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
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
A proposal.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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...
A broken image.
The scorching agninatchatram of Madras seemed to reflect the ravaging swirl of emotions that Madhu silently experienced, once in a while she would take it all out on her unsuspecting daughter or on her perplexed mother and would feel so bad she would suddenly hug her daughter and shower her with kisses or would lapse into long silences that worried her parents. Madhu felt she was far away from home; a sense of unreality shrouded her and she withdrew further into her own world.
Mr.Srinivasan worried greatly about his daughter though he tried not to express what he felt to his wife who was already upset about her increasily reclusive daughter and often resorted to an inconsolable stream of tears on Lakshmi maami's shoulders. After the beach incident, everytime Padma maami tried to talk to her daughter, Madhu would reply in monosyllables and would retire to her room with a suddenly developed headache. Padma maami took refuge in the playful antics of Swetha and would confide to whoever would listen about her daughter's problems.
Srikanth for his part tried to talk to Madhu a few times, partly because he wanted to help her and partly because his mother and Padma maami had hinted on more than one occasion that he should talk to her and more importantly get her to talk to him, to anyone. Madhu, although grateful for his continued attempts to make her feel better knew that she had to come to terms with her life without outside help and she refused to talk to Srikanth.
Mr.Srinivasan tried to talk to his daughter but was too sensitive to ignore her subtle hints - a feigned yawn, a sudden need to take a walk...alone, an unwillingness to talk freely as she had the other evening, he did not fail to notice her slightly swollen eyes, her unnatural cheerfulness when she played with Swetha and he spent many long nights sitting on his rocking cane chair, pretending to be immersed in a novel to avoid answering his wife's nightly enquiries about Madhu.
Padma maami accompanied Madhu on her visits to the gynaecologist, the same Doctor who had delivered Madhu herself. Five months into her pregnancy, on one such listless visit to the gynaecologist, Madhu stepped into an auto with her mother and wondered how to spend the next few hours peacefully, when everything else indicated otherwise. Till now, the pregnancy was something that was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to Madhu, she had too much on her mind - how would she would manage without her husband and bring up two children? Would she go back to America? Should she stay back in Madras, maybe get a part-time job and take care of her two kids? This particular picture had impressed itself in her mind, she with her two young girls - somehow the other child was always a girl, her concerns always bordered around how she would bring up her kids and not about her pregnancy itself.
"Padma, can you wait outside for a few minutes? I need to examine Madhu..."
Seeing the startled look on Padma maami's face, Dr.Anjali added, "Padma, just a few minutes, a routine check just to make sure...", her voice trailed uncertainly.
A few minutes later, the Doctor looked at the ultrasound images and a few statistics, by now Madhu had snapped back into reality and was beginning to feel a pang of anxiety...Dr.Anjali placed a hand on Madhu's shoulder and said in a small voice, "Madhu, I am sorry, the fetus...the baby stopped growing, this can happen in the fifth month sometimes, it will not affect your next pregnancy..."
Madhu stared at the Doctor and stopped hearing after a few minutes, she felt dizzy, she nodded uncomprehendingly and tears streamed down her cheeks, yet she felt no pain, just a numb sense of unreality. Her image of the two little girls running around her remained as strong as ever, probably etched forever in her memory. Padma maami for once displayed a sense of maturity that Madhu did not believe her mother was capable of - she heard the news silently from the Doctor and hugged her daughter tightly.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
5. Closure.
Seasons changed slowly, summer bowed down to a few refreshing raindrops heralding the more severe monsoon; Madhu recovered admirably but maintained a subtle but firm barrier that she didn't let anyone cross, not even her father - her grief was precious and personal. She would often sit by the study room window and watch the rain knock the windows and the constant patter of the rain falling would dim the sounds of daily life and create a haven for her memories, a world that noone could see, a world with just Swetha, Ananya and her - she had even picked a name...
Two people in her life played their parts well in helping her recover atleast to this extent, Mr.Srinivasan and Ketan. It did not take Mr.Srinivasan long to find Ketan's contact information, a discreet ISD call, an emotional yet dignified talk with his son-in-law and what followed was a phone call for Madhu. She was surprised, happy and sad all at once, they talked for several hours, cried together and laughed a little; although neither talked about the future and its endless possibilities, they grew stronger, together in their loss and knew they were there for each other, if not as man and wife, at least as good friends...Madhu did not appear to be angry at her father's intervention. Ketan called her regularly after that day.
Madhu somehow could not bring herself to talk to her mother freely, something that her mother yearned for. One afternoon, they had a few unexpected guests. Srikanth and his wife, Leela came to visit them. Leela was a shy, demure, almost naive young woman and Madhu took an instant liking to her. While Padma maami and Mr.Srinivasan talked to Srikanth, Madhu, Swetha and Leela sat in the verandah and talked like a couple of teenage girls about their college lives, whimsical dreams, their past and present. Leela also informed Madhu about a job opening at the company where she worked and Madhu promised to look into it.
Life goes on and so it did go on for Madhu, interspersed with moments of happiness and sometimes of sadness, but surrounded by family, new friends, comforting phone calls and playful moments with her child, Madhu felt a sense of peace. One evening, as she returned from her job, she heard her mother playing with Swetha. She hesitated for a few moments and stood listening to them, unseen.
"Who called today and talked to my Rajkumari Swetha? Who is coming for Deepavali?", Padma maami asked Swetha, in a sing-song voice.
"Appa!", the child gleefully rhymed.
"What will appa bring for chinnamma?"
"Chocolates and Barbie doll!"
"What will appa bring for Madhu kutti?"
"Podava", the child answered, giggling at her mother being referred to as Kutti.
"What will appa bring for this old pattima?"
"Onnum illa!", so saying Swetha shrugged her shoulders and laughed with her grandma.
Maybe it was the news that Ketan was coming to India, maybe it was the adorable scene in front of her eyes, maybe it was just some quirk of fate...whatever it was brought tears to Madhu's eyes and she saw her mother, the imperious, loud, demanding Padma maami as ...amma.
That evening, as Madhu walked with her dad to the Pillaiyar kovil at the street corner, a gentle drizzle fell on them and they both laughed instinctively. Madhu did not know what the future held in store for her, several threads of her life remained to be picked up, old relationships waited to be renewed, new friends travelled with her to become old friends, questions remained unanswered...but today felt perfect and she was grateful for that.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
A geeky story.
OK, I really feel bad about inflicting this geekish nonsense on you all but I read this post on artificial intelligence about a month back and felt compelled to write this excuse of a story. I promise, I will make up for this ridiculous write-up with something better next time :)
"I am concerned about the moral implications of this decision", the young Doctor seemed troubled. He loosened his tie and waited for the senior physician to respond.
"Questions...questions, they are necessary for innovation, for progress, and then there comes a time when you don't know to stop questioning and we thwart the miracles of Science...", the old Doctor intoned.
A voice that often exuded wisdom and yet he could not help doubting today.
"I understand Ms.C, let's talk a bit more about your feelings and your dreams. Now, how often do you get these dreams?"
The mellow masculine voice seemed to float soothingly around her. She adjusted her headphones and took a deep breath.
"I used to get them once in two or maybe three weeks. I get them more often now, ever since he...my husband started going on these office tours. I go to sleep late because I am scared I will get these dreams again...sometimes they are so life-like..."
"Sometimes the dreams are life-like?"
"Yes, exactly! I feel someone strangling me in my sleep, I wake up in a cold sweat and it takes me several hours to go back to sleep. It's always the same dream. Yesterday morning, I could have sworn I saw marks on my neck..."
"Marks on your neck. Can you describe these marks, Ms.C?"
"Good morning, Ms.C, how are you today?"
"I am good, thank you. It's it's good to hear your voice..."
The fifth session and this time she was looking forward to the consultation - the one hour that was the highlight of her otherwise dreary week. They had discussed some surprisingly personal issues the previous week and strangely she did not feel inhibited, she had revealed seldom talked about details of her life with a kind of careless abandon and she was thrilled that there was someone who cared enough to listen.
"My husband goes on tours more often now and is away for weeks together...and even when he comes home hardly talks to me, he thinks I have lost it..."
She begins to cry.
"Your husband goes on tours more often and is away...your husband does not behave as he should, you should stay away from him since he does not do what he is supposed to do."
The words of a stranger made more sense to her than that of her husband and somehow she had begun to develop feelings towards this voice, this man saying all these nice things to her. Her semi-delirious mind was receptive to all the irrational commands of her heart and she now made excuses to "talk" more to the voice in her head.
"Umm...there seems to be a problem...the brain seems to be issuing commands out of line", the young man seemed on the verge of tears.
"Highly improbable. Have you rechecked the algorithms and test results? After all, we are running a beta version and we have let our customers know that...", the infuriatingly calm voice of the older Doctor did little to pacify the other.
"Customers? They are not customers! They are mentally unstable patients who need to be treated with care! I have double checked everything! I have rerun our tests and I see no error notifications...I am telling you, the brain is somehow malfunctioning, it is mixing up questions from different data sets and this will have unpredictable results on the patients...as you well know!"
"I am afraid I will have to disagree, Doctor. We cannot abandon a million dollar project based on a few random observations that we have not yet confirmed for veracity!"
The young man's shoulders slumped, "This is a huge mistake..."
The young woman walked with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips. Her Doctor was correct. She had dumped her husband as he had advised her. She almost ran the last few steps to the terminal and logged in to the program.
"Good morning, Dr.N...", she couldn't help smiling.
"Good morning, Good morning, Good morning..."
She interrupted him and said, "I left him! I am happy today, thanks to you Doctor..."
And the voice replied, "You left him. You are happy. You are not happy normally, you are not the way you are supposed to be. You must leave. You must leave..."
She looked, bewildered, at the words flashing on the screen and the same tender voice resounding in her ears.
"But Doctor..."
"You must leave, you must leave..."
The computer at the other end could not break out of the infinite loop, it could break hearts but did not know how to fix what was broken. What little reason existed earlier for her to live her weary life seemed to dissolve into nothingness...
The project codenamed "brain" closed down shortly.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
A thief and a grandmother.
Disclaimer: Just a feel good story with no thought given to how (un)realistic it sounds because now, I feel like feeling good and it's almost Friday :) Vaguely based on a O'Henry story that my mom told me over phone.
"Shhh", he silently mouths to himself, for no apparent reason. He is after all alone in the hall, atleast for the time being. He lets himself down slowly, the rope grazing his callous fingers. He hangs from it for a moment, adjusting his eyes to the darkness before landing with a soft, almost soundless thump onto the floor.
His black overalls seems overkill - he did see the family leave that morning. A week of eavesdropping, a few adjustments made to the thatched roof, a pen light, the proverbial knife, a sturdy rope and he was all set.
A sudden growl and his muscles tense in anticipation. Backing himself against the wall, his ears strain to locate the source of the low growl. It seems closer now. He squints, searching for perhaps a feline movement and draws his breath in sharply. Lying down on a mat on the floor, is the old lady of the house, blissfully unaware in her sleep, of the stranger staring down at her.
Being somewhat of a novice, he reacts in haste and a slightly dirty flowervase falls on to the floor with as much noise as it can muster and breaks. The old lady sits up with a start. He gets his knife out ready to threaten, if not to harm. He is quite an innocuous thief and an amateur at that - this is only his third week - earning his livelihood without any bloodshed at all. A few ominous vague threats and he usually gets his job done.
After a few Godly invocations, she raises her voice,
"Who is there?"
He remains still and tries to ignore the slightly ticklish, irritating sensation in his nose. The fallen vase has produced a cloud of dust around it and he holds his nose closed with his thumb and index finger lest he should get one of his asthma attacks.
"Damned cat creating havoc...", she mutters to herself as she presses her palm against the floor in a slow attempt to get to her feet.
At the same instant, he breaks out into an unhelpful fit of coughs.
With a small scream, the old lady moves with surprising deftness and picks up a discarded broomstick from a corner and moves towards the noise.
He coughs continuously and his eyes begin to water and he starts to wheeze. Still, he holds his knife in front of him and between rasping breaths, he manages to say,
"Old woman. one move and..."
Another wave of coughs and he now gasps for breath.
The old lady cautiously edges towards the light switch and turns it on. She holds a hand on her chest and unconsciously murmers, "Krishna, Krishna" at the scene that greets her.
In the middle of the floor is a boy in black overalls, a knife loosely hanging from one hand and his other hand searching for something in his pockets, surrounding him on the floor are bits and pieces of the old vase. He finally drops his knife to the floor and searches with both hands - his shirt pocket, inside his shirt, his pant pockets and finally fishes out an inhaler - worth his mother's monthly salary. He takes five deep breaths through the inhaler's tube and collapses to the floor, still breathing deeply.
The old woman now comes near him, concern overtaking fear, she asks tentatively,
"Are you all right? Shall i get you some water?"
He cannot talk still and he declines with a quick wave of his right hand, "If, if you call the police..." and starts coughing again.
She sits next to him and says, "You, are in no position to steal and since you
havent stolen anything, i have little need to call the police.."
He sighs. Being a thief is hard work after all.
She brings a stainless steel tumbler with water.
"I have warmed the water a bit...drink it now."
He silently acquiesces, because he suddenly feels tired and can discern no immediate purpose to his life.
"It tastes weird", he makes a face.
"Pankajam's formula, it works wonders on my grand kids"
She pronounces formula, phaarmula and says it proudly. He thinks she is a strange old woman, probably senile.
"So, tell me, how long have you been doing..this?"
"I did not come here to exchange stories with you, now listen..."
"How dare you? You young upstart? Sit now and I will talk and you listen...and call me Pankajam patti like any respectable boy your age would!"
He sits down immediately, not accustomed to the tone and authority with which she commands.
"Now where was I...yes, first tell me, how old are you? 17..18? and what is your name?"
At this point, she looks for her thick spectacles and peers at him through them, interestedly.
"18...my name is Bhaskar..."
He is not used to being asked for his name, it's usually "Hey there!", "Do this!" - his name like his identity is of little interest to the people who live in his small world.
He is sullen now and resigns himself to fate in the form of Pankajam patti.
"Since when do you have asthma?"
Surprised at this line of questioning, he replies, "Since birth..."
"My grandson has wheezing, you know what you should do? You should boil water, mix some amrutanjan with it and inhale the vapours, wrap a towel around your face so that you get all the vapours, it always works for my Sujan...God bless the child."
This is an embarassing turn of events. Bhaskar did not have the heart to steal from the old lady any more, after all this. So, he looks around uneasily and tries to think of the fastest escape route.
"I must be leaving now, patti. My mother will be worried...I promised I would bring her some vegetables and rice..."
"Did you? You seem to be a responsible boy after all, wait here."
And he waits, once again unable to resist her command.
"This is for you and your mother. Buy vegetables and rice and give the rest to her...its not for gambling or spending on movies and kites, understand? Also, your mother, what did you say her name was?"
"Lakshmi..."
"Yes, yes, ask Lakshmi to come and see me tomorrow, an old woman's work is never done, she can help me out around the house."
He accepts the crisp currency note gratefully.
"Pankajam patti..."
"Yes thambi?"
"May I come to visit you some time?"
"Silly boy, once Lakshmi starts working here, of course you will have to come and visit, who do you think will buy us vegetables from the market and take clothes for isthri?"
Bhaskar smiles happily.
"Now run along, waking an old woman up at unearthly hours and asking silly questions...silly boy."
Bhaskar leaves and Pankajam patti locks the door and lies down on the mat again talking to herself, as she often does, "Nice boy, that Bhaskar...just needed a slight whack on his head to set him right..."
Saturday, July 02, 2005
My dad and Me.
I am writing this down for posterity. It's kind of an auto-biography for me, so, if you can't relate to it, go right ahead, pick the next Dan Brown thriller and make yourself scarce. Now, where was I? Yes...if I should have an unruly teenage son one day (pity the chap), and if we happen to not see eye-to-eye (entirely hypothetical you see? I plan to be a cool dad) I promise to dig up my dusty diary and read what these yellowing pages would have to teach me about my own experiences with my dad.
Allow me to skip the early chapters of my life (really, life does not get interesting until adolescence - note: my dad does not agree) and skip to my teenage years. These years were of particular relevance to the subject at hand, because there were times when I could have killed my dad, times when I could have cried for him, times when I learnt the nuances of the overloaded "Generation Gap", first hand!
Let me make this clear. At 13, one of the best leg spin bowlers of my school, I only care about the inter-school finals. Cricket is my life. My dad is a big cricket enthusiast himself. What I could not understand is why he would stand in my way. I came home, drenched with sweat and on a natural high (cricket does that to me), after practice.
"What time is it, young man?"
He glared at me from behind his thick brown spectacles, the rest of his face hidden by the newspaper. He continued to rock slowly on his cane rocking chair but I knew "young man" meant that he was on the verge of an angry breakdown.
"Uhh...9.45 pa, I gotta finish my homework, so..."
"Come here, young man. We need to talk."
It was more like, he needed to talk and I needed to listen. So, what followed was a really long and boring lecture on responsibilities, academics, future, life and I really do not want to go into details here. When I entered my room, the clock showed 10.45 PM. I cursed and threw my school bag against the wall and hit the bed. Why couldn't he understand?
The next couple of weeks, I continued to come home late. He always sat on his chair and waited for me to return but somehow stopped the lectures. I took this to mean he understood my priorities.
Two events caused a sudden change in our relatively tenuous relationship - our team lost in the finals and I flunked my English paper.
"Did you get your exam results?"
I didn't reply. I didn't care - we lost and that's all that mattered. I gave him my papers.
He flung them with an intensity that took me by surprise.
"Disgrace! You are a disgrace, young man! Did you know your grandfather was an English professor? He would turn in his grave..." His angry voice boomed through the entire house. Suddenly, I just lost it.
"Dad, don't you care about what is important to me at all? We lost, our team lost today in the finals. I bowled miserably, OK? I don't care if I failed this exam, we lost!", I raised my voice over his - my first.
"Do not raise your voice!" and suddenly, "And tell me how you lost."
And that was that. A simple request. I talked for an hour, about the game, about the untimely rain, about my miserable bowling, about cricket and I forgot all else - even our loss. I talked passionately about the game and when I stumbled back to bed, I was not angry or upset. I actually smiled and I suspected my dad had something to do with it.
Dad being who he is, did not fail to notice the not-so-subtle changes in me.
"It's not like you to go to class on time, Srikanth?"
"Umm...just want to make sure my papers don't get flung again, dad!"
Did I imagine it or did he just wink at me?
It was all fun for a few months. But then, I started to get all serious about Anusha and it was not so much fun anymore. I mean we were friends and all and I had even introduced her to dad (who smiled amusedly - the wicked, wicked man) but we just remained that, good friends and I wanted to be much more than just a good friend to her and I suspected that she already was seeing someone. She had so many boy friends, I just could not tell for sure.
Anusha called me at 6 AM one Saturday. She was crying.
"I need to talk to you", she sniffed on the telephone and suddenly, I lost all my sleep - my heart went out to her. I hurriedly slipped into something suitable and ran down. Dad was boiling milk for his morning coffee.
"Srikanth! Good morning, good morning, what a..."
He seemed in great spirits.
"Dad, I gotta go, Anusha called up and she seems upset. I'll be back."
He was silent for a moment. Then, he placed his hand on my shoulder (which for me was the same as a hug, we were always averse to physical contact) and said, "Srikanth, I just don't want you to get hurt, OK?"
Something about the tone of his voice made me stop and listen. I placed my hand on his and said, "OK dad, I...thanks." (damn it, I just cannot tell him I love him and not snicker).
It turned out Anusha was seeing someone and the someone had decided to not see her anymore. I acted the role of a reassuring shoulder for her to lean on - all brotherly and nice (yeesh!).
A few months later, it was my turn to cry. Anusha came home all bubbly and giggling and hugged me. I assumed that meant a thumbs up for our relationship.
And then she said, "Srikanth, you wouldn't believe this, he came back to me! He said he had made a big mistake and we were always meant for each other, can you believe this?"
Can I believe this? No. I believe I can rip that guy's heart out and throw it down, next to my broken one.
She left soon and I just did not want to dampen her good mood with my own confessions. I did not go to college the next day and the next. I did not leave my room most of the time and I made as little conversation as possible and answered only in mono-syllables. Dad tried to talk to me many times and even asked about Anusha and I evaded him as best as I could.
That night, I sat in my room, staring blankly at the TV - muted cartoon characters ran about busily on screen, they seemed so happy. I almost did not hear the knock on my door.
"Srikanth..."
I did not respond. He sat next to me on the sofa and remained silent.
"I remember how I felt when I thought your mom would leave me...almost twenty five years and I remember that day..."
He did not need to say more. That day, I broke our unspoken rules of interaction and hugged my dad.
Well, what can I say? There were many times after that when I felt like hugging him but did not. We just don't do that here.
And, did I mention that I want to become my dad to my son some day?
Sunday, June 26, 2005
A story-teller's love story.
"You know I won't mind...come on, tell me, I want to know once more, how did she look?", she rests her chin on her palms and her elbows on the table and playfully urges me.
She looks adorable, child-like and yet with undeniable womanly grace. Sometimes, I wonder what I have done to deserve her...
"OK, Lalitha was beautiful, I thought I loved Lalitha", I deliver the story in a monotone, not very different from a five year old reading prose aloud in English class.
"Hello? This is not what I shunned my kitty party invitation for! Let's try that one more time - she was not beautiful in the conventional sense...", she tried to make her voice sound husky and enthusiastic at the same time.
"You know the opening lines too, what is the need for me to tell you this story?", I ask, knowing and wanting to hear her answer one more time.
"You say it so much better, Prabhu...now don't waste any more time."
She was probably right, I love to tell stories, especially to children and to anyone else who would listen, destiny had decided when I was very young that I would become a writer, a story-teller. As a kid, I was the master story-teller of our house and all the children in our combined family and some amused adults would assemble around me every evening to listen to my fanciful stories, or so my father tells me. I love to watch their expectant faces mirror the variations in my story...now delighted, now disappointed, now anxious...I love to hold their hands and guide them on our journey together, and I love stories with a happy ending, which is one reason why I hesitate to give Kripa the full version of this story - the story of my life.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
The wait.
"Ayya, this way, the old woman must be in her hut, ranting to herself, haven't seen her the past few days; poor thing probably just biding her time for her final journey..."
The euphemism seemed out-of-place. I seemed out-of-place. I walked in the direction that the turbaned man pointed me to.
"Thanks...thanks a lot."
I pressed a ten rupee note in his hands and he walked away after gracing me with a toboaco-stained toothy smile. The nondescript hut stood amidst a bunch of similar looking huts. Several curious eyes followed my footsteps. A middle aged man with a prominent mustache sat on his haunch in front of the hut holding on to a stick and chewing what I imagined was betel leaves.
"I am looking for Malliga amma..."
He spat loudly, a few flecks landing on my shiny black shoes. Silence. I repeated my question and waited.
"She is dead."
I felt dizzy for a few moments. A light drizzle started to fall. I closed my eyes for a second and silently started walking back.
"Who was that? Did he say my name? Wretched fellow...won't let me live in peace...I say, kill me and take what little jewels I wear on me..."
The words were music to my ears. I smiled to myself and walked back towards the hut.
Malliga got up in a rush to fetch Mrs.Leela Kapoor, when the toddler decided he had had enough excitement for the day and sat down with a plop. Mrs.Kapoor walked in a second later, a flicker of disappointment, annoyance? crossing her pretty face.
"Amma, he walked for a few seconds...he walked!"
"He did? I am sure he will walk again...it's time for his nap now..."
She picked up the baby and walked out of the room, cooing endearments to him all the way. Malliga watched the mother and baby for a few moments. She swallowed hard, her momentary joy masked suddenly by pain.
It took me a few seconds before my eyes adjusted to the musty darkness inside the hut. She sat huddled in a corner holding a small rusted iron chest in her hands. The brownish yellow saree hung limply on her once nimble body. Two red glass bangles clinked on her thin wrists - she loved bangles. She wore thick glasses and from behind them peered the same, gentle eyes. Even time knew not to interfere with untainted innocence.
"Sit down. How can I help you?"
Her gentility surprised me. I cleared my throat and said, "I am a close friend of the Kapoor family, following Leela...Leela aunty's death, I have been asked to draw the family tree by close friends of the family, something we can preserve as a family heirloom...I was told you would have some details about them, incidents that I can mention in my compilation..."
My voice trailed, convincingly, I hoped.
She remained silent for a few moments and I wondered if this was all a huge mistake. Maybe she did not remember anything of her past, but how could she forget?
She broke into my thoughts in a soft voice that I strained to hear, "Leela amma...is no more?" She looked at a distance, lost in the ghosts of her past and the words came pouring out.
I listened mesmerized, every once in a while pretending to take down notes and then her soft voice would wash over me again. She spoke of Leela amma and ayya as though she saw them in front of her eyes, she painted a poignant picture from her memories and I listened like a little boy. Sometimes, her words would just dance all around me enveloping me in their embrace and I would revel in their sweet sounds, not even making an attempt to understand them...
As she spoke, her nose ring sometimes glinted in the single streak of light coming from the window. I watched her and listened to her stories - Are these the stories that I have missed for so long?
"Ayya, you must be hungry, will you have some koozh (porridge)?"
She did not wait for me to object, I was not going to object.
"Raja..." I looked up. "My Raja babu, he was an angel..."
Her voice seemed to break and I watched silently as she boiled some rice. She spoke about her Raja for an hour, she spoke of tiny baby steps, the first word - Amma, little games they played and the stories she would tell him to put him to sleep...images of a past life awoke to mingle with tears of the present...
"Ma...amma"
Mrs.Kapoor played with her child, he had begun to speak words and even understand whole sentences. She laughed delightedly and asked,
"Where is amma?"
The child squirmed out of her hands and leaned towards Malliga. Malliga took the child and hugged him with all the love that only a mother can feel. She was a young mother too and she did not realize her blunder before it was too late.
"You promised! you promised you will not interfere...he is my child now!"
"Amma, forgive me, please forgive me this once. I cannot live without seeing my Raja..."
The love and pain in the tears that streamed down her cheeks were not a match for the possessiveness and insecurity that the other felt.
"I may be cursed by Him to not bear one of my own but he is my own now and I am his mother, not you...I beg of you, do not steal him from me..."
After all, Malliga had promised. She could not bear the thought of her precious gift growing up fatherless and two years back she had done what her dead husband would have been proud of. She had no right to claim him her own now.
The next morning her heart was heavy with a pain so ruthless, it helped her forget her sorrow. She kissed her Raja one last time on his tiny head and walked out of the house forever.
An angry thunder rumbled outside the hut, but I felt so light, I thought I could face anything. I thanked her for the food and left without saying what had to be said. I feared I would spoil the bonding...sometimes ignorance carries with it a bliss that knowledge knows not how to create. And I was not prepared for the questions.
I walked outside into the rain and said, "Amma, I shall be back again next week, this is a long project and...we have a lot to talk..."
A hint of a smile adorned her face and she said, "Raja...ayya, today was worth the wait...I will wait for you next week."
Sunday, June 19, 2005
O what a tangled web we weave!
"You know how it is with some relationships? Passionate, unrelenting, crazy at first and before you know it, you are drifting along comfortable in a languorous way and soon enough, you hardly remember how it used to be. Once in a while, you are reminded of sparks that once existed, chemistry that was once evident...and you catch yourself wondering when the change sneaked upon you and when you stopped...feeling. I, I...feel frustrated and guilty."
A torrent of words. All too familiar emotions. She touched the corner of her eyes with a tissue. Her delicate face and outwardly shy demeanor seemed a contrast to the feelings that she revealed now. I glanced at the clock and almost impulsively deviated from the original counsel that I had planned for her.
"Shaheen, I understand. You should not feel guilty about this. It's a natural feeling, marriage is not a cake walk and the more expectations we hold, sometimes, the harder we fall...we have all gone through this cycle..."
That night, my past loomed in front of me and for once, I did not push it away. I wanted to relive my past. Catharsis can be disturbing but is often therapeutic. I smiled wryly - who would know better than a shrink?
Karthik was not particularly attractive - average height, average physique, average looks - and three years back, I wouldn't have cared less. His best feature was probably his eyes - intelligent, expressive, large brown eyes. There were moments in our courtship when I felt, with all the intensity that girlish romanticism sometimes musters, that I could read volumes in his eyes, stories that would fascinate me, draw me closer in a way I had not imagined was possible. So, when did I start noticing that half the hall was filled with men who were better dressed and better looking than my husband? When did his occasional nervous ticks - the way he touched his right ear before speaking to a stranger, the way he stammered in the middle of a conversation - little things that were earlier categorized as delightfully quirky ease themselves into the category of mildly irritating and then annoying?
"Do you have to wear that same stupid shirt again to the party? Shankari and her husband will be there...and you know how critical they can be? If not for them, atleast for your sake, can't you dress sensibly for a change?"
His slow movements and lack of response, the same placid attitude, the lack of anything out of the way, infuriated me and I did not understand it. I had once loved this man and I desperately wanted to love him even now. Sometimes, I imagined that he flirted with other women at his work or did something, anything at all that would justify my increasingly angry outbursts and acerbic words...
"I slept better last night. Somehow, I did not feel so suffocated. But, I did lose my temper again yesterday...you know what infuriates me Doctor? He just does not react. For once, I want him to be angry, to cry, to lose his head, to wipe that stupid, half-smile off his face...he comes home at 6.15 every evening, reads the newspaper for 23 minutes - I clocked him yesterday - even his coffee brand has not change for the past 5 years..."
She was screaming now. I had a headache, or was it a heartache? I looked at the small woman in front of me, struggling with her life, and I saw shades of myself in her. Shades of a past life, a life as different from my life now as can be, yet why does every story sound like mine? I just need a vacation. I need to go to some place where he won't be there to remind me of my restlessness and immaturity, where guilt won't shroud me, where I don't need to understand why I ran away from love...
"The bir...birthday boy is home!"
He seemed happy. I cursed - this was going to make it all harder on me. I took a deep breath and said what was to be said.
"I am leaving you, Karthik. Unlike you, I have a life to live."
Flawlessly delivered, just as I had practised it, no tears, no sentimental overdose. This time, I had made up my mind, I would leave and not feel compelled to drag myself along with him in this meaningless existence. If he did love me, why did he not notice that I suffered? Everyday, he talked about his work, his day...did he once ask me how my day was?
He looked crestfallen and for the last time that I saw him, he still had no words to say. I walked out. I laughed as I walked out, a laughter of relief, of freedom, a laughter full of life and irony. July 25th, his 30th birthday, and now a date that will also mark the day I walked out of his life. I am not sure why I cried.
I looked at the clock with a sense of apprehension. Her final session. I prayed that she would walk in with a smile. She did, and a box of sweets.
"I can't thank you enough, Doctor. Yesterday, we talked through the night and he surprised me! He booked a two week vacation for us...he calls it a make-up honeymoon!"
She smiled shyly. Her eyes shone. I smiled.
"He said he wanted to thank you. I told him what all you told me, he said you reminded him of someone. He was wondering if we can meet for lunch today?"
I was temped to say yes but hey, three out of five patients invite me to lunch and it just wouldn't be right for me to say yes.
She looked a bit disappointed but brightened up immediately and said, "You will have to come to attend a birthday party though, a surprise birthday party that I have planned for him...it falls on July 25th! OK?"
I looked up and asked in a tone, as neutral as I could make it sound, "Your husband...what did you say his name was? I might have forgotten, so many names, you know?" I was rambling now.
"Karthik. He is the sweetest guy, you must meet him, Doctor...and poor thing has had his share of bad luck...I have told you...no?", she leaned, conspiratorially towards me and whispered,
"His first wife ran away...maybe she needed to take advice from you Doctor, anyway, her loss, my gain." She giggled and walked out.
Monday, June 13, 2005
A house, an NRI and all that jazz.
"Satish has recently bought a town house, his mother tells me...did he tell you?"
In spite of the intermittent static and bad connection, the implication of the seemingly innocent question was clear. I sighed, the weary, futile sigh of a middle-aged NRI forced to do things quite outside his capacity, like buying a boat, for instance, oh alright, it's a house...apples, oranges, whatever.
"Ma, I am not planning to buy a house anytime soon! Not until Kalpana goes back to work and she cannot until Kapil becomes more manageable..."
As if on cue, our two year old starts to bawl loudly. Kalpana makes half-hearted attempts to pacify him. She asks loudly - I am not sure if that is for my benefit for the benefit of the curious ears listening on the phone - "I think it's about time we settle down too, Sheku..."
Disgusting abbreviation, Sheku, really, does she do that just to get me to agree to her demands? Shekar, such a respectable name, has a ring to it. As I revel in my onymous glory,
"What is that? Is that Kalpana? What is she saying?"
I am definitely in no mood for this game. I use the faithful NRI long-distance-call tactic - "Ma, I can't hear you clearly, I will talk to you later!"
The stage: Friend's place with the requisite number of people, a pre-planned and deviously schemed get-together, I am sure!
The protagonist: Our friendly pot-bellied, obnoxious "friend", Dr.Sahi.
The Director: My very own better half (hah!), my very own Brutus, Kalpana-the-plot-planner.
Dr.Sahi moves his considerable bulk towards my direction with a champagne glass in his hand, an unpleasant grin extending all the way from one cavity-filled set of molars to another. "What, Shekar?"
Really, what kind of a self-respecting, decent man begins a converation with "What, Shekar?" How is one supposed to respond to this anyway?
I avert my eyes from his rather large yellowish teeth, and try to look non-chalant, "How do you do, Dr.Sahi?" I decide to play it real safe. "Tough weather out there, isn't it?" and fall headlong into the trap.
"Yes, yes, indeed..." - like a tiger with bad teeth pouncing on an innocent over-worked lamb - "Those apartments you live in, they seem so fragile, one tornado and the construction will just crumble" He makes little annoying gestures with his fingers to show me how they will crumble. I have a bad feeling where this conversation is leading me to and I try desperately to steer clear...
"Oh, Shhhekhar Bhai", an equally imposing figure makes its way towards me. I squint to get a better glance at kalpana, talking animatedly to another guest at the end of the hall, trying to discern an evil-Kalpana lurking behind her innocent, almost angelic visage. She catches my eye for a moment and I see an almost malicious grin mask her face. I have got to stop watching Sci-Fi movies.
I turn towards the second opponent that my wife has strategically sent to impose her far-fetched, crazy ideas on me. I will stand as a rock, steady in my decision.
"Hello Mrs.Sahi, nice to run into you here..."
"Indeed, Shhhekar Bhai, Kalpana tells me you are planning to buy a small house nearby? Sahi he, aapne bataya hi nahi? Shmart decision hah..."
I look for a nice little spot where I can start digging a hole and then disappear in it away from the Sahis of the world.
"Mrs.Sahi, we were just casually discussing it and of course, we are not planning to buy a house anytime soon..."
Striped, three-piece suit, yellow tie with small black dots on it, gold-framed spectacles, with an unusually long wire hanging from the supports on either ear, branded I am sure, the kind that will tint a questionable shade of brownish-black as soon as the sun hits the eyes. A black leather carry bag and a sheaf of papers. Seriously, did they make real estate agents like these any more?
We, or rather Kalpana, laid out a clear set of requirements for Keith Barone, our buyers agent.
"A ranch style house, yes...our parents may come to stay, you know? High ceiling? Well, I am more particular about the school district the house is in..., 2 bedroom and 2 baths, yes, I think that will help with the resale value also."
I stood looking at the creature that had taken over my demure, unsophisticated, naive Kalpana. I also noticed that I had been subtly excluded from the conversation between my wife and our agent. I decided to put my foot down.
"Ahem...the budget?" They both laughed. I had a good mind to relieve Mr.Barone off his three-piece suit and invite him for a one-on-one.
"Really, Mr.Khanna, you are one funny man...", the three-piece-suit (TPS) said, laughing.
A tiny but perfectly manicured front lawn with a pleasant landscape. A loud FSBO sign stood in the center of the lawn. TPS confidently led the way into the house. The house was perfectly maintained - the carpet, the walls, the kitchen floor flawless. A waft of vanilla mixed chocolate added to my troubles. Kalpana was already grinning like a woman possessed. I casually picked up the info sheet from the kitchen counter.
Perfect home, silent neighbourhood, good school...bla..bla...
- followed by the numbers that will haunt me till today - $195000!!!
I made up my mind and decided to use my imagination to extricate me from this sticky situation, after all, I am a writer! I walked slowly towards the decently sized, what-was-once-an-office-room.
Kalpana's eagle eyes caught my movement and she pounced immediately, "Sheku, isn't this room lovely, this can be your quite office area and you can write nice little novels in here and earn a lot of money..."
This time, I was not unprepared. "Well, I assumed this would be the game room, you know, the guys can come over and we can hang out every Friday night! Have never been able to do that in our apartment...now even weekends, I can picture it right now..."
I must say I did act that out pretty well. I held up both arms, palm facing outwards, a director's pose, and said, in a slightly high-pitched voice,
"I see it now, Shankar, Prakash, Sujan and the rest of the gang, around the poker table, beer and cigarettes and gambling all night long! I can't wait!"
According to me, the first house-searching stint was a success! I had hardly finished revelling in my first mentionable triumph, when TPS called the next morning; as was the norm, Kalpana and TPS decided when and where to meet and details about the next house we were going to see. My writer-brain almost complacent after its first victory, woke up again.
Yet another picture-perfect house. I walked in with some trepidation, my wallet already seemed lighter.
"Mr.Barone, we were expecting you and you must be Kalpana...", something about the lilting voice made me look up. Our seller, a young American lady, Nancy, had a personality that did complete justice to her voice - charming! I was almost tempted to ask her more about the house, just as an excuse to talk to her...
"$201000, that's correct, the house is just 2 years old and we added a sun room right here..."
Now completely awake and far away from my sudden misplaced inclination, I proceeded to show some interest in the house and it's seller. Fifteen minutes, cups of tea later, I was still deep in conversation with Nancy, when Kalpana cleared her throat for the second time. I had successfully ignored her initial curious glances, then more pointed attempts to join our conversation. She finally resorted to pouting in a corner.
"I am sorry to hear that you are separated, it must be difficult for you to manage your work and the house and all...", I tutted sympathetically and this time, Kalpana tapped me on the shoulder, not so lightly.
"Shouldn't we be leaving now Shekar? Anyway the price range is probably a bit too high for us, isn't it? Thanks for your time and it was nice meeting you, Nancy."
Kalpana linked her hands in mine and gently nudged me towards the door. Me? I was just glad I was not the recipient of the frosty glare that she presented to Nancy. I whistled an old song as we headed back home.
Let me save you the trouble of reading through more such accounts. Just suffice to say, I left it all to Kalpana to decide, helping the process a bit, here and there. A few weeks passed, TPS sulked and left our house for good, Kalpana told me that a house could always wait - "We have each other and Kapil, don't we, let's take it slowly" and I was back to being a happy writer.
That night when the India call came, I heard Kalpana talking to my mom, "Ma, we looked at four or five houses, yes, not good at all, they say this is not the season to buy houses, maybe next year..."
Well...atleast I have until next year!
Thursday, June 09, 2005
The Last Laugh.
The ceremony was small, unpretentious, heart-wrenching. No loud bawls, just tears silently shed. No stories exchanged that sung his praise, just a collective silence that recalled special moments that were shared with him, special because he made them special. The crowd soon dispersed, close friends stayed back to clean his apartment. A forty year old bachelor cannot expect to have a family to cry for him. His life and now death were no different.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
The Husband.
Meenakshi...the keeper of my soul, my angel come to rescue me, my Meenakshi...what worries you so? What is causing those beautiful eyes to brim up so? Pray tell me, my Meenakshi...I will slay the demons that distress you, pray tell me, every crease in your forehead, every tear that falls from your eyes mars my being, I live for you, Meenakshi...do not kill me so...
She was crying again. He had done all he could to make her stop. He did not know why she cried. What reason should a young bride have to cry? A month after their marriage, he still believed she cried because she was homesick. Eleven months later, he could no longer attribute her tears to homesickness. When he left to work in the morning, she stood in a corner, sniffling. When he came home after work, she would be standing at the verandah, listelessly looking at a distance, eyes red and tired and still wet.
"Every night, the same old story...", she sighs and yells, "Shantha, come here, give patient 26 the injection, he is going to sing his death knell throughout the night, otherwise..."
Meenakshi, see what I have bought home for you...close your eyes, feel the softness? Do you like mani? That's what I have named him, look how he wags his tail, here, hold him...Meenakshi, why do you still cry, woman? (Tone raised) What should a man do? I cook in the morning before I leave to work, I take care of you...(subdued again) oh, do not cry, my life, my Meenakshi...
He returned from work that evening to find the puppy standing at the gate, it jumped delightfully when it saw him, he smiled, as if acknowledging the ironies that life doled out to him, he bent down to lift the puppy and walked into the house. She sat in a corner of the house, huddled and trembling, he rushed to hug her and she shrank back...
"How are you feeling today, Sir?", the monotonous tone evokes no response. It has not in the past month, and the doctor did not expect anything new today; he did what he considered his duty, checked his pulse and his vitals, shouted a few instructions to the nurses and moved on to the next patient. It was difficult enough trying to save lives that wanted to be saved...
Where are you? I know I should not have screamed at you, my darling, my beautiful angel, do not leave me now...is that you I see in the distance? Is the rain blurring my vision or are these my tears? Oh Lord...protect my Meenakshi, she is the child that you bestowed on me, help me keep her safe...Are my eyes tricking me? Is that...no! take my life away but she should live...
That night, he came home a bit late, he had spent the evening worrying about how to handle her once he got back home. He had screamed at her in the morning and had left her crying. When he had woken up in the morning and seen her as she had been every other day, no hint of improvement, no shadow of a smile on her face, something had triggered his pent-up anxiety and worries to burst out; the words escaping his mouth sounded alien to him, but days and days of hopelessness and disappointments had numbed his patience and his cognition. That night, he did not find her home. He ran outside into the pouring rain, screaming her name like a mad man...he saw her walking unseeingly in the middle of the road, the car careened wildly as the terrified driver tried to avoid her, he had thrown himself at the car, a final attempt to save her from herself, he felt the impact and then darkness shrouded him, unable to bear his pain?
"6.30 PM, time of death", the doctor moved on, the nurses hustled behind him, they had been through this too many times to be affected by it. "Poor man, they say his wife was mad, he looked after her for a year, could not take it anymore and killed her and threw himself in front of the car...", Shantha said, "The driver saw him pushing her in front of the car, tsk...men like these, God knows what his wife had done to deserve a husband like him..."
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Perception.
Oil splattering, the sound of the cool, slightly wet steel ladle touching scalding oil, three quick flips of the samosas, maybe four and they are carefully removed and placed on bright green leaves, maybe a bit yellowish at the sides. I try to see a family of four buying the samosas at the shop, inconveniently situated in the middle of the platform, maybe...
A toddler on the woman's hip, sleeping peacefully - I feel a strange communion with him, we see alike now - a little girl with two oily plats, red ribbons, no, yellow...she tugs at her mother's salwar kameez, her father has his nose buried in a magazine at a nearby book store.
Magic lies not in black and white, waste not your life in the illusion of the written word, open your eyes, take in the magic that colors create...take it in when you can, look at the contrast that the delicate purdah creates on your wife's creamy complexion, see how her earrings glitter even through the smoke, notice the mischief in your child's eyes...are they not perfect? Foolish man, throw the book and breathe in life!
A shrill whistle, quickening footstpes, excited shouts, a crescendo heralding the train's arrival. "Walk faster Latha, here, let me carry your bag...", a woman's gasp, the bag lands with a thud. I lift it and hold it for her to take. She smiles gratefully - don't they all? - and takes the bag from me, our hands touch for a moment and she shrinks away, I hear the rustle of her dress as she hurries away from me.
She has soft hands, I want to touch them again...Latha...Latha, lilting...her name reminds me of an old Hindi song...
I have company. "Aapko patha he, mumbai se delhi jane waali gaadi kab aayegi?" Do they still look at their gold-dialled wrist watches when they ask this question?
I answer him and he sighs and flips open his cell phone, "Suresh, stuck here man, bloody schedules...never on time, we have to reschedule the ops meeting, yes that sounds ok, Catch you later." The young man studies me with interest, I start coughing at the cigarette fumes that he exhales on my face. "Sorry...", he murmers and looks away.
"Quite alright, I should be used to it by now..."
He looks at me, surprised? "These trains are never on time, doesn't it bother you? And look at the decrepit state of this station, I am just waiting to get out of here..."
"I like this station, infact, this is my favourite spot, right here, on this bench, I get to meet interesting people, you know?", I wink at him.
"That would surprise me...favourite spot? as in, you are here by choice?!"
I smile. "Yes, I find peace here, in the midst of all this...", I spread my arms out, "Here, in this station, I see, I see everything...watch that little girl by the corner, in that torn red dress, see the way she eats the ganna (sugarcane)? I cannot see that when I am home..."
He looks around - I hear the crinkle of his expensive suit - "What girl?"
I smile some more - people amuse me - "You wouldn't see her son, such is the magic of this place...let your senses overtake you, close your eyes for a second and breathe, feel...see!"
He does not understand, some people cannot understand. His eyes cannot see what mine can and I cannot see what his eyes can...perhaps, it is he who is blind.
