cruel? When she does come here, I will not touch the child..." Of course, a picture of her precious Swetha sent by snail mail with a scrawl from Madhu, "Amma, she looks just like you, doesn't she?" had immediately changed the equation. And now, after three years, Madhu had called one rainy afternoon to tell Padma that she was expecting a second child. Padma maami's joy knew no bounds, "Keteengala, she is coming to India too...that girl is smart, correcta three years and now she has planned another child...do you think it will be a boy?" Mr.Srinivasan had been slightly troubled by the tone of his daughter's voice but decided to not mention anything to his highly volatile wife.

***
***Excerpt***

2. The Airport Scene

That morning, strains of Suprabharatham could be heard as early as 5 AM, after all, Madhu was coming home that day and nothing could awaken Padma maami earlier, not even Marghazi. Mr.Srinivasan tried to catch a few more minutes of blissful sleep but then gave up the futile attempt when he opened his eyes a fraction and saw Padma maami ambling towards him, an eversilver dabara tumbler in her hand, her eyes half closed as she sang along with the tape recorder. He looked at her fondly, slightly shaking his head to himself, with all her imperfections - prudishness, a penchant for gossip, a tongue that lashed out when provoked...he could not have asked for a better wife, 28 years together and he hoped he would breathe his last with her by his side...breaking out of his unusual morning reverie, he mentally estimated chores to be completed before they set out to pick up their daughter and grand-daughter at the airport.

Padma maami was in a highly excited state - the incessant rush at the airport, the palpable tension, the animated buzz of conversation and the confused arrays of auto rikshaws and taxis lining the roads seemed to only fuel her nervous energy. Mr.Srinivasan held her hand - a gesture very unusual for him, especially in public - and directed her through the crowd. He glanced back at his wife every now and then, she had eyes only for her daughter and grand-daughter, searching through the sea of faces to catch a glimpse of them, well knowing that they were half an hour ahead of schedule.

"The flight must be delayed...or their baggage must be delayed, else they would be here by now, wouldn't they? Maybe Swetha tripped and fell...do you think Padma can handle her alone in this crowd?"

Mr.Srinivasan patiently answered her constant volley of increasingly improbable questions, while his own eyes started taking in the faces of the tired passengers who came down the escalator with an assortment of hand luggages.
"Mr.Srinivasan! Mr.Srinivasan, hello, how are you, hello Padma maami!", the lanky young man waved enthusiastically, his face almost but hidden between irate visitors and passengers.

"Kashta kaalam...ippo thaan varanumo ivan!", Padma maami positively glowered at Srikanth and Mr.Srinivasan looked troubled at the prospect of handling his wife and Lakshmi's son, Srikanth. Padma maami still blamed Srikanth for not being forceful enough with Madhu, if only he had showed more interest, Madhu would be married to him, living close to them...Mr.Srinivasan nodded a polite hello to him and kept his eyes on the passengers coming in, but Srikanth was not to be deterred.

"What a coincidence! I came to pick up a colleague who is coming in from Germany! You must be here for Madhumati...Is Ketan also coming? I haven't seen them for so many years now!", Srikanth continued with innocent exuberance, thrilled at the prospect of meeting an old friend.

As soon as she heard Ketan's name, Padma maami frowned and resolutely turned away from Srikanth while Mr.Srinivasan made small talk with him. Suddenly, Padma maami almost yelled, causing the young woman standing next to her to draw in her breath sharply, "Ado, vandutta! She has become so thin...", hardly had the words left her mouth, when her eyes watered and she started weeping profusely, causing the woman next to her to move back several steps.

Madhumati wore a lilac colored salwar kameez and carried her daughter with her left hand as she deftly maneuvered her luggage trolley forward. For once Mr.Srinivasan agreed with his wife's initial appraisal of Madhu's health, she seemed to have become more gaunt, even taller than her 5'7", her hair dyed in brown streaks even shorter than before, almost above her shoulders and her arms seemed more bony than before...she scanned the crowd for a few seconds and her eyes lighted up for a few moments when she saw her parents and she smiled as she walked towards them. As soon as she caught sight of Srikanth, a shadow of a frown crossed her pale face...

Padma maami needed no fancier invitation, she literally fell on Madhu and Swetha and hugged them in the midst of the crowd, "Madhu, you have become so thin...My God, look at your arms, are you not eating child? If only you had not married that..."
Before her mother could launch into one of her public sermons, Madhu gently extricated herself from the bear hug and set Swetha down. Swetha, jetlagged and now being smothered with kisses from her grand mother did not get much of a chance even to whine. Mr.Srinivasan looked at the scene, a bit embarassed and looked at Madhu, "Madhu ma, how have you been? Is all well?", he held up a palm half-enquiringly, half-concernedly...she didn't answer immediately but just smiled and touched her father's forehead with hers and put her hand around his shoulder as if to tell him all was right with her world, but her eyes seemed to tell him a different tale.

***
***Excerpt***

3. Idlis, Smiles and Tears.

"What does my Swetha kutti want to eat? Dosa taratuma? Mallipoo madiri idli?", Padma maami fondly questioned her grand daughter who seemed confused to have so many choices thrust on her. While grandmother and granddaughter conversed thus in the kitchen, father and daughter sat in the verandah and discussed issues concerning much more than the evening tiffin.

"Madhu ma, is your green card processing going ok? You were telling me that there was some delay?", after having enquired about her health and Swetha's health, Mr.Srinivasan tried to touch upon a few relevant issues before asking Madhu what he really wanted to ask - why hadn't Ketan come along? Was he keeping her happy? Why did she look so worried? He knew his daughter too well to understand that something was definitely not alright but he also knew enough to not annoy Madhu by sounding like his wife. He looked at Madhu worriedly...so sprightly a few years back and now so melancholy, it did not become her, the mischievous twinkle that often played in her brown eyes, so evident in Swetha's eyes now, was now replaced by a melancholy glaze, as if she were just physically here but had left her heart somewhere else, with someone else?

Madhu, though touched by her father's unspoken concern was still not comfortable discussing the events that had led to her sudden India trip, definitely not with her mother. She still couldn't adjust to life with just Swetha and her, a single mom...when had they fallen apart? Had she been too possessive, ruthless? Had she driven him to this end? But, why did he go into those silent phases when no amount of pleading could bring him back? And now, there was Swetha to take care of, if not for her, shouldn't he have come back for his daughter? The unpleasant memories, never too far away from the surface came flooding back and it took her a while to respond to her father's questions.

"Green card? Appa, I have quit my job...I am not going back, I...", before she could stop herself she found herself crying to her father unburdening everything on him...

"Appa ponnu pesindathu porum, come in for hot idlis and Vengaya sambhar, cheekram!", Padma maami's loud voice had an immediate effect on father and daughter. Madhu dried her tears and gestured with her finger on her lips...if her mother came to know, all hell will break loose...inspite of himself, Mr.Srinivasan smiled, everyone was scared of his wife. He patted his daughter and said in a small, comforting voice, "Madhu ma, everything will be ok, nee veetuku vanduta ila, pray to Venugopal, he will take care of us...", they walked in together into the house, each troubled yet strangely relieved.

The scene inside was as different from the one outside, as could be imagined. Swetha having been fed all of three huge fluffy idlis was now listening wide-eyed to a story about baby Krishna that her grandmother was telling her - it was hard to guess who was enjoying it more...

"Then baby Krishna stole all the curd and nobody knew...", Swetha mimicked her grandmother and spread her palm out and shook it slightly indicating that nobody really knew who stole all the curd, "Vaa Madhu, vaango, have your idli sambhar before it becomes cold!"

Madhu smiled as she sat down to gulp down her mother's idlis, it had always been her favourite tiffin, the soft fluffy bits melted in her mouth and she gulped down the slightly spicy and aromatic sambhar. Padma maami looked expectantly at Madhu. Speaking with her mouth full, Madhu said, "Amma, terrific..." and Padma maami smiled immediately and went back to the story.

After tiffin, as Madhu washed her hands in the kitchen, Padma maami stood near the sink, wiping the dishes with a small cloth, "How are things in America? What is maplai saying? Is he joining you here in a few days? When do you have to go back" Madhu knowing the questioning session was not far off was prepared, "So, so...he will not be joining me here. Umm...I will be here awhile, amma, am very tired now, naliku pesalama?"

Padma maami had a thousand unanswered questions in her head and it was late in the night when she finally fell asleep.

***Excerpt***

4. A trip to Marina Beach.

Madhu woke up in surprisingly good spirits looking forward to a relaxing day at home. Swetha came running breathlessly almost immediately and poured out all the exciting things she had to share with her mother, "Amma, today arun anna, bhaskar anna and aunties, uncles came, they want to see you...", so saying she tugged at Madhu's night gown. Madhu survyed her daughter, half-exasperated, half-amused...she looked like a doll, dressed in a pink frock, her hair well oiled and platted in two plats with pink ribbons around them - painstakingly done by Padma maami - "Atleast as long as she is here, let me take care of my paethi!". Madhu was not happy at the prospect of greeting several relatives and answering their questions so soon. She quickly freshened up, picked a salwar kameez, changed her mind and selected a light blue saree and walked in to greet the "interview panel".

"Madhumati, come come, so many years since we saw you...how have you been? You have thinned down so much!", her chithi exclaimed, her husband immediately nodded his agreement, her athai, Girija maami exclaimed that Madhu has become a vella kaari after all these years while her athimber, Mr.Chandrasekar chewed tobacoo and greeted Madhu simulateously...many shocked gasps, eager questions, sweaty hugs and discreet once-overs later, Madhu decided it was not as bad as she had imagined. No awkward questions yet about her husband, her job...the morning progressed in a daze for her and everyone's enthusiasm had waned a bit and they settled down to a languorous afternoon conversation before lunch. Madhu for her part was relieved on two accounts - Swetha had enough company to keep her occupied, although they created quite a racket around the house and her mother was too busy with the food preparations to add helpful bits of information about Madhu to the conversation.

The smell of jaggery, roasted cashews for the paal payasam mixed with the tangy smell of lemon rasam and Mr.Srinivasan's favourite, sweet green beans with thengai. Everyone ate with relish and complimented Padma maami, "Padma, epadi dee ipadi samaikara nee?", even the quiet and shy Padmanabhan, Padma maami's sister Vedavalli maami's husband, complimented her by asking for a second serving of the paal payasam. After the delicious but heavy afternoon sapadu, everyone settled around to an afternoon siesta which will be followed by a trip to Marina beach - Swetha was very excited about going to the beach, Madhu was not.

A few hours later, the whole family set out in two cars to the beach. Madhu sqeezed in with Swetha, Vedavalli maami and her two grandsons while Padma maami, Mr.Srinivasan, Mr.Padmanabhan, Mr. and Mrs.ChandraSekar came in the other car. Marina beach was crowded as it always is and they all walked quite a bit inside before they found a spot to settle down in. The kids immediately started running about and completely ignored Padma maami's frequent admonitions, "Don't go near the water else I will take you all home right now! Stay close!". Vedavalli maami summoned a thin, scared looking boy selling sundal and bought some sundal for everyone. The conversation hovered pleasantly over Arun's academic merits and Bhaskar's lack of the same when Vedavalli maami suddenly turned to Madhu, "What about your husband? Does he help with Swetha's school work, she must be in UKG now?"

"I take care of Swetha's school work, he is usually busy at work...", Madhu's voice trailed and Mr.Srinivasan cleared his throat uncomfortably trying to divert the conversation.

"Madhu, atleast tell me now, seeing that we have only our people around us, is there any problem between you and Ketan? You have been avoiding his topic for two days now!", Padma maami unwittingly questioned. To her, all these people were just family, Madhu would have laughed at the notion.

"Amma, can we talk about this when we are alone?"

The question met with a few sympathetic, a few disapproving glares from the family members, Padma maami now definitely angry that her daughter had insulted her close family and the impression that they would carry with them about Madhu's upbringing, said, "Illa, now is a good time, you will need the blessings of these people all through your life, they are our well wishers and we should talk now. Tell me, did you and Ketan have a fight?"

Madhu sat silently, playing with the sand, letting it run through her fingers slowly. Padma maami prompted her once more, in a softer tone, "Madhu, we are trying to help you, you have been stubborn once and decided to marry without our full consent, but we did not hold that against you...now, tell me, is something wrong? You are also expecting a baby and you need all our support, sollu ma..."

Madhu seeing no escape looked up and addressed her mom, "Amma, Ketan and I have decided to separate. I have resigned my job, I am back to India for good, I needed to take this break amma." and just like that it was all out in the open.

Madhu stood up and walked away from her family. She needed to be by herself, alone with her thoughts...

***Excerpt***