nothing is happening here.coz things are happening elsewhere.. :)
-the girl.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
the search..
Disclaimer:I don't know what mood I was in to write this piece..totally unexpected and a different one..bear with me..
******************************************************************
The vivid eyes, the chromatic purity of those eyelashes, the crystallized lens, the described line of kohl, and the hidden crimson tides behind all these - God seemed to have etched two butterflies instead of her eyes on that picture perfect face. And then when she looked at him, those butterflies transcended into his stomach and grew to be dinosaurs. He loved them in his belly. She loved the way he smiled. It was after all the beginning of a love story.
The vivid eyes, the chromatic purity of those eyelashes, the crystallized lens, the described line of kohl, and the hidden crimson tides behind all these - God seemed to have etched two butterflies instead of her eyes on that picture perfect face. And then when she looked at him, those butterflies transcended into his stomach and grew to be dinosaurs. He loved them in his belly. She loved the way he smiled. It was after all the beginning of a love story.
-----------------------
It was white. Just plain white. The pearly gate they call it. He stood outside looking around the semi-clad angels and demons.
“Why is everything so white and only white? Glad that the people aren’t tainted in white too” Siddarth mumbled.
“Hey you! Step in” a guy at the door said.
Siddarth religiously followed a semi-clad lady who was draped in white. “Phew! Where does she get her style mantra from?” he mumbled again.
“This is where you are going to stay forever” she said and opened a door.
The door flung open to a wide area of greenery. People seemed to simply sit and look around, plucking flowers, eating apples, playing something, talking anything, and walking as if there was no tomorrow.
“Thank you very much” he thanked the lady.
“My pleasure. Enjoy your stay here”
“Yeah right. First class executive suite. How pleased am I? I’m dead and here to spend the rest of my whatever in a place which has so many of my relatives” he sighed.
“You wanted to die early. You decided to take your life” she said.
“So you do know my history”
“Yes. I know each and everyone’s history and future”
“How long have you been living here? When did you die? A thousand years?” he laughed.
She began to walk away from him.
“Can you help me?” he asked.
She stopped but did not look back.
“I came here for a reason. I know I don’t have a way to get back my life. But something that belongs to me is in this place”
She turned around.
“Here?” she asked.
“Yes. Here. I know she is here, somewhere, waiting for me to come”
“Who is she?”
“Mansi. She died a month ago”
“I’m sorry. This place is full of dead people, but a world in itself. I haven’t known anybody who gave up their life to search for the loved and lost one” she said and began to walk.
“Can you help me find her in this world of dead people” he smiled.
“I will try” she kept walking.
He walked behind her.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I do not have a name” she said.
“Whoa! What do people call you around? You are addressed by numbers or something?” he laughed.
“We don’t need a name. We know when somebody is calling us and when we are supposed to attend to somebody”
“Interesting. So if I feel like seeing you around will you know it?”
“Yes I will, but I won’t be coming to see you”
“Why?”
“I’m not supposed to. I need to attend to calls only from the people who own this place”
“I will give you a name. I will call you ‘Neo’ hereafter”
She smiled in agreement and left.
“Neo, I want to see you now” he thought to himself as he was entering the huge door. She didn’t come.
“Damn” he cursed.
As he walked further into the new beautiful world he recollected what they had instructed at the pearly gates.
“This place is no different from the earth. You do not have technology here. All you have is nature and people. Both heaven and hell has been merged for better management purposes and easy administration.
Hence expect the unexpected any time and all the time”
“Sounds as good as a cinema script” he mumbled.
“You need to be careful with people dressed in black. They are people who belong to hell and most of them are harmful”
“And then we go back to the Black and White TV era” he continued to mumble.
“You are not supposed to fall in love with anybody. And physical intimacy is strictly prohibited”
“Wh.. what? No love. No physical intimacy. And you still call it heaven” sighed Siddarth.
“If you trespass all the rules, you will have to wear the black dress and be our guest” the final verdict alarmed in his ears.
“Give me the black dress now instead of the white. I would prefer to trespass the rules and be your guest” he said as the lady in white walked over to him.
He spotted a few men and women in black. “Most of the good looking people around are in black” he thought.
He sat beneath a tree that had ripened apples dangling all over.
“Where will I find her, in this ocean of dead souls?” he thought.
“She might be behind the woods playing with the other girls of her age” an apple fell on his head.
“Talk of gravity. Now talk of a talking apple”
He took a bite of the red apple.
“Ouch”, he heard.
“Is there any limit to all the insanity around?” he took another bite.
“By the way, how do I get to the woods?” he asked as he took another bite.
“Just keep going straight. You will reach the woods” the apple said and died. He finished his last bite.
He looked up the tree hoping for another apple to fall down. He saw a bunch of apples smiling at him.
“Scary” he said and walked away.
He kept walking straight. “How come I haven’t seen any brook as yet” he thought and from nowhere he walked to a brook. Clear water flowed down the brook. He could see through the water and count the pebbles at the bottom. There were golden fishes playing the love life game. “How come they aren’t in black?” he thought and just then a huge black fish swam across with gaiety and swallowed few golden fishes . “That is much better”. He jumped across the brook.
As he jumped across he saw the reflection of his face. He turned around and sat by the water. He looked at his face. The last he remembered seeing his face was before drinking that bottle of poison.
“I don’t know why I saw my face before taking my life out. I should have haplessly hoped that just by looking at my face for a very long time would do the trick”
His face looked paler. It had drained but there was some kind of brightness around him. It might have been because of the pristine white dress that he was wearing or that was the code of look at heaven.
As he stood up, a fish swam up and put its pouted face out of water and said “You just have 18 hours to find your woman. If you don’t you will never get her”
“Now what is this drama all about?”
“You had 24 hours to accomplish your wants. Already you have wasted 4 hours. People who come here have 24 hours to do what they want and after that they should live by the rules”
“They never told this cue at the pearly gate entrance number 7”
“It is a hidden incentive”
“Thanks for letting me know”
“Good luck to find your woman. She must be excited to see you here”
Siddarth kept walking.
He landed in a rose garden. “It would be cliché to be looking for her at this rose garden” he thought to himself and walked away from the rose garden. And there she was playing with the kids, in that rose garden.
He walked a lonely road. A strong whiff of lavender. He turned around to see a lady in black. She stood by a tree looking at him.
“The bad people are in black. But this woman is too good to be bad” his mind raved.
“Looking for me?” she asked as he neared her.
“Not really. But wouldn’t mind looking for you” he flirted.
She put her arms around him and looked into his eyes.
“You are searching for someone. Although your eyes are fixated on me and my body, beyond those eyes, you are looking for someone else” she said in a chilled voice.
“Everybody seems to know why I’m here” he thought.
“You just missed her”
“Where?”
“At the rose garden”
He moved away from her and turned around to walk back.
“But wait. She has already left that place”
“Where to?”
“Get closer to me and I’ll tell you how to get to her”
He got closer to her and the smell of lavender grew stronger.
She held his hand and placed it over her waist and pulled him closer.
“And then we will kiss, fall in love, and live happily ever after?” he blurted.
“How did your woman ever manage to manage you?” she said still waiting with hungry lips.
He gently took his hand from her waist and turned around.
“I don’t have to kiss you to get to her”
She gave a sly smile.
“I would rather get to her and kiss her” he said and walked away.
Then he came across a bridge. His legs were already pained and he was tired. He had 16 hours left. He needed two things – Mansi and some sleep.
He sat down on the bridge with his legs dangling beneath the bridge and over the stagnant water. There were lotuses, lilies, and frogs.
“Now who is going to talk to me? The frog or the flower?” he asked looking at his own face on the water.
“It is me” his reflection said.
“Uh. How come I forgot you!”
“Why Mansi?” the reflection asked.
“Why not Mansi?”
“Do you think it is all worth it?”
“Every moment, every step is”
“Do you know what happens when your 24 hours of freedom is over?”
“I would lose her forever”
“And do you know why is that?”
Siddarth was silent.
“You will not find her because she would go back to earth as a newborn baby”
“Whoa! Do Indian directors live in closest quarters?”
“Stop kidding. And then one fine day even you will go back to earth as a baby, or a sapling, or an animal or a bird”
“How do you know that she would be a baby and I would be some other ‘thing’?”
“Her destiny is already defined. She is all set to leave, but with a clause of you finding her and retaining her here”
“I thought the earth was the most complicated place to live in. This place seems even more worse. Dramatic and funny”
The reflection disappeared with no traces.
He stood up to walk. On an impulse he plunged into the water.
He drowned. He reached the waterbed. He settled down on a slippery rock. There were no traces of life anywhere.
“Why did I just jump into this damn thing?” he sighed.
“Did you think you could get to see Mansi here?”
He looked around to see a huge… something.
“Er.. What are you?” Siddarth gasped for words.
“I don’t know” it said.
“Are you wearing a black dress or a white one?” Siddarth asked.
“I don’t wear any” it said.
“Good for you. I never read about such creatures under water”
“So you thought only sexy looking mermaids lived under water?”
“Duh! I don’t believe in mermaids” Siddarth said. He felt someone place a quick kiss on his cheek. He turned around to see a gorgeous looking mermaid. He smiled the moment he saw the mermaid and then noticed that it was not a mermaid but a merman! He quickly wiped off his cheeks.
“I’ve never read about mermen”
“You were just kissed by one”
“Thank you very much” he sighed.
“You got 14 hours. At the end of the journey you will meet her by the beach, under the moonlight, just the two of you… but….” the merman said and vanished.
“He came. He kissed. He left” sighed Siddarth.
“Go ahead. Don’t waste time” it said.
“Thank you waterbed creature of the next century”, he said and swam up. As he popped out of the water he saw a different place. He swam to the shore and saw few kids playing around a basket of oranges. Siddarth was hungry. He walked over to the kids and asked for some oranges.
“Sure go ahead. But as we plucked them, the tree said that one of the oranges in this basket is jinxed. If you eat that you will forget the past” one of the kids said.
Siddarth was in a trance. He did not know if he should kill his hunger or go ahead. He knew it would be impossible to continue the search with that stamina. He knelt before the basket of oranges and looked at them. They all looked photocopied, but tempting. He was reminded of the forbidden fruit.
“Satiate your hunger or cease your past or simply walk away” one of the oranges said.
He placed his hand on the talking orange. He grabbed it and began to peel it. Then he grabbed another orange and peeled it. He peeled all the oranges and finally threw one of the orange into the water.
“Go ahead kids. Have your share”, he said and walked away with few oranges for himself.
The orange that drowned into the water had a worm in it.
As he relished the oranges, he walked into a lawn. He knew this was the best place to take a quick nap. He spotted a tree that sprung its branches so wide that even the creature that he met under water could sleep beside him.
He sat down and closed his eyes. He Their moments of being together, the last argument that they had, her tears, his anger, their last words spoken, her last look, her last breath, all those images flashed in and out. He woke up with a shudder. It was already getting dark and he had slept in his past for over a long time.
He jumped and began to run towards the sun that was setting down. He knew the beach was there, they direction where he ran. He knew that Mansi and he were destined to meet that night. He ran until he reached a fast and furious river. There wasn’t any bridge in sight. He was helpless. He looked around for signs of life.
“The trees speak, the apples speak, and every cranky thing in this place speaks, but why are they all silent now?” he was frustrated.
Just then he saw few girls walking at the other side of the river. And then he saw her. She was as gorgeous as ever. That flowing hair. That lustrous eye lashes. That twinkle in her smile.
“Mansi” he screamed.
She did not look back. He picked up a stone and flung it in the air. The stone stood midway and fell right into the river. It simply would not cross the river.
“Destiny is the one that wins all the time” his mind read.
“Just look at me. Please. Just one time” he screamed.
She walked away.
He wanted to plunge into the angry river and swim to her. He ran around looking for something to make him get to her. Nothing helped. She was gone. All the mayhem was over. The river was silent.
He knelt down.
“Neo” he silently said.
“I wasn’t supposed to, but I have come” she said beside him.
He looked at her with those yearning eyes.
“You just have 2 hours” she said.
“I have you too” he said. He gained all the confidence that had just crashed right before him few moments ago.
“You can now swim across this river. Trust me, it is safe” she said.
“Thanks. Will I get to her? Will we be together forever?” he asked her.
“You will get to her”
He understood that she did not answer his second question.
“It is getting late. Go ahead” she said.
He instantly jumped into the river that was warm. He looked back as he swam and saw Neo walking away.
“Oy Neo!” he shouted.
She looked back.
“Just in case Mansi and I don’t get to be together, I will come searching for you, because I know for sure that you are one of those eternal souls in this place! You better be ready to live with me… forever” he said and smiled.
She smiled and walked away.
He swam to the other end. He walked towards the beach. The moon was shining brighter than ever. He knew he was going to meet her beneath that moon.
He reached the beach. The waves were calm and glistened in the moonlight. He looked around. There was no sign of life. He was tired. His eyes were drooping. Every now and then he shuddered to bring him back to consciousness. He had less than an hour.Far away, he saw her stroll the other way. He began to run. He ran for 10 minutes. She was still walking. He was still running and the distance between them grew. He did not give up. He continued to run.
As he ran with so much fervour, he banged with great force on a wall. He was thrown back and he fell on the wet sand. It took a while for him to understand that it was a huge wall that was a capricious mirror which showed Mansi walking the other way and hid Siddarth’s image. He had 20 minutes left. He jumped up again, picked a conch from the shore and flung it on the mirror in anger. The mirror shattered and sent a thundering noise. Mansi looked back. He was there with blisters all over him. She knew it was him and ran towards him. He smiled and crashed beside the friendly waves.
They had 5 minutes. Mansi ran to him. He had already crashed beside the sea. And then, in that last minute, she sat by his side and ruffled his hair. He did not wake up. In a moment she dropped down as translucent pebbles and ran into the sea. And few hours later he blended into the sand.
23 years later...
The vivid eyes, the chromatic purity of those eyelashes, the crystallized lens, the described line of kohl, and the hidden crimson tides behind all these - God seemed to have etched two butterflies instead of her eyes on that picture perfect face. And then when she looked at him, those butterflies transcended into his stomach and grew to be dinosaurs. He loved them in his belly. She loved the way he smiled. It was after all the beginning of a love story.
- the girl.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
..
Jaagti aankhon se dekh rahi hoon main sapne,
Na jaane kab se main soyi nahin hoon,
Hansti hoon kyunki main sehti hoon,
Apni baatein main khud se kahti hoon,
Khud se hee ulajh kar rah gayi hoon,
Tadapti hoon kab se main royi nahin hoon,
Raah nahin hai magar main chalti hoon,
Bemanzil ghar se roz nikalti hoon,
Shaayad kabhi khatm hogaa yeh raastaa,
Bhatki hoon kai baar main khoyi nahin hoon,
Lambi hai raat ki sooraj nahin aataa,
Thahri hoon main ki yeh pal hi nahin jata,
Jaagti aankhon se dekh rahi hoon main sapne,
Na jaane kab se main soyi nahin hoon....
-the girl.
Na jaane kab se main soyi nahin hoon,
Hansti hoon kyunki main sehti hoon,
Apni baatein main khud se kahti hoon,
Khud se hee ulajh kar rah gayi hoon,
Tadapti hoon kab se main royi nahin hoon,
Raah nahin hai magar main chalti hoon,
Bemanzil ghar se roz nikalti hoon,
Shaayad kabhi khatm hogaa yeh raastaa,
Bhatki hoon kai baar main khoyi nahin hoon,
Lambi hai raat ki sooraj nahin aataa,
Thahri hoon main ki yeh pal hi nahin jata,
Jaagti aankhon se dekh rahi hoon main sapne,
Na jaane kab se main soyi nahin hoon....
-the girl.
spouts..
people. people's attitudes.nasty attitudes. and victims.injustice.ample fumes..
no.dont ask me what this is. and i dont even kno why i am typing here. i was better off writing sumthing in my diary bout this, rather than letting everybody know. apologies for being so vague and abrupt.
-the girl.
no.dont ask me what this is. and i dont even kno why i am typing here. i was better off writing sumthing in my diary bout this, rather than letting everybody know. apologies for being so vague and abrupt.
-the girl.
Monday, July 23, 2007
a room with no view
She sat by the window looking at the fading city. The bus had just moved out of the city limit and started the journey on the highway. Meera sat there holding her bag close to her. She knew that that sweltering summer day was to be a very important day in her life. She was going to make news. She looked at Ayan who was working on his camera. She looked out again at the fading outskirts. It was going to be a long journey to an unknown place. As the bus pulled out of the city and on to the highway, Meera saw a woman carrying a boy on her hip and walking a girl holding her left hand. Meera asked Ayan to click a picture of that and he instantly did.
“What was it?” he asked once the bus went past the mother and two children leaving smoky dust behind.
“Did you notice the boy comfortably sitting on his mother’s hip and the little girl, who could be his elder sister, walking beside them?”
“Yes, I did, but what is unusual?” he asked and began to review the picture that he had just taken.
“The boy who wasn’t walking was wearing footwear while the little girl was walking barefoot over the rough and hot road” Meera said as she kept looking outside at the mirage.
Ayan was silent.
“Aren’t you excited about this trip and the news we are working on?” Meera asked looking at Ayan who was still busy with his video camera.
“Yes I am” he said and looked at her.
“I’m going to surprise our editor with this documentary and am sure going to be a part of the primetime news slot” Meera exclaimed with million dreams escaping out of her eyes.
“But aren’t you taking a risk? This is your first solo show and then you are heading towards a risky town”
“I have you to protect me and I got my own confidence to deliver the best” Meera assured.
Ayan kissed her on her forehead and closed his eyes for a quick nap. She closed her eyes thinking of her first project.
Meera was fresh out of college and was an intern at that media house. She wanted to start off her career with some dramatic documentary. It took her almost 6 months to gather necessary information of what she wanted to do and meanwhile she befriended the cameraman Ayan.
Ayan worked at his own private office in the city. Meera has befriended him during a party thrown at her media house. Later Meera had insisted that he be a part of her project.
8 hours later the bus pulled into the town which was bustling with activities. It was 3 PM.
Meera and Ayan got down with their bags. Ayan pulled out a paper from his bag and traced the route of their destination. He called for an autorick.
“Paro amma’s house” Ayan told the driver. The driver returned a mischievous smile and asked them to get in. They rode down many dusty lanes and finally reached a huge mansion. It must have been a 60 years old. The house had a huge iron door and huge windows all over which were all shut at that time. They paid the driver and walked to the big gate. They saw a well-built man in his 40s who stood at the gate with a huge stick in his hand. Ayan walked further and spoke to him while Meera waited behind. Her eyes ran all over the compound wall that governed the mansion. “There can’t be an exit to this place”, she thought. As she looked at the mansion, she saw some girls at the terrace doing the daily chores. There was a sense of accomplishment already in her. She was nearing her subject.
Few minutes later, they were at the courtyard waiting for Paro amma. Meera had visualized her as an old woman who would be eating paan and would be rude to them. They heard sounds of trinkets and looked behind to see a young woman walking towards them.
“Paro” she said and sat elegantly beside them. She could have been in her mid twenties.
Meera sat there in silence looking at Paro’s flawless skin and her sense of dressing. She would easily give the fashion designers a sense of guilt for not taking tips from her.
“I have never let anyone come to this place for reasons other than business” Paro said in a curt tone.
“Thank you for letting us in. I’m really excited” Meera found it difficult to convey her happiness.
“We are going to take just 2 hours because we need to take the 8 PM bus back to our city” Ayan confirmed.
“Tonight is going to be busy. We have new clients coming in. I don’t want you to see them. And make sure you do not show the face of our girls in your video” Paro said as she stood up to leave.
“So whom are we going to interview today?” Meera asked.
“Basanti! O Basanti!” Paro called out as she walked in.
“Basanti!” Meera whispered to Ayan. Ayan was getting his camera ready.
A little girl ran towards them. She must have been 10 years old. Meera looked at Ayan in shock.
“Basanti will be here in a minute. Please sit in that room” the little girl said. Meera was relieved.
They walked to the room. The path towards the room was narrow and dingy. They got into the room which was dimly lit. It was bright outside, but the rooms inside the mansion were all dark and dimly lit. The windows were never open. The little room had a bed and a dressing table beside that. There were colorful dresses strewn all over. On the dressing table were unused condom packs.
“Take a video of the room. Pan across and finish it by zooming into the pack of unused condoms” Meera said.
Ayan shot the video in different angles and of different corners of the room. Meera was apprehensive to sit on the bed. She pulled the little chair beside the dressing table and sat on it. She did not like the room. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She stared herself at the mirror and looked at Ayan who was looking at her. She then realized that he was looking at her body. She returned a mischievous smile and turned to the door as someone stepped in.
Basanti walked in with a tray of fruits. She placed it on the bed and sat on it with both her legs folded backwards on the right side. She smiled at Meera and Ayan while they looked at Basanti. She looked perfectly fit and her face was spotless. Every feature in her was well measured. Even the red lipstick was even and there were no traces of smudging. The khol that embellished her eyes was clear and illustrative of the beauty that she carried. There was silence for a while. Meera wasn’t sure where to begin and she felt all the questions she had on mind had dissolved in the darkness of the room.
“Can we open this window?” Meera asked and she was surprised at herself for starting a conversation that way.
“Paro amma does not like it. We are not supposed to” Basanti said in her girlish voice.
“How old are you?” Meera asked.
“I don’t remember. I know I was born sometime in March, but don’t know when. Could be 24” Basanti said and looked at Ayan who was shooting all of that.
“Has Paro amma allowed you to take the video?” Basanti asked Ayan.
“Yes, she has. Your face will not be telecast. Be comfortable.” Ayan replied.
“Basanti, I might ask questions that might hurt you, but then I have to do it to make this documentary a bit dramatic”
Basanti laughed at Meera’s statement. “Sure. I will be honest about myself. I make money selling my body. Now you can make money by selling my story” she continued to laugh. Meera felt a tinge. Ayan kept moving from one place to another to take shots from multiple angles.
“How did you get into this house?” Meera asked.
“Long story, but I will try and keep it short or at least interesting” Basanti said and laughed again.
“You have a lovely laughter” Meera said and Ayan instantly zoomed to get a close up view of Basanti and her laughter. At least, they were allowed to show just her laughter if not the full face.
“The first time I was married, I must have been 14. My father sold me to a 30 something man for 6000 rupees. In the name of marriage, I was sold to him. He took me to some town where I ended up doing household chores. He had a wife of his age already and he also had a son. I did all the odd jobs at his place and I was constantly abused. Physically, sexually, and emotionally. I was not allowed to contact my parents. I wanted to talk to my mother very badly. I did not know how. After almost a year later, I mustered the courage and stole some money from that house and ran back to my village just to see my mother. I ran with all my courage. I took a bus. I took a train and finally reached my village to see my house gone. My parents were gone to some other village and nobody had a clue where they had gone. I had no place to go. Nobody would let me inside their house. I walked back to the railway station and slept on the stone bench. I shivered and cried. Then I took a train that stopped midnight in my village. I slept inside an almost empty compartment. After sometime, someone woke me up in the middle of the journey. It was a police man. He asked me where I was heading to and I told him everything. He smiled at me. The next day I was sold off to another man for 10000 rupees. The policeman went home as a happy man. My journey began that midnight train. I was moved from one hand to the other and finally ended up here” she said her story in a tone with no modulations. It was as if she had been telling this story to everyone she had met at that house.
There was brief silence and then Meera continued, “Tell us something about Paro amma. How did she get into this? She also seems to be your age”.
“I can’t tell you much about Paro amma but she has been very kind to us. She feeds us well. She pays our wages well. She keeps us happy as long as we keep our clients happy” Basanti said and picked an apple from the tray. She sliced them elegantly and served it to Meera and Ayan.
“You never wanted to get out of this place?” Meera asked.
“If only I had an option. Where will I go? How do I earn my money? How do I make a living?”
“You have many NGOs who can help you with moving on in life”
“Well, I trusted that policeman that night” Basanti snapped.
“Not all are the same, right? NGOs work for your rehabilitation”
“Any further questions?” Basanti asked and Meera was offended at her rudeness.
“So you don’t want to go out of this place? You must like it in here then?” Meera sniggered.
“I have no complaints. This is my work place and apparently this is my home too”
“Tell me about your clients”
Basanti laughed at Meera’s gullible question.
“How can I disclose my clients’ information?” Basanti continued to laugh.
“You don’t have to tell me who they are. Tell me what kinds of people come to this place”
“From all walks of life. From all strata. Each girl is priced different in this house. Regular clients will have their
personal preference of a girl and will be ready to pay a higher price. We have rich men and the paupers as well”
“Have you ever looked back at the days when you were a little girl back in your village and with your parents?”
“Past hurts. I don’t look back. I live for the moment, if not I’m going to suffer in the future. I need to make money until this beauty wears off”
“What happens after you have been asked to leave?” Meera asked.
“That is why we need to be smart enough to save our money and get a life when we move out of this place”
“What are you looking forward to do when you are out in the real world?”
“I’m sure even the real world is as filthy as this wh0rehouse. I don’t want to think about it now”
There was silence for a while and Ayan placed his camera on the dressing table. He picked a piece of the apple and sat on the bed beside Basanti. Meera ran her eyes over Basanti who was meddling with her bangles.
“So what are you going to do with this video?” Basanti asked as she still kept playing with her bangles.
“I’m new to the industry and I wanted to make waves by creating a news item that will reach the mass quickly and powerfully. And flesh trade is one thing that has been talked about a lot but yet people just pass it off as yet another business” Meera replied.
“Of course it is one of the most profitable businesses in our country I believe. What if one day we go on a strike and stop this trade?” Basanti laughed at her own interrogation.
Meera’s eyes widened.
“Can you do that?” Meera asked with awed eyes.
“I’m sure joking. It is never likely to happen. Some even have kids. They will have to feed them and take care of themselves”
“But imagine, one day this trade is abolished. Child trafficking and sexual abuse becomes a myth. Won’t that be the best thing to happen to everyone?” Meera’s face was gleaming.
Ayan picked his camera again and focused on Meera.
“You have a long way to go in your career. A lot to learn. Every young mind might want to abolish a lot of things. But when they take steps to do that, they realize that reality is far more painful than their own dreams” Basanti said.
“You seem to know the world out there” Meera said.
“I read magazines. I read the newspaper” Basanti said as she looked at a tiny loft where she had piled all her old newspapers and magazines.
“Who is Rahim?” Meera asked. Ayan looked at Meera in surprise.
Basanti was stunned for a moment and then her face morphed to a blushing smile. She ran her fingers over the words ‘Rahim’ on her left hand.
“Who is he?” Meera asked.
“Just someone who used to visit this place quite often. I liked him a lot. He is the only man whom I look into the eyes when I’m with him”
“How often does he come here?”
“Not anymore. The last I heard of him was he was married”
“But you still have his name on your hand” Meera looked apologetically.
“I can’t erase it”, she smiled and said, “I still feel him around. He was my hope that came through the door and fled through the window. Sometimes he wouldn’t have money when he came. I would spend the night with him and pay Paro amma a part of my salary. All I wanted was to be with him, although for few hours every now and then”
“Did you ever tell him about your love for him?” Meera asked.
Basanti smiled as if to mock at her destiny.
“I decided to. I was dressed at my best that night. I waited for him. He did not turn up. I waited for him for days and he never returned. Might sound like yet another sad clichéd story! One day, a young man came here and while we were having the initial conversation before getting into bed, he told me about Rahim. He told me that he was married. He also told me that it was Rahim who suggested his friend to pick me from the lot because I was very good” Basanti said and her voice crackled.
Meera looked into her eyes which were moist.
“I do not know what to say. I’m sorry” Meera said and held Basanti’s hand. Basanti took away her hand immediately.
“Meera, I will be back in a minute” Ayan said and walked out of the room leaving the two ladies behind.
“Are you aware of HIV and STD?” Meera continued asking questions.
“Yes, we are. We have our regular checkups. Some clients insist on not wearing a condom, we simply show them the way. Paro amma is strict on those terms”
“I’m amazed at how professional this trade is”
“Yes it is. You will know about it a lot”
Meera looked at her wrist watch. It was time for her to leave. She looked at the dingy pathway and at the door. Ayan hadn’t returned.
“So, what would you like to wear? The red one or the black?” Basanti asked as she stepped out of the bed and picked the dresses near the bed.
“Well, thanks, I wouldn’t need any. I’m ok with this dress and we are leaving in few minutes” Meera said and stood up.
“Red or the black?” Basanti insisted.
Meera’s eyebrows arched.
“You are not going anywhere. We have special clients coming just for you” Basanti said as she moved closer to Meera.
“Wh.. what?” Meera felt uneasy.
“Relax. You are in a very safe place” Basanti comforted.
“Ayan! Ayan!” Meera called out to him.
“He won’t come. He was the one who sold you off to Paro amma”
Meera heard someone lock the door from outside. She could no more see the dingy pathway.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some facts from the Special Report in ‘The Week’ magazine dated February 25, 2007.
Trafficking lures: Befriending: 16.4%, Promise of job and money: 52.4%, Promise of marriage: 4.5%, Adoption: 0.2%, Blackmail: 2.8%, Use of force: 11.6%, Persuading husband to use force: 0.2% Family tradition: 2.1%
Traffickers: Family members (34.8%), acquaintances (52.5%), strangers (11.1%), and police (0.15%).
Age profile of victims: 13-15 years (1.9%), 16-17 years (2.8%), 18-21 years (14.7%), 22-35 years (68.5%)
Age at first sexual encounter: Less than 16 (45.5%), between 16 and 17 (27.7%), between 18 and 21 (22.9%), Less than 21 (3.8%)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-the girl.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Shopping we will go!
Another cousin story. A different one this time. This one has just started college. Asli college, not the fraud colleges one used to goto in 11th and 12th standard, schoolage would be a better name for which. Where timetables have lectures not periods, where lectures are bunkable, where canteens exist and professors covering the entire syllabus is unheard of. And she wanted to buy t shirts. And she wanted me to come shopping with her. Me. ME. Me. Me. And. I. Agreed.
Some background for those who did not feel the earth move beneath their feet. I DONT shop. I might agree if
- it is for me and
- you hold a gun to my head.
but for someone else, i'd rather sleep. Much rather.
Back to the ishtory. Not only did i agree, i was the guide, the knowledgeable one! I guess all those yearly shopping expeditions with my mom left their mark. I found the place, i took her to shops, i asked them to show us stuff and, this is what i am most proud of, i even told them thanks, but you dont have anything we like. Twice. Or once. This was not just a step forward, this was evolution!
And it was fun too! 3 times out of four, we liked the same stuff. It did not result in a duel unto death because we are both nice people who belong to vastly different size classes. She belongs to the class for which they make clothes, i belong to the class for which they dont. I found her a shirt that says - "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road".(Her younger cousin tells her that she has a brush with at least one car driver every time she is on the road. And what do she do? Does she lecture the young one on road safety? Does she panic and call the young one's parents? Nooo, she buys the young one a t shirt that says "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road". And lets the young one ride her bike. Some people, i tell you!)
We came back with stuff that was 17 rupees under budget and met with parental approval. Not bad for a first timer! No, i didnt bargain. That would not be evolution. That would be alien takeover!
-the girl.
Some background for those who did not feel the earth move beneath their feet. I DONT shop. I might agree if
- it is for me and
- you hold a gun to my head.
but for someone else, i'd rather sleep. Much rather.
Back to the ishtory. Not only did i agree, i was the guide, the knowledgeable one! I guess all those yearly shopping expeditions with my mom left their mark. I found the place, i took her to shops, i asked them to show us stuff and, this is what i am most proud of, i even told them thanks, but you dont have anything we like. Twice. Or once. This was not just a step forward, this was evolution!
And it was fun too! 3 times out of four, we liked the same stuff. It did not result in a duel unto death because we are both nice people who belong to vastly different size classes. She belongs to the class for which they make clothes, i belong to the class for which they dont. I found her a shirt that says - "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road".(Her younger cousin tells her that she has a brush with at least one car driver every time she is on the road. And what do she do? Does she lecture the young one on road safety? Does she panic and call the young one's parents? Nooo, she buys the young one a t shirt that says "If you dont like the way i drive, get off the road". And lets the young one ride her bike. Some people, i tell you!)
We came back with stuff that was 17 rupees under budget and met with parental approval. Not bad for a first timer! No, i didnt bargain. That would not be evolution. That would be alien takeover!
-the girl.
What would i be?
I've often wondered what kings and great warriors must be like. Should they be truly passionate to be able to rise above their fears, doubts, sometimes even morals and do what they have to do? Or should they be truly dispassionate to be able to live with their actions, look upon it as simply their duty? It would not do at all, would it, if they crushed an opponent at war and spent the rest of their life feeling sorry for him?
I'd make a lousy warrior. Even assuming i am the bravest of the brave, i simply couldn't be bothered enough to go pick a fight with someone. And even if i did, the first scratch on his skin from my sword and i would have forgotten him and waged a war with myself. Over whether i should finish him off or rush for bandage.
Wonder what i would have done had i been living in the times of Kings. Warrior, no. Farmer no, they have to get up too early. Cook no, i'm bad at that too, plus not much of my efforts would reach the table. Trader no, cant bargain to save my life. Dancer no, singer no. Jester no. Birbal no. Those people who fan the king with peacock feathers no.Wonder if they had career counseling back then.
-the girl.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Frankly Speaking!
Anonymity brings the best and the worst out of people. My fair share of anonymity gave me my days of happiness, but when the tables were turned i've had to run for the covers.
The first time i got a phone connection at home, when i was 8, i was amazed by its capability. Then again, that amazement was short lived, only to be taken over by my, shall i say, quest for pulling off pranks.
The Telephone, the modern day connector, in its various forms, has been a revelation and to many a tool to unleash their creativity.
While my initial foray to pranks on the telephone was a more sober one, with conversations usually like:
Me (ring up a friend's number, with a piece of cloth over the mouth piece): "Hellowwww !"
Friend: "Hello, who is this ?"
Me: "Hello ! Hello ! "
My friend tapping the mouth piece, and shouting even louder
Friend:"HELLLOOO !"
pretending like i cant hear, i too shout back like i had my shorts on fire
Me:"HELLLOOO!!"
Friend:"HELLOOOOOO!!!"
after 2 minutes of shouting "HELLOO" and beating the crap out of each other's ears, my friend hangs up, with the word still ringing like a temple bell!
On one instance, i recorded my voice in a tape-recorder, which had me asking questions at regular intervals apart from recording a "hello". Armed with such a fantastic weapon, I called up my cousin, and switched on the tape.
The tape contained something like "Hello, how are you ?" ...a small pause, to give the caller a chance to answer.... "what did you do today?"....a long pause..."Are you going out anywhere today ?"....another pause..."you know what happened today ?..."...and my long boring story.....in the end "ok, got to go, bye"..
while my cousin sat at home, for 20 long minutes ruining his day, busy answering my questions, and listening to a boring story about how staff at zoos take care of ducks, i was happily playing football outdoor, and enjoying inside out :D.
Well, it was not all rosy and pink all the time, and the telephone has been a headache on a lot of occasions. The coming of a telephone to our house was one of celebration and happiness, more to our neighbours than to us. Being the only house in the street that had a telephone connection at that time, our house had turned into a makeshift telephone booth with neighbours dropping in to call either their "Anna" in kottayam, kerala or a "Paati" in dharampuri, TN.
Since the neighbourhood spoke like a hundred different languages, tamil, malayalam, telugu, and i spoke rookie maathi as my mother-tongue, my young impressionable mind was bombarded with all kinds of languages, making me almost forgot my own language !
One particular lady was the most irritating, one because she spoke in a language i never understood, and the other, and a far more dangerous one being, her screaming and shouting over the phone. She would come in almost every evening whenever her uncle would call up from kerala, asking for "Geeeedhha kupadriya ?" (i later found it was "Can you call Geetha ?") ....while given an opportunity i would just hang up, but under the watchful eye of my mother, i couldnt do that. while my sister would go scurrying out of sight from my mother, just in case she asked them to call "Geeedha!", i would be left shivering holding the handset, with the voice ringing in my head "Geeedha kupadriya !", "Geedha Kupadriya ?", each time increasing in intensity. One glance at me, and i would know that i had no choice but to walk down a mile and call "geedha aundy"...day in and day out, aunty would go on and on, about how her small land in kerala was being manhandled by her uncle who grew pumpkins on them instead of aunty’s preferred coffee beans, pouring over the phone. My only source of entertainment at that time being the "chitrahaar", that aired hindi songs on TV, would get ample servings of malayalam sandwiched between the songs thanks to aunty. As if this was not enough, she would hang up the phone after a 1 hour marathon, and then sit down to tell the whole tale back again to my mother in broken Tamil. since my mother didn't follow malayalam, and the aunty didnt follow kannada, both had settled for tamil as a common language(which neither knew anyways), and i would be stuck in between them trying to decipher hindi songs on TV !, while the scars on my ankles itched on account being beaten to pulp for accidentally speaking in a language other than English, during school hours; Talk about linguistic confluence !
Being relatively new to the telephone, many of us had minimal or no knowldege of telephone etiquette, with "Hello" being the only common link, between any two caller, in most of the cases. Since "Hello" being a English word, it HAD to be indianized, and it gets real funny when you dont get what the other guy’s telling. In many cases, one cant get if it’s a “hello” or just a decorated yawn.
Some of the hello's include, reading phonetically,
"hey lo",
"Haaa low"
or a more romantic one would be "halove"..
some would sound like the person is threatening you with a greeting: "HALLOW"
a more portly man would sound like "HOLLOW" !
one gujarati aunty who would call us, used to sound like she was always in a hurry, with a fast "haLL oh!", stressing really hard on the "L"s..
Atleast better than a few who would call home and directly jump into the topic, without confirming who’s on the other side.
woman: "Hello!"
me: "Hello!"
woman: "may-dum, tommorow is my daughter's marriage, and you are cordially invited.”
Being the kiddo i was, i was pleasantly surprised by someone addressing me as "madam" and inviting me to a ceremony, but wanted to confirm if the invitation was really for me.
me: "aunty, its me, where is the marriage ?
"woman: "ayyo! is it you, give it to your mother!"
RATS !!...i would get shunted out like a bug.
And to this, the wrong numbers to add to the confusion. Our Home phone number unluckily differed only slightly from that of a nearby tile company, and people used to usually interchange the numbers, and we would land up getting a lot of calls asking for either "Glazy Tiles with pink stripes"...or "Sir, when can i come and pay the bills for the tiles ?"..or even worse, some used to shout "May-dum, your tiles have still not yet arrived, why are you so lazy ??? !" ..i did not get how he came to know i was lazy, but he sure had dialed a wrong number !
Once a guy called me when I was in a particularly bad mood due to the "Geedha" effect.
Man: "Saar, venkateshwara elllidare ?"("where is venkateshwara?")
Me(yelling back`):"Tirupathi nall idare hogri next bus nalle, sigthaare"("he is in Tirupathi, catch the next bus immediately, you will meet him")
Here, my exposure to kannada language has only been through the minimal words my mother has spoken to nanny in front of me. So kindly ignore the inaccuracy, if you find any.
Even worse is when that long lost pre-school friend calls up, and pesters you to recognize him/her. In pre-school i hardly knew how to speak, how would i recognize a person voice who's grown into a beast ever since?
My family’s talent for not recognizing people’s voice over the phone only got worse with the wrong number stuff. A few years back, my brother had an offer from Oracle, but rejected it since he was not ready to travel to Hyderabad. However, another cousin bro of ours got wind of this and thought he could play a prank on the Oracle bro. Calling me on his cell, masquerading as an Oracle HR, he started off:
Cousin: “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Harshal?”
Bro: “Hello, yes speaking”
Cousin: “I am Satish from HR, Oracle. I would like to offer you 5 lakhs, instead of the 3.8 lakh we had initially offered, would you like to join us ?”
My brother couldn’t believe his ears’; anyone with ZERO IT experience would jump in for such an offer. He actually did a somersault and then went in for the dive.
Bro: “Yeah, that is a good offer, I would consider it seriously”
Cousin: “Also, we have decided to pay your accommodation charges, car rental and also give you free travel tickets to bangalore”
By now he was doing a reverse bungee, and trying to walk on one hand. He could not believe they were offering all this.
Bro: “Oh that’s a neat offer, I accept it”
A crack, a stifle, and a HUGGGGEEE ROAR….. his ear popped out of his head… my cousin was laughing and rolling, gasping for breath…..after 5 minutes of uncontrollable laugh, he finally told him "its me Adhish!"
Brother was so shocked by the sudden laughter, he could not register that it was our cousin, and was wondering why the HR guy was laughing so loudly. He had at that time thought that he was so happy he had accepted the offer, that he just could not control it over the phone.
Bro: “Sorry I didn’t get why you were laughing ? and you said you were Satish not Adhish!”
Cousin(still gasping) : "I am your cousin, Adhish!"
That sudden realization …
...and then it was too late to reverse what had happened….
The Telephone has, until recently, more or less been a costly instrument to own. However, even costlier are the calls. Back then, it wasn’t very costly, about 1 rupee for 3 minute rounding. People however would go to great lengths to save that amount too. One aunty who would otherwise speak slow when she used to come home, often comfortably spoiling the evening for me, used to speak like a rattle snake running for life when it came to phone conversation.Her calls used to be more like:
Aunty:”JustTellMommyThatWeWontBeGoingToTheTempleTodayAndI’llGetHalsandhiKaal SambarAndChutneyPowderTomorrow”… PHATAKKKK …..she would cut the phone; message delivered in less than 30 seconds….I would just tell my mother that a particular aunty had called and spoke in malayalam :D.
Talking about etiquette, the concept of a voice mail, has been a difficult one to swallow for many in India, including me, with many uncomfortable speaking to a machine. The first time I enabled my voice mail system, I had put my name, a courteous message asking the caller to leave a message. After a few days I realized what a folly I had committed. Every day I would check my voice mail to find messages like
“Hello ! Hello !... hello ?…..Tak Tak Tak…“It got cut!”
“hello …hello ! hello !! Can you come to Silk board at 9:30pm, hello? hello ?”
“hello….hello !..shya..She picks up the phone, says something and cuts the phone!”
My friend was fed up of hearing garble messages on his voice mail, more often being “Hello…someone is talking, someone is talking mom!”…apparently, my friend had left a short message with just his name, which the caller mistook as someone speaking at the other end.
Telemarketing has been a more recent phenomenon in India, but it’s nonetheless frustrating and irritating. Add to this, mobile phones make it even worse. Once my friend, out of an elevator, red with anger “They don’t even leave the lift phones, these Citibank guys !”….and on another instance, another friend who was running to the restroom, ran back to pick up his phone ringing, only to find out that a lady was interested in knowing whether he wanted to buy kashmiri carpets for 20% discount.
Once I decided to give these telemarketers back the taste of their own medicine.
A lady from Standard Chartered called up,
Lady:”Hello ma’am, I am calling from Stan chart, what is your name ?”
Me: “hi, my name is malleshwari..”
Lady: “would you be interested in a credit card ?”
Me : “Yes certainly, how much credit can you give me?”
Lady(excited) : “Ma’am, based on your salary we can give a credit of up 25K”
Me : “That’s cool, I would like a credit of 25K”
Lady : “What is your designation, ma’am ?”
Me : “I am currently working as trainee office girl.”
Lady ( slightly apprehensive): “What is your salary, ma’am ?”
Me: “2000 rs per month, including perks”
Lady(voice suddenly changing into a harsh tone): “Oh !! we do not currently have any scheme for that income”
Me: “May-dum, please give me a credit card, please”
Lady(slightly irritated):”I’ll give you a call once I confirm with my manager”
Me:”May-Dum, please maydum, at least give me your phone number, so that I can call and find out once you have decided. Please write down my contact info : Malleshwari, care of kalpeshwari,..blah blah” ..PHUTAAK….the phone line got cut, and so were the numerous calls I used to get from standard chartered….i guess my number was blacklisted soon after this call :D :D…
The Telephone never fails to astonish me, nor does the numerous possibilities it possesses, to irritate and frustrate people included. However, like someone put it so well for Monsoon’s in India, it is but a “Necessary Evil”.
Right now my cell rests safely in my locker, and so are my morbid fears of someone making another prank call.
-the girl.
The first time i got a phone connection at home, when i was 8, i was amazed by its capability. Then again, that amazement was short lived, only to be taken over by my, shall i say, quest for pulling off pranks.
The Telephone, the modern day connector, in its various forms, has been a revelation and to many a tool to unleash their creativity.
While my initial foray to pranks on the telephone was a more sober one, with conversations usually like:
Me (ring up a friend's number, with a piece of cloth over the mouth piece): "Hellowwww !"
Friend: "Hello, who is this ?"
Me: "Hello ! Hello ! "
My friend tapping the mouth piece, and shouting even louder
Friend:"HELLLOOO !"
pretending like i cant hear, i too shout back like i had my shorts on fire
Me:"HELLLOOO!!"
Friend:"HELLOOOOOO!!!"
after 2 minutes of shouting "HELLOO" and beating the crap out of each other's ears, my friend hangs up, with the word still ringing like a temple bell!
On one instance, i recorded my voice in a tape-recorder, which had me asking questions at regular intervals apart from recording a "hello". Armed with such a fantastic weapon, I called up my cousin, and switched on the tape.
The tape contained something like "Hello, how are you ?" ...a small pause, to give the caller a chance to answer.... "what did you do today?"....a long pause..."Are you going out anywhere today ?"....another pause..."you know what happened today ?..."...and my long boring story.....in the end "ok, got to go, bye"..
while my cousin sat at home, for 20 long minutes ruining his day, busy answering my questions, and listening to a boring story about how staff at zoos take care of ducks, i was happily playing football outdoor, and enjoying inside out :D.
Well, it was not all rosy and pink all the time, and the telephone has been a headache on a lot of occasions. The coming of a telephone to our house was one of celebration and happiness, more to our neighbours than to us. Being the only house in the street that had a telephone connection at that time, our house had turned into a makeshift telephone booth with neighbours dropping in to call either their "Anna" in kottayam, kerala or a "Paati" in dharampuri, TN.
Since the neighbourhood spoke like a hundred different languages, tamil, malayalam, telugu, and i spoke rookie maathi as my mother-tongue, my young impressionable mind was bombarded with all kinds of languages, making me almost forgot my own language !
One particular lady was the most irritating, one because she spoke in a language i never understood, and the other, and a far more dangerous one being, her screaming and shouting over the phone. She would come in almost every evening whenever her uncle would call up from kerala, asking for "Geeeedhha kupadriya ?" (i later found it was "Can you call Geetha ?") ....while given an opportunity i would just hang up, but under the watchful eye of my mother, i couldnt do that. while my sister would go scurrying out of sight from my mother, just in case she asked them to call "Geeedha!", i would be left shivering holding the handset, with the voice ringing in my head "Geeedha kupadriya !", "Geedha Kupadriya ?", each time increasing in intensity. One glance at me, and i would know that i had no choice but to walk down a mile and call "geedha aundy"...day in and day out, aunty would go on and on, about how her small land in kerala was being manhandled by her uncle who grew pumpkins on them instead of aunty’s preferred coffee beans, pouring over the phone. My only source of entertainment at that time being the "chitrahaar", that aired hindi songs on TV, would get ample servings of malayalam sandwiched between the songs thanks to aunty. As if this was not enough, she would hang up the phone after a 1 hour marathon, and then sit down to tell the whole tale back again to my mother in broken Tamil. since my mother didn't follow malayalam, and the aunty didnt follow kannada, both had settled for tamil as a common language(which neither knew anyways), and i would be stuck in between them trying to decipher hindi songs on TV !, while the scars on my ankles itched on account being beaten to pulp for accidentally speaking in a language other than English, during school hours; Talk about linguistic confluence !
Being relatively new to the telephone, many of us had minimal or no knowldege of telephone etiquette, with "Hello" being the only common link, between any two caller, in most of the cases. Since "Hello" being a English word, it HAD to be indianized, and it gets real funny when you dont get what the other guy’s telling. In many cases, one cant get if it’s a “hello” or just a decorated yawn.
Some of the hello's include, reading phonetically,
"hey lo",
"Haaa low"
or a more romantic one would be "halove"..
some would sound like the person is threatening you with a greeting: "HALLOW"
a more portly man would sound like "HOLLOW" !
one gujarati aunty who would call us, used to sound like she was always in a hurry, with a fast "haLL oh!", stressing really hard on the "L"s..
Atleast better than a few who would call home and directly jump into the topic, without confirming who’s on the other side.
woman: "Hello!"
me: "Hello!"
woman: "may-dum, tommorow is my daughter's marriage, and you are cordially invited.”
Being the kiddo i was, i was pleasantly surprised by someone addressing me as "madam" and inviting me to a ceremony, but wanted to confirm if the invitation was really for me.
me: "aunty, its me, where is the marriage ?
"woman: "ayyo! is it you, give it to your mother!"
RATS !!...i would get shunted out like a bug.
And to this, the wrong numbers to add to the confusion. Our Home phone number unluckily differed only slightly from that of a nearby tile company, and people used to usually interchange the numbers, and we would land up getting a lot of calls asking for either "Glazy Tiles with pink stripes"...or "Sir, when can i come and pay the bills for the tiles ?"..or even worse, some used to shout "May-dum, your tiles have still not yet arrived, why are you so lazy ??? !" ..i did not get how he came to know i was lazy, but he sure had dialed a wrong number !
Once a guy called me when I was in a particularly bad mood due to the "Geedha" effect.
Man: "Saar, venkateshwara elllidare ?"("where is venkateshwara?")
Me(yelling back`):"Tirupathi nall idare hogri next bus nalle, sigthaare"("he is in Tirupathi, catch the next bus immediately, you will meet him")
Here, my exposure to kannada language has only been through the minimal words my mother has spoken to nanny in front of me. So kindly ignore the inaccuracy, if you find any.
Even worse is when that long lost pre-school friend calls up, and pesters you to recognize him/her. In pre-school i hardly knew how to speak, how would i recognize a person voice who's grown into a beast ever since?
My family’s talent for not recognizing people’s voice over the phone only got worse with the wrong number stuff. A few years back, my brother had an offer from Oracle, but rejected it since he was not ready to travel to Hyderabad. However, another cousin bro of ours got wind of this and thought he could play a prank on the Oracle bro. Calling me on his cell, masquerading as an Oracle HR, he started off:
Cousin: “Hello, can I speak to Mr. Harshal?”
Bro: “Hello, yes speaking”
Cousin: “I am Satish from HR, Oracle. I would like to offer you 5 lakhs, instead of the 3.8 lakh we had initially offered, would you like to join us ?”
My brother couldn’t believe his ears’; anyone with ZERO IT experience would jump in for such an offer. He actually did a somersault and then went in for the dive.
Bro: “Yeah, that is a good offer, I would consider it seriously”
Cousin: “Also, we have decided to pay your accommodation charges, car rental and also give you free travel tickets to bangalore”
By now he was doing a reverse bungee, and trying to walk on one hand. He could not believe they were offering all this.
Bro: “Oh that’s a neat offer, I accept it”
A crack, a stifle, and a HUGGGGEEE ROAR….. his ear popped out of his head… my cousin was laughing and rolling, gasping for breath…..after 5 minutes of uncontrollable laugh, he finally told him "its me Adhish!"
Brother was so shocked by the sudden laughter, he could not register that it was our cousin, and was wondering why the HR guy was laughing so loudly. He had at that time thought that he was so happy he had accepted the offer, that he just could not control it over the phone.
Bro: “Sorry I didn’t get why you were laughing ? and you said you were Satish not Adhish!”
Cousin(still gasping) : "I am your cousin, Adhish!"
That sudden realization …
...and then it was too late to reverse what had happened….
The Telephone has, until recently, more or less been a costly instrument to own. However, even costlier are the calls. Back then, it wasn’t very costly, about 1 rupee for 3 minute rounding. People however would go to great lengths to save that amount too. One aunty who would otherwise speak slow when she used to come home, often comfortably spoiling the evening for me, used to speak like a rattle snake running for life when it came to phone conversation.Her calls used to be more like:
Aunty:”JustTellMommyThatWeWontBeGoingToTheTempleTodayAndI’llGetHalsandhiKaal SambarAndChutneyPowderTomorrow”… PHATAKKKK …..she would cut the phone; message delivered in less than 30 seconds….I would just tell my mother that a particular aunty had called and spoke in malayalam :D.
Talking about etiquette, the concept of a voice mail, has been a difficult one to swallow for many in India, including me, with many uncomfortable speaking to a machine. The first time I enabled my voice mail system, I had put my name, a courteous message asking the caller to leave a message. After a few days I realized what a folly I had committed. Every day I would check my voice mail to find messages like
“Hello ! Hello !... hello ?…..Tak Tak Tak…“It got cut!”
“hello …hello ! hello !! Can you come to Silk board at 9:30pm, hello? hello ?”
“hello….hello !..shya..She picks up the phone, says something and cuts the phone!”
My friend was fed up of hearing garble messages on his voice mail, more often being “Hello…someone is talking, someone is talking mom!”…apparently, my friend had left a short message with just his name, which the caller mistook as someone speaking at the other end.
Telemarketing has been a more recent phenomenon in India, but it’s nonetheless frustrating and irritating. Add to this, mobile phones make it even worse. Once my friend, out of an elevator, red with anger “They don’t even leave the lift phones, these Citibank guys !”….and on another instance, another friend who was running to the restroom, ran back to pick up his phone ringing, only to find out that a lady was interested in knowing whether he wanted to buy kashmiri carpets for 20% discount.
Once I decided to give these telemarketers back the taste of their own medicine.
A lady from Standard Chartered called up,
Lady:”Hello ma’am, I am calling from Stan chart, what is your name ?”
Me: “hi, my name is malleshwari..”
Lady: “would you be interested in a credit card ?”
Me : “Yes certainly, how much credit can you give me?”
Lady(excited) : “Ma’am, based on your salary we can give a credit of up 25K”
Me : “That’s cool, I would like a credit of 25K”
Lady : “What is your designation, ma’am ?”
Me : “I am currently working as trainee office girl.”
Lady ( slightly apprehensive): “What is your salary, ma’am ?”
Me: “2000 rs per month, including perks”
Lady(voice suddenly changing into a harsh tone): “Oh !! we do not currently have any scheme for that income”
Me: “May-dum, please give me a credit card, please”
Lady(slightly irritated):”I’ll give you a call once I confirm with my manager”
Me:”May-Dum, please maydum, at least give me your phone number, so that I can call and find out once you have decided. Please write down my contact info : Malleshwari, care of kalpeshwari,..blah blah” ..PHUTAAK….the phone line got cut, and so were the numerous calls I used to get from standard chartered….i guess my number was blacklisted soon after this call :D :D…
The Telephone never fails to astonish me, nor does the numerous possibilities it possesses, to irritate and frustrate people included. However, like someone put it so well for Monsoon’s in India, it is but a “Necessary Evil”.
Right now my cell rests safely in my locker, and so are my morbid fears of someone making another prank call.
-the girl.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
moving on, to the mind games..
at last I can see..
life has been patiently waiting for me..
and I know there are no guarantees..
but, I'm not alone.
there comes a time in everyone's life,
when all you can see are the years passing by..
and I have made up my mind,
that those days are gone.
I sold what I could..
and packed what I couldn't..
stopped to fill up on my way out of town.
I've loved like I should..
but lived like I shouldn't..
I had to lose everything to find out.
Maybe forgiveness will find me,
somewhere down this road..
I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On..
ps: i wrote this poem after my 12th std. board exams,during the vacations. This is a live example of certain things which come to your mind even before you have experienced them and your mind,already reaches to a conclusion and i say that now,coz after two years i have started experiencing a bit of it.
-the girl.
life has been patiently waiting for me..
and I know there are no guarantees..
but, I'm not alone.
there comes a time in everyone's life,
when all you can see are the years passing by..
and I have made up my mind,
that those days are gone.
I sold what I could..
and packed what I couldn't..
stopped to fill up on my way out of town.
I've loved like I should..
but lived like I shouldn't..
I had to lose everything to find out.
Maybe forgiveness will find me,
somewhere down this road..
I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On
I'm Moving On..
ps: i wrote this poem after my 12th std. board exams,during the vacations. This is a live example of certain things which come to your mind even before you have experienced them and your mind,already reaches to a conclusion and i say that now,coz after two years i have started experiencing a bit of it.
-the girl.
Friday, May 18, 2007
an angel by the furnace
Neha. The most beautiful girl in the colony. Everywhere she went she was noticed, for those expressive eyes that widened at the sight of chocolates and ice creams, those chattering lips, that bouncy hair, and the ever dancing feet. She was a whiff of fresh air around, the sun shine on a somber winter. She was the world to her parents and her brother and her world revolved around a small place called home. Neha. 6 years old.
“Love you sweetie” Aarthi, Neha’s mother, said as she got home from school.
“Love you too mamma”, Neha said as she dropped her bag on the couch. She walked over to the table to her mom. She kept moving her hair that fell on her face time and again.
“Is the long hair bothering you honey?”
“No mamma. I love it. Preethi has like that”
“That is why I let you grow your hair” Aarthi said.
“I’m hungry mamma” she said and sat on the table.
“Here is your glass of milk and your favorite chocolate cake”
Neha was all chirpy as she relished her evening snack. She narrated all that had happened that day at school. Her mom sat near her wondering how so much could have happened in one day in her daughter’s life, that too when she was just in class 1.
“Mamma! Are you listening to me? Don’t you think Tinku was bad to me? I don’t like him”
“I am listening Neha. Tinku must be a nice kid. You guys should not fight with each other”
By then Neha had finished her snack and she was all set to change her dress.
“I want the red frock today” she ordered.
“Whatever you want mam” Aarthi changed her dress.
“It is time for play. I’m going out mamma. Can I play for extra 15 minutes today please?” she pleaded.
“No Neha. It would be dark. Get in soon and don’t go out of the colony compound”
“I promise not to go out mamma. Love you mamma”
“Love you honey”
Neha went out to play with her colony friends. The colony grounds were usually filled with kids of all ages with parents sitting on the stone benches watching their kids play. Aarthi occasionally accompanied Neha, otherwise Neha was just fine playing with the other kids without her mom’s supervision. Kids run helter-skelter, beat one another, play all sorts of games, scream, roll in the mud, jump into puddles, and everything that gives them the pleasure of being away from home and school.
Neha was always sure that she got to know the time from someone there. She would get back home before 6 because her dad and brother would be home after 6. She would love to see them come home. She would hug her dad and her brother and she would want to tell them every evening how much she loved them and how much she missed them the whole day. She did not know a world other then these three people.
She sat on her study table and began to read her book watching at the door every minute. After a while she heard the screeching noise of her brother Nitin’s bicycle. She jumped out of the table and ran to the door. Nitin stood there with his school bag and lunch kit waiting to hug his little sister. Neha ran to him and hugged.
“I love you bhayya” she said and hugged him. She did not care how dirty he looked after school, how unclean his shirt was. All she knew was her brother behind that dirty appearance.
“Come bhayya, mamma has chocolate cakes today”
She went back to her study table. She continued to read and kept looking at the door again.
“Papa is here” she jumped out of the table and ran to the door as she heard the car door slam. She jumped up to her dad Rahul.
“I missed you papa. Why are you so late?”
“Sorry Neha. I will try to keep up the time”. Rahul made it a point that he was home soon for his family. If ever he was late he would make sure he called home and informed and also talked to Neha a few words. This was a common code of conduct between Aarthi and Rahul.
At the diner table.
“Neha, how was school today?” her dad asked.
“Nice papa. Tinku pulled my hair today. Please tell him it pains”
“Sure honey, I will tell him not to hurt you” Rahul smiled.
“How come Neha tells everything that happens in class and Nitin never utters a word?” Aarthi asked.
“You expect me to give you an account of events? Mamma, I’m in class 6 and I think I can handle things myself” he said.
“But you are still a kid to us Nitin, so why not share your day with us. We would love to hear about it”
Nitin was silent.
“Nitin, we are not compelling you, but you sure would feel good to talk about it. So try. Now finish off everything on your plate. When it comes to food, I still would love to be a Hitler” Aarthi said and walked into the kitchen.
“Mamma” Nitin called out.
“Yeah?”
“Love you!” he said.
“Love you too my sweetie pie”
“Mamma” Neha called out.
“I love you too mamma” she wanted to confirm.
“Oh honey, I love you too”
That night, in the bed.
“Mamma, can I ask you something?” Nitin asked.
“Yeah” she said as she was putting Neha to sleep next to him.
“Today, in school, I thanked one of the teachers for clearing a doubt of mine. I also told her that I love her. Why didn’t she respond to that? Does she hate me?”
“No Nitin. It is no harm to tell people that we love them. Some people are still not open to such a statement from a kid. Your dad and I tell you kids that we love you quite often to let you know that you are the world to us. You respond to that. We hug you to give you the warmth of love. It is a way of showing a person how much they mean to you. You were thankful to your teacher and you told her so, but she didn’t take it well. Don’t worry about that”
“Ok mamma. Good night. Love you” Nitin said and pulled over the comfort.
Neha closed her eyes after she had overheard the conversation.
A simple family. A simple day. Simple events. A simple life. Day after day.
Next day.
“Mamma, I’m home!” Neha said as she dropped her bag on the table.
“Hi honey! Listen, I have to go to bhayya’s school for a meeting. You have your snacks and drink and go play. I will be back before 6. If I’m a bit late, you can stay at Rita aunty’s house. Is that ok with you?”
“Ok mamma” Neha said as she finished off her cake and drink.
In 15 minutes Neha was dressed up and ready to go to play. She walked out of the house and towards the ground. All of a sudden she ran back home and by then Aarthi had left. Neha was disappointed that she couldn’t tell her mom that she loved her. She was disappointed.
She joined the other kids in the block and forgot about her worry. She was playing on the swing looking at the other kids waiting for their turns. She loved to play on the swing. One of the boys who were waiting for his turn turned impatient and stopped the swing abruptly. Neha fell down on her knees. She couldn’t tolerate the pain and began to cry. One of the ladies around came running to her and helped her stand up. The kids stood around her looking at her bruised knees.
“Don’t cry Neha, it is just a bruise. You are fine” the lady comforted her.
“Mamma” Neha cried.
“What happened?” Prashanth asked. He was a college student who was playing basket ball close by.
“She fell off the swing. Do you have cotton and medicines in the games room?” the lady asked.
“Yes” he said and carried Neha to the games room. He washed off the blood, applied medicine and put some cotton on the bruises. By then Neha had calmed down and she missed her mamma a lot.
“That is it. Now you are ready to go back and play” Prashanth said.
“I want to go to mamma” she said with tears still brimming.
“Ok, come let me carry you home” he said and carried her to her house.
Aarthi had not come back.
“Now what do we do kiddo?” Prashanth asked as he let her down.Neha was all the more worried and she sat down at the closed door.
“Don’t worry Neha. Mamma will be here any moment. Till then come let us watch Pogo at my place” he said and lifted her.
“No” she said and sat down there with a stubborn face.
Prashanth sat next to her.“Ok, I will wait here too” he said.
She was silent. She was angry with her mamma for being late.
“I’m going home now. Going to watch Pogo and also eat chocolate ice cream” he said and stood up.
Neha looked up and slowly lifted her hands. He carried her to her house.
Aarthi and Nitin came home at 6.30 PM. Aarthi went to Rita’s house to pick up Neha. Rita’s house was locked. She ran to the ground which was almost empty. She asked the few kids who were around and they did not know anything. Aarthi panicked. She ran to the security guard who also had no information. She ran frantically back home to call Rahul and then she saw Neha walking into the house. She ran behind her.
Neha walked to the couch and sat there grumpily.
“Honey, where were you?” Aarthi asked and then noticed the cotton wrapped on her knees.
“Neha. What happened?” she asked and ran to her.
“Akash pushed me from the swing” she said. She didn’t sound fine.
“Awww. Who put the medicine?”
“Prashant bhayya”
“Does it pain a lot Neha?”
Neha nodded her head. She didn’t cry although she was brimming from inside.
Nitin sat next to her little sister and hugged her. Neha immediately took off his hand and walked to her study desk. She didn’t look up the door. She pretended to read.
“Neha, you want something to eat? Maybe chocolates?” Aarthi asked as she walked over to the refrigerator.
“No, I just had ice creams”
“Where? And where were you all this time?”
“At Prashanth bhayya’s house”
“Honey, are you alright?”Neha nodded her head.
“Come here, give mamma a hug. You will be fine. The pain will be gone tomorrow” Aarthi spread her arms.
Neha didn’t run to her. She didn’t move from her study table. Aarthi walked over to her and sat beside her small table.
“Sorry sweetie. Sorry for being late. Come to mamma” she said and pulled her out.
Neha wouldn’t budge. Just then Rahul walked in.
“Hello people” he said with his arms up in the air.
“You seem all excited today” Aarthi said.
“Yes. I’ve got the employee of the month award”
“Congratulations!” Aarthi said and got up from Neha’s study table.
“You got a prize papa?” Nitin asked.
“Yeah, something like that” Rahul said.
“Why is my little angel so silent today?” he said and lifted Neha from her desk.
He noticed legs.
“What happened?”Neha did not respond. Aarthi told her about it.
“She is angry with me and wouldn’t want to talk to me” Aarthi said.
“Sweetie, see mamma is crying. Talk to her” Rahul said.
Neha got off from her dad and walked to the couch. She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Her silence that evening disturbed the family.
That night, in the bed.
“Neha, are you still angry with me?” Aarthi whispered.
Neha closed her eyes on hearing that question.
“I love you honey. Please talk to me” Aarthi said and kissed her.
Neha quickly wiped her cheek. She detested the kiss. She didn’t open her eyes. After a while, Aarthi walked away closing the door behind. Neha opened her eyes and saw Nitin sleeping next to her. She got off the bed and slept on the floor. She cried within. She trembled. She missed mamma and papa.
The next morning, Aarthi thought Neha had rolled off the bed. The entire day Aarthi was disturbed about Neha’s silence. She was waiting for her to get back from school.
“Neha honey! Love you! See what mamma made for you today” she said and looked at the table.
Neha walked into the living room, dropped her bag on the couch as usual. Unusually she climbed up the couch and slept on it. Aarthi walked over to her.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked and touched her forehead.
Neha closed her eyes.“Neha, you must talk to me” Aarthi shook her and Neha did not budge. Aarthi sat next her and let Neha sleep. It was 6. Neha did not wake up to the screeching noise of Nitin’s bicycle. She also did not wake up to Rahul’s car. All the three sat around her looking at the beautiful girl sleep.
“Something must be eating her mind” Aarthi said.
“Should we take her to the doctor?” Rahul asked.
“I’m worried Rahul” Aarthi said and held his hand.
“Maybe she was worried after falling from the swing. We weren’t around. Maybe she is angry about that”
“Whatever it is, I want my baby to talk to me” Aarthi began to cry.Neha woke up and saw her family, her world around her.She immediately hugged Aarthi.
“Love you sweetie” Rahul said.
Neha looked at Rahul.
“I don’t love you” she said.
None of them expected that.
“Are you angry with me?” Rahul asked as she tried to take her from Aarthi.
“I love you too Neha. Come let us go play” Nitin said.
“I don’t love you bhayya” she said.
She got off from Rahul and sat down on her study table. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her face in it. Her family stood there looking at her fighting something within. They were helpless.
“I won’t go and play any more” Neha said her face still buried in her arms.
Aarthi got up to walk up to her while Rahul pulled her back and asked her to stay put so that Neha spoke some more.
“Ok Neha. You don’t have to go to the ground to play from tomorrow” Rahul affirmed.
“Tell Akash not to push me while I’m on the swing”
“Sure” Rahul was feeling better and a smile escaped from his face. Aarthi sat on the couch and her worries were draining.
“Tell Prashant bhayya not to do that again to me”
“What?” Aarthi asked.
“Prashant bhayya did bad things to me. He removed my dress while I was eating ice cream. He made me do bad things to him. I didn’t like it”
Hell froze. Rahul and Aarthi were beginning to feel uneasy. Neha looked up at her parents who were already frozen.
“Mamma. I told him I love him and I hugged him. You told me this is a way of being thankful. And he hugged me and told me he loved me too and did bad things to me. He kissed me all over. He hurt me. I don’t want to love anyone mamma. I don’t want to hug you” she said and got down the study table and walked to Aarthi.
Aarthi carried her and hugged her to her bosom. Rahul looked at Neha with tears brimming. Nitin was not sure what was happening. Aarthi felt a chillness running down her spine.
Neha, turned around as she put her face on her mother’s bosom and said, “Papa, tell Prashanth bhayya not to do it. It pains."
Rahul looked at her little adopted daughter helplessly.
A simple life was shattered beyond recovery. None of them slept that night except for Neha. She preferred to sleep on the floor.
---------------
Neha was formed in my mind after reading this. I wasn't at ease to end the story like that, but this is to all those Nehas who have gone through this. I suggest you read that post by Satheesh. Something has to be done... Something...
-the girl.
“Love you sweetie” Aarthi, Neha’s mother, said as she got home from school.
“Love you too mamma”, Neha said as she dropped her bag on the couch. She walked over to the table to her mom. She kept moving her hair that fell on her face time and again.
“Is the long hair bothering you honey?”
“No mamma. I love it. Preethi has like that”
“That is why I let you grow your hair” Aarthi said.
“I’m hungry mamma” she said and sat on the table.
“Here is your glass of milk and your favorite chocolate cake”
Neha was all chirpy as she relished her evening snack. She narrated all that had happened that day at school. Her mom sat near her wondering how so much could have happened in one day in her daughter’s life, that too when she was just in class 1.
“Mamma! Are you listening to me? Don’t you think Tinku was bad to me? I don’t like him”
“I am listening Neha. Tinku must be a nice kid. You guys should not fight with each other”
By then Neha had finished her snack and she was all set to change her dress.
“I want the red frock today” she ordered.
“Whatever you want mam” Aarthi changed her dress.
“It is time for play. I’m going out mamma. Can I play for extra 15 minutes today please?” she pleaded.
“No Neha. It would be dark. Get in soon and don’t go out of the colony compound”
“I promise not to go out mamma. Love you mamma”
“Love you honey”
Neha went out to play with her colony friends. The colony grounds were usually filled with kids of all ages with parents sitting on the stone benches watching their kids play. Aarthi occasionally accompanied Neha, otherwise Neha was just fine playing with the other kids without her mom’s supervision. Kids run helter-skelter, beat one another, play all sorts of games, scream, roll in the mud, jump into puddles, and everything that gives them the pleasure of being away from home and school.
Neha was always sure that she got to know the time from someone there. She would get back home before 6 because her dad and brother would be home after 6. She would love to see them come home. She would hug her dad and her brother and she would want to tell them every evening how much she loved them and how much she missed them the whole day. She did not know a world other then these three people.
She sat on her study table and began to read her book watching at the door every minute. After a while she heard the screeching noise of her brother Nitin’s bicycle. She jumped out of the table and ran to the door. Nitin stood there with his school bag and lunch kit waiting to hug his little sister. Neha ran to him and hugged.
“I love you bhayya” she said and hugged him. She did not care how dirty he looked after school, how unclean his shirt was. All she knew was her brother behind that dirty appearance.
“Come bhayya, mamma has chocolate cakes today”
She went back to her study table. She continued to read and kept looking at the door again.
“Papa is here” she jumped out of the table and ran to the door as she heard the car door slam. She jumped up to her dad Rahul.
“I missed you papa. Why are you so late?”
“Sorry Neha. I will try to keep up the time”. Rahul made it a point that he was home soon for his family. If ever he was late he would make sure he called home and informed and also talked to Neha a few words. This was a common code of conduct between Aarthi and Rahul.
At the diner table.
“Neha, how was school today?” her dad asked.
“Nice papa. Tinku pulled my hair today. Please tell him it pains”
“Sure honey, I will tell him not to hurt you” Rahul smiled.
“How come Neha tells everything that happens in class and Nitin never utters a word?” Aarthi asked.
“You expect me to give you an account of events? Mamma, I’m in class 6 and I think I can handle things myself” he said.
“But you are still a kid to us Nitin, so why not share your day with us. We would love to hear about it”
Nitin was silent.
“Nitin, we are not compelling you, but you sure would feel good to talk about it. So try. Now finish off everything on your plate. When it comes to food, I still would love to be a Hitler” Aarthi said and walked into the kitchen.
“Mamma” Nitin called out.
“Yeah?”
“Love you!” he said.
“Love you too my sweetie pie”
“Mamma” Neha called out.
“I love you too mamma” she wanted to confirm.
“Oh honey, I love you too”
That night, in the bed.
“Mamma, can I ask you something?” Nitin asked.
“Yeah” she said as she was putting Neha to sleep next to him.
“Today, in school, I thanked one of the teachers for clearing a doubt of mine. I also told her that I love her. Why didn’t she respond to that? Does she hate me?”
“No Nitin. It is no harm to tell people that we love them. Some people are still not open to such a statement from a kid. Your dad and I tell you kids that we love you quite often to let you know that you are the world to us. You respond to that. We hug you to give you the warmth of love. It is a way of showing a person how much they mean to you. You were thankful to your teacher and you told her so, but she didn’t take it well. Don’t worry about that”
“Ok mamma. Good night. Love you” Nitin said and pulled over the comfort.
Neha closed her eyes after she had overheard the conversation.
A simple family. A simple day. Simple events. A simple life. Day after day.
Next day.
“Mamma, I’m home!” Neha said as she dropped her bag on the table.
“Hi honey! Listen, I have to go to bhayya’s school for a meeting. You have your snacks and drink and go play. I will be back before 6. If I’m a bit late, you can stay at Rita aunty’s house. Is that ok with you?”
“Ok mamma” Neha said as she finished off her cake and drink.
In 15 minutes Neha was dressed up and ready to go to play. She walked out of the house and towards the ground. All of a sudden she ran back home and by then Aarthi had left. Neha was disappointed that she couldn’t tell her mom that she loved her. She was disappointed.
She joined the other kids in the block and forgot about her worry. She was playing on the swing looking at the other kids waiting for their turns. She loved to play on the swing. One of the boys who were waiting for his turn turned impatient and stopped the swing abruptly. Neha fell down on her knees. She couldn’t tolerate the pain and began to cry. One of the ladies around came running to her and helped her stand up. The kids stood around her looking at her bruised knees.
“Don’t cry Neha, it is just a bruise. You are fine” the lady comforted her.
“Mamma” Neha cried.
“What happened?” Prashanth asked. He was a college student who was playing basket ball close by.
“She fell off the swing. Do you have cotton and medicines in the games room?” the lady asked.
“Yes” he said and carried Neha to the games room. He washed off the blood, applied medicine and put some cotton on the bruises. By then Neha had calmed down and she missed her mamma a lot.
“That is it. Now you are ready to go back and play” Prashanth said.
“I want to go to mamma” she said with tears still brimming.
“Ok, come let me carry you home” he said and carried her to her house.
Aarthi had not come back.
“Now what do we do kiddo?” Prashanth asked as he let her down.Neha was all the more worried and she sat down at the closed door.
“Don’t worry Neha. Mamma will be here any moment. Till then come let us watch Pogo at my place” he said and lifted her.
“No” she said and sat down there with a stubborn face.
Prashanth sat next to her.“Ok, I will wait here too” he said.
She was silent. She was angry with her mamma for being late.
“I’m going home now. Going to watch Pogo and also eat chocolate ice cream” he said and stood up.
Neha looked up and slowly lifted her hands. He carried her to her house.
Aarthi and Nitin came home at 6.30 PM. Aarthi went to Rita’s house to pick up Neha. Rita’s house was locked. She ran to the ground which was almost empty. She asked the few kids who were around and they did not know anything. Aarthi panicked. She ran to the security guard who also had no information. She ran frantically back home to call Rahul and then she saw Neha walking into the house. She ran behind her.
Neha walked to the couch and sat there grumpily.
“Honey, where were you?” Aarthi asked and then noticed the cotton wrapped on her knees.
“Neha. What happened?” she asked and ran to her.
“Akash pushed me from the swing” she said. She didn’t sound fine.
“Awww. Who put the medicine?”
“Prashant bhayya”
“Does it pain a lot Neha?”
Neha nodded her head. She didn’t cry although she was brimming from inside.
Nitin sat next to her little sister and hugged her. Neha immediately took off his hand and walked to her study desk. She didn’t look up the door. She pretended to read.
“Neha, you want something to eat? Maybe chocolates?” Aarthi asked as she walked over to the refrigerator.
“No, I just had ice creams”
“Where? And where were you all this time?”
“At Prashanth bhayya’s house”
“Honey, are you alright?”Neha nodded her head.
“Come here, give mamma a hug. You will be fine. The pain will be gone tomorrow” Aarthi spread her arms.
Neha didn’t run to her. She didn’t move from her study table. Aarthi walked over to her and sat beside her small table.
“Sorry sweetie. Sorry for being late. Come to mamma” she said and pulled her out.
Neha wouldn’t budge. Just then Rahul walked in.
“Hello people” he said with his arms up in the air.
“You seem all excited today” Aarthi said.
“Yes. I’ve got the employee of the month award”
“Congratulations!” Aarthi said and got up from Neha’s study table.
“You got a prize papa?” Nitin asked.
“Yeah, something like that” Rahul said.
“Why is my little angel so silent today?” he said and lifted Neha from her desk.
He noticed legs.
“What happened?”Neha did not respond. Aarthi told her about it.
“She is angry with me and wouldn’t want to talk to me” Aarthi said.
“Sweetie, see mamma is crying. Talk to her” Rahul said.
Neha got off from her dad and walked to the couch. She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Her silence that evening disturbed the family.
That night, in the bed.
“Neha, are you still angry with me?” Aarthi whispered.
Neha closed her eyes on hearing that question.
“I love you honey. Please talk to me” Aarthi said and kissed her.
Neha quickly wiped her cheek. She detested the kiss. She didn’t open her eyes. After a while, Aarthi walked away closing the door behind. Neha opened her eyes and saw Nitin sleeping next to her. She got off the bed and slept on the floor. She cried within. She trembled. She missed mamma and papa.
The next morning, Aarthi thought Neha had rolled off the bed. The entire day Aarthi was disturbed about Neha’s silence. She was waiting for her to get back from school.
“Neha honey! Love you! See what mamma made for you today” she said and looked at the table.
Neha walked into the living room, dropped her bag on the couch as usual. Unusually she climbed up the couch and slept on it. Aarthi walked over to her.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked and touched her forehead.
Neha closed her eyes.“Neha, you must talk to me” Aarthi shook her and Neha did not budge. Aarthi sat next her and let Neha sleep. It was 6. Neha did not wake up to the screeching noise of Nitin’s bicycle. She also did not wake up to Rahul’s car. All the three sat around her looking at the beautiful girl sleep.
“Something must be eating her mind” Aarthi said.
“Should we take her to the doctor?” Rahul asked.
“I’m worried Rahul” Aarthi said and held his hand.
“Maybe she was worried after falling from the swing. We weren’t around. Maybe she is angry about that”
“Whatever it is, I want my baby to talk to me” Aarthi began to cry.Neha woke up and saw her family, her world around her.She immediately hugged Aarthi.
“Love you sweetie” Rahul said.
Neha looked at Rahul.
“I don’t love you” she said.
None of them expected that.
“Are you angry with me?” Rahul asked as she tried to take her from Aarthi.
“I love you too Neha. Come let us go play” Nitin said.
“I don’t love you bhayya” she said.
She got off from Rahul and sat down on her study table. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her face in it. Her family stood there looking at her fighting something within. They were helpless.
“I won’t go and play any more” Neha said her face still buried in her arms.
Aarthi got up to walk up to her while Rahul pulled her back and asked her to stay put so that Neha spoke some more.
“Ok Neha. You don’t have to go to the ground to play from tomorrow” Rahul affirmed.
“Tell Akash not to push me while I’m on the swing”
“Sure” Rahul was feeling better and a smile escaped from his face. Aarthi sat on the couch and her worries were draining.
“Tell Prashant bhayya not to do that again to me”
“What?” Aarthi asked.
“Prashant bhayya did bad things to me. He removed my dress while I was eating ice cream. He made me do bad things to him. I didn’t like it”
Hell froze. Rahul and Aarthi were beginning to feel uneasy. Neha looked up at her parents who were already frozen.
“Mamma. I told him I love him and I hugged him. You told me this is a way of being thankful. And he hugged me and told me he loved me too and did bad things to me. He kissed me all over. He hurt me. I don’t want to love anyone mamma. I don’t want to hug you” she said and got down the study table and walked to Aarthi.
Aarthi carried her and hugged her to her bosom. Rahul looked at Neha with tears brimming. Nitin was not sure what was happening. Aarthi felt a chillness running down her spine.
Neha, turned around as she put her face on her mother’s bosom and said, “Papa, tell Prashanth bhayya not to do it. It pains."
Rahul looked at her little adopted daughter helplessly.
A simple life was shattered beyond recovery. None of them slept that night except for Neha. She preferred to sleep on the floor.
---------------
Neha was formed in my mind after reading this. I wasn't at ease to end the story like that, but this is to all those Nehas who have gone through this. I suggest you read that post by Satheesh. Something has to be done... Something...
-the girl.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
sweet,sweet surrender
Its been so long since I last saw a sunset that I'd forgotten how pretty it is when the sun sets behind the hills and the glow lingers for hours to come. When each, and I mean EACH aspect of life seems to just crumble away, when everything collapses like a house of cards, when pain moves beyond desolation... is that when the phoenix rises?
I promised to fight. But I didn't read the small print. Did I promise to fight everyone's battles? All the time? Lesson learnt = ALWAYS read the small print!
Someday I'll go to sleep because I want to and not because fatigue takes over... Someday I'll wake up beacuse I want to and not because I have to... Someday I'll not be sad... Someday there'll be sweet surrender...Because beyond desolation, hope is lost and right now, that's all I have...
-the girl.
I promised to fight. But I didn't read the small print. Did I promise to fight everyone's battles? All the time? Lesson learnt = ALWAYS read the small print!
Someday I'll go to sleep because I want to and not because fatigue takes over... Someday I'll wake up beacuse I want to and not because I have to... Someday I'll not be sad... Someday there'll be sweet surrender...Because beyond desolation, hope is lost and right now, that's all I have...
-the girl.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
A Time of 'Their' Lives.....
Even though the action of football has always intrigued me..I fail to understand why the male department regards people who are clueless bout what footbaal is all about,or who is in which team..(and of course,who has the hottest babe next to himself!) as something unearthly giving looks which makes one (yeah,the females..mostly.) feel like getting rolled up inside her own shell by the inferiority complex!
I was talking about the whole issue to a friend who got married last year in April..and whose poor wife was cursing herself as to why did she affirm for the wedding to be held on a FIFA year,and that too prior to the World Cup..I could come to a few conclusions which my friend declared..the conditions(the only conditions,rather) in which the men would watch the matches..and how their girlfriends or wives should not be interfering (here,genuinely disturbing..)in the matches,with their television sets..and so on and so forth..I m just penning down the bold and the blatant statements..(kindly shift back on time..a scene of say 8th june'06 and imagine as if the guy is himself claiming the following..
I am alive and kickin....But its June 8th and that means World Cup is almost here....wooohooo!!
Please forward this to your girlfriends, wives, etc.
1. From 9 June to 9 July 2006, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be looked at in a bad way, or you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention.
2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye).
3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don't mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without distracting me. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I wont have time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month.
4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, open the door, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell from the second floor....it wont happen.
5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces to my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day.
6. Please, please, please!! if you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say "get over it, its only a game", or "don't worry, they'll win next time". If you say these things, you will only make me angrier and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called "words of encouragement" will only lead to a break up or divorce.
7. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the halftime score is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying "one" game, hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to "spend time together".
8. Please do NOT ask me the rules of soccer when the game is on! If you really want to know, look it up on the Internet. The computer is all yours when the game is on (only when the game is on). And don't ask silly, stupid questions like "Oh, why is he walking out the field?" (He got a red card, dammit).
9. The replays of the goals are very important. I don't care if I have seen them or I haven't seen them, I want to see them again. Many times.
10. Tell your friends NOT to have any babies, or any other child related parties or gatherings that requires my attendance because:
a) I will not go, b) I will not go, and c) I will not go.
11. But, if a friend of mine invites us to his house on a Sunday to watch a game and his television and sound system is better than mine, we will be there in a flash.
12. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying "but you have already seen this...why don't you change the channel to something we can all watch??", the reply will be: "Refer to Rule #2 of this list".
13. And finally, please save your expressions such as "Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years". I am immune to these words, because after this comes the Champions League, Italian League, Spanish League, Premier League, etc etc.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Regards,
Men of the World.
(space..)
Siiighhh..!!thats all i can say..
-the girl.
I was talking about the whole issue to a friend who got married last year in April..and whose poor wife was cursing herself as to why did she affirm for the wedding to be held on a FIFA year,and that too prior to the World Cup..I could come to a few conclusions which my friend declared..the conditions(the only conditions,rather) in which the men would watch the matches..and how their girlfriends or wives should not be interfering (here,genuinely disturbing..)in the matches,with their television sets..and so on and so forth..I m just penning down the bold and the blatant statements..(kindly shift back on time..a scene of say 8th june'06 and imagine as if the guy is himself claiming the following..
I am alive and kickin....But its June 8th and that means World Cup is almost here....wooohooo!!
Please forward this to your girlfriends, wives, etc.
1. From 9 June to 9 July 2006, you should read the sports section of the newspaper so that you are aware of what is going on regarding the World Cup, and that way you will be able to join in the conversations. If you fail to do this, then you will be looked at in a bad way, or you will be totally ignored. DO NOT complain about not receiving any attention.
2. During the World Cup, the television is mine, at all times, without any exceptions. If you even take a glimpse of the remote control, you will lose it (your eye).
3. If you have to pass by in front of the TV during a game, I don't mind, as long as you do it crawling on the floor and without distracting me. If you decide to stand nude in front of the TV, make sure you put clothes on right after because if you catch a cold, I wont have time to take you to the doctor or look after you during the World Cup month.
4. During the games I will be blind, deaf and mute, unless I require a refill of my drink or something to eat. You are out of your mind if you expect me to listen to you, open the door, answer the telephone, or pick up the baby that just fell from the second floor....it wont happen.
5. It would be a good idea for you to keep at least 2 six packs in the fridge at all times, as well as plenty of things to nibble on, and please do not make any funny faces to my friends when they come over to watch the games. In return, you will be allowed to use the TV between 12am and 6am, unless they replay a good game that I missed during the day.
6. Please, please, please!! if you see me upset because one of my teams is losing, DO NOT say "get over it, its only a game", or "don't worry, they'll win next time". If you say these things, you will only make me angrier and I will love you less. Remember, you will never ever know more about football than me and your so called "words of encouragement" will only lead to a break up or divorce.
7. You are welcome to sit with me to watch one game and you can talk to me during halftime but only when the commercials are on, and only if the halftime score is pleasing me. In addition, please note I am saying "one" game, hence do not use the World Cup as a nice cheesy excuse to "spend time together".
8. Please do NOT ask me the rules of soccer when the game is on! If you really want to know, look it up on the Internet. The computer is all yours when the game is on (only when the game is on). And don't ask silly, stupid questions like "Oh, why is he walking out the field?" (He got a red card, dammit).
9. The replays of the goals are very important. I don't care if I have seen them or I haven't seen them, I want to see them again. Many times.
10. Tell your friends NOT to have any babies, or any other child related parties or gatherings that requires my attendance because:
a) I will not go, b) I will not go, and c) I will not go.
11. But, if a friend of mine invites us to his house on a Sunday to watch a game and his television and sound system is better than mine, we will be there in a flash.
12. The daily World Cup highlights show on TV every night is just as important as the games themselves. Do not even think about saying "but you have already seen this...why don't you change the channel to something we can all watch??", the reply will be: "Refer to Rule #2 of this list".
13. And finally, please save your expressions such as "Thank God the World Cup is only every 4 years". I am immune to these words, because after this comes the Champions League, Italian League, Spanish League, Premier League, etc etc.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Regards,
Men of the World.
(space..)
Siiighhh..!!thats all i can say..
-the girl.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Mind trains...
the mind trains baffle me..and the destiny and conclusive thought further...a few days back, i was watching a popular TV show with the name The Apprentice.there were two finalists ...one British turned American and the other a Jewish American.The latter had always mentioned his Jewish religion..and so it stuck in my head.i believed that the latter would win (coz he was young and a good strategist) ....he lost.
Could religion be a criteria for selecting people? how much hold on our thought process does religion have?(my mind trains started moving all over by now). In a country like America which is melting pot of so many many kinds of people...how many really hold onto their religions? how and what do they identify themselves with?being raised here in India...we know that we are not just Indians...we are from this caste..this sub caste..this state..etc etc.... we have a WHOLE flow chart coming to us...and everytime ...we talk or think or organise...we work along this very flowchart...
how do I think..? i think first like myself..then like my surname, then like my caste ..then my religion ..and so on..at EVERY level ..i modify myself...to suit and fit ...and ultimately....am i ME?and then ....as i kept on this line....those words emerged...words that were conclusive and truely something that amazed me ..i said..
"Tradition can either Pull u Down...or Keep u Grounded...its all about perspectives"..
is it? ...
-the girl.
Could religion be a criteria for selecting people? how much hold on our thought process does religion have?(my mind trains started moving all over by now). In a country like America which is melting pot of so many many kinds of people...how many really hold onto their religions? how and what do they identify themselves with?being raised here in India...we know that we are not just Indians...we are from this caste..this sub caste..this state..etc etc.... we have a WHOLE flow chart coming to us...and everytime ...we talk or think or organise...we work along this very flowchart...
how do I think..? i think first like myself..then like my surname, then like my caste ..then my religion ..and so on..at EVERY level ..i modify myself...to suit and fit ...and ultimately....am i ME?and then ....as i kept on this line....those words emerged...words that were conclusive and truely something that amazed me ..i said..
"Tradition can either Pull u Down...or Keep u Grounded...its all about perspectives"..
is it? ...
-the girl.
Monday, April 02, 2007
time for another pomme..
The true worth,
Of a speck of dirt,
An oyster sees,
When a pearl he weaves.
Dew drops so small,
Enthrall one and all,
On a morning fine,
But only in sunshine.
These qualities divine,
Of oyster and sunshine,
In your mind,
Hidden u'll find.
And that's the key,
That'll fully change thee,
From a speck of dirt,
To the man u'll be.
-the girl.
Of a speck of dirt,
An oyster sees,
When a pearl he weaves.
Dew drops so small,
Enthrall one and all,
On a morning fine,
But only in sunshine.
These qualities divine,
Of oyster and sunshine,
In your mind,
Hidden u'll find.
And that's the key,
That'll fully change thee,
From a speck of dirt,
To the man u'll be.
-the girl.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Remains of the Storm ..
Look there. How calm those waters seem now that the season has turned. Only yesterday, they were savage seas. Churning violent storms and casting them our way. The vengeful east winds that crashed on our shores. Dancing dervish. As if they wanted to reclaim the land. To take it away to the sea. How they raged andplundered. How we waited and watched. Many days and many nights. And when it passed, we came out to gather the fallen pieces of our lives. To scavenge what the storm left behind. To mourn what it took.
The storm itself dissipated. Scattered itself across the land. Precipitated. Into a weeping autumn rain. Dissolved. Perhaps atoning for its sins.
Or maybe it simply wandered. Couldn't find its way back to the ocean. Who knows ?
Whirlwinds uncoiled on their vortex. Squalling over arid sands. Caught between nowhere and nothingness. The solitude of the desert drove them mad. Deranged, they shifted sand dunes by day - only to move them back by night.
Convectional crosscurrents ascended the firmament. Nothing remained of their wrath but a passing turbulence. Somewhere else, a translucent breeze touched land. It rippled golden through the tall seas of praire grass. Waxing-waning. Cresting-falling.
Some storms became winds. Some winds disintegrated. Into the cold drafts that condensed on your skin on muggy, moonless nights. Yet others, like tattered paper kites fluttered hapless from old telegraph wires. Gales rattled windows, crept in through cracks and settled in damp corners. Occassionally stirring but mostly silent. Fragments of air stood motionless. In suspended animation. As if they had died mid-sentence.
I collected them all. The fragile, broken pieces of a tempest dead. The consequence of sorrow. And its cause. Withered wafts surrendered themselves. I held them down with paperweights lest they should escape. They crumbled to ash between my fingertips. I inhaled every moving gust till my lungs could hold no more.
And I walked. I walked till the ocean found me. Till the tide drew in. It had waited long for the storm's return. Keeping vigil on the eastern sky. Hoping for the winds to ride back into the sunset. Water looked at me, questioningly. Melancholy waves leaped up and then subsided. They knew. They knew what the silence meant.
I stood there for a moment that was both brief and long at the same time. Reflecting. Reminiscing. Then I said a prayer. Exhaled deep. And in doing so I buried the remains of the storm. At sea.
-the girl.
The storm itself dissipated. Scattered itself across the land. Precipitated. Into a weeping autumn rain. Dissolved. Perhaps atoning for its sins.
Or maybe it simply wandered. Couldn't find its way back to the ocean. Who knows ?
Whirlwinds uncoiled on their vortex. Squalling over arid sands. Caught between nowhere and nothingness. The solitude of the desert drove them mad. Deranged, they shifted sand dunes by day - only to move them back by night.
Convectional crosscurrents ascended the firmament. Nothing remained of their wrath but a passing turbulence. Somewhere else, a translucent breeze touched land. It rippled golden through the tall seas of praire grass. Waxing-waning. Cresting-falling.
Some storms became winds. Some winds disintegrated. Into the cold drafts that condensed on your skin on muggy, moonless nights. Yet others, like tattered paper kites fluttered hapless from old telegraph wires. Gales rattled windows, crept in through cracks and settled in damp corners. Occassionally stirring but mostly silent. Fragments of air stood motionless. In suspended animation. As if they had died mid-sentence.
I collected them all. The fragile, broken pieces of a tempest dead. The consequence of sorrow. And its cause. Withered wafts surrendered themselves. I held them down with paperweights lest they should escape. They crumbled to ash between my fingertips. I inhaled every moving gust till my lungs could hold no more.
And I walked. I walked till the ocean found me. Till the tide drew in. It had waited long for the storm's return. Keeping vigil on the eastern sky. Hoping for the winds to ride back into the sunset. Water looked at me, questioningly. Melancholy waves leaped up and then subsided. They knew. They knew what the silence meant.
I stood there for a moment that was both brief and long at the same time. Reflecting. Reminiscing. Then I said a prayer. Exhaled deep. And in doing so I buried the remains of the storm. At sea.
-the girl.
to the Left of Right
I have always had trouble with fundamental truths.
As a child, I could never be sure if the long arm of the clock showed minutes or hours. Somehow, I had made the association that because an hour is "bigger" than a minute, technically, the longer arm ought to show hours. Then ofcourse, I would find out that I was wrong and would make a mental note of it. But the next time around when I was asked to tell the time, I'd go over the same premise and arguments in my head and become horribly muddled again.
Relative directions were another bane to my existence. I had a hard time telling left from right. Ironically, I understood cardinal directions very well. But if I was told to turn left, I would have to stop and think. Even then, much to my embarassment, Iwould end up getting it wrong some times. Then my grandfather taught me a trick.
I remember him and I walking home from my Saturday hobby class. I must have been about seven years old then. Everytime we reached a corner, he would ask me which way to turn and I'd choose. It was our game. What amazed me was that no matter how many wrong turns we took, we were never wrong enough to be lost. We would always make it back home in time for lunch.
In the course of these weekly games, it had become apparent to my grandfather that I fumbled with directions. I'd say left when I meant to go right and vice-versa. He'd correct me politely when I made a mistake but was careful not to make me feel conscious about it. "We are just the same, you know", he said to me one day. "I used to have trouble with these things too when I was your age. But its nothing to worry about". And then after a brief pause, he chuckled "Maybe it runs in the family".
I was secretly delighted because this was something we had in common - something that bound me together with my grandfather. I was also relieved to know that there was hope for me yet. Afterall, for someone who claimed to bungle up directions himself, my grandfather had done pretty well in his life. I explained to him my futile attempts at memorizing left and right using all kinds of mnemonics.
"Well, lets forget all of that. It isn't going to help us. We must think in pictures. That is the best way to remember anything", my grandfather said as he walked ahead and stood at the corner of the sidewalk across from me and a red mailbox.
"Now remember the spatial details of what you see here. Try and click a mental picture of it and tuck it away in your head somewhere. The mailbox is to your right. I am standing to your left. If you want to go right, you walk towards the mailbox. If you want to go left, you come to me. Right - mailbox. Left - me. Thats all you need to know", he said to me and then we continued on our way home.
That was many years ago. A lot has happened in my life since. I have grown up for one. My grandfather has passed on. The house that where I grew up was torn down. Occassionally, I still have trouble telling time on a dial-type analog clock. But when it comes to directions, I have become very clever. If you ask me to turn left, I don't have to think twice - or even once for that matter. The neurons in my head fire away mechanically. A familiar scene flickers in my mind's eye. I see a red mailbox on one side. My grandfather is on the other side, smiling.
And I walk towards him. I just keep walking towards him.
-the girl.
Friday, March 02, 2007
badla lungi!!
a book review is anytime better than a post where the boy questions my gender! :-1
the boy must note that his 'little' post is well-regarded and taken into consideration to plan a few things against him.
glorious females,no comments,eh?? thou shalt see the consequences!
wait and watch! till the meantime,i pray to god that the boy gets basked in colours by his hostel mates and also that his room is flooded with water and walls coloured in vibgyor!!
-the girl.
the boy must note that his 'little' post is well-regarded and taken into consideration to plan a few things against him.
glorious females,no comments,eh?? thou shalt see the consequences!
wait and watch! till the meantime,i pray to god that the boy gets basked in colours by his hostel mates and also that his room is flooded with water and walls coloured in vibgyor!!
-the girl.
Atonement
Writers are omnipotent. They sit by the brook on sunny afternoons and create bubbles of lives that sway with the wind - every bubble an universe in itself, pregnant with lives twisted and tortured by a greater purpose and responsibility. The writer can then create lives, destroy them, lure the eve with a shining apple or destroy the bubble with a indistinguishable colored pixel. Period.
They could either sweep the rug of reason off your feet and take you to another space and time where their protagonist becomes the center of an ever expanding thriving universe (like how an unassuming ten year old from pivet drive realized his parents were the greatest wizards of all time). Such a premise easily lends itself to drama and larger than life characters (like the man who cannot be named). Or they could show you a seemingly insignificant card and make you a witness while a minor accident sways it and makes it fall. And just as it falls, it kisses another card and takes it along and soon they all fall, an entire castle of cards, kissed with death and a twist of fate. And when the whole castle is in shambles, you have no one to blame but a minor insignificant accident - a woodworm that ate the cross. And a satisfied writer who orchestrated it all.
On a midsummer morning, 13-year-old Briony Tallis watches, from a hidden window, her sister take off her clothes before her father's ward and jump into a fountain. An admittedly unusual incident (aggressive foreplay if it were in a hollywood movie) but not an event that by itself could entwine three lives, destroy them beyond belief and dismember a family. But by the time you are through with Part one of Atonement, you realize that the lives of those caught in that decisive moment have been irrevocably altered and each of their picture perfect plans for future irrepairably destroyed.
The first part of the novel is a master piece. It paints an upper middle class setting in the early part of twentieth century, overlays it with an entire family of interesting characters. Briony Tallis is looking forward for her brother Leon to return and writes a play as a welcome act, that she plans to stage with the help of her cousins. Her sister Cecilia is spending time at home after her years in Oxford and living with them is Robbie turner, who's on his way to study medicine, after an exceptional year of academics. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one character and hence events are revisited and shown in the different perspective. And it's eventually this difference in perspective - subjectivity of realism - that causes the seemingly insignificant card to sway and fall and take with it the entire castle.
The story could have ended there. But the laws of cause and effect wouldn't have been complete. The unlucky wouldn't have been victimised and erring soul wouldn't have repented. The rest of the book binds the ends and records the atonement of the protagonist. Though the text is exquisite, the imagery detailed, these introspective parts fail to capture the magic of the first act. More so because they do little to advance the story - time goes by slowly as the characters trudge through the walk of life reconciling themselves with here and now and try in their own little ways to mend it. But like the author himself writes, "The crystalline present moment is of course a worthy subject in itself ... it allows a writer to show his gifts, delve into mysteries of perception .... However, such writing can become precious when there's no sense of forward movement ... underlying pull of simple narrative".
In the end, time flies. Lives end and plot twists are resolved. The thirteen year old girl reaches the autumn of her life and waits for the witnesses in her prosecution to fade so that she could finally atone for her sin. In a master stroke in the end, the line between the reality as in the book, and those recorded as a work of fiction by the Briorny is forever blurred. And when the final page is flipped, she stares out at the autumn sky and reconciles with herself and her written word.
Atonement is no doubt a work of class. And as with anything with class, it runs the risk of being compared with itself than with its contemporaries. I would have loved to like Atonement a little more. You know that when the last word is said, you don't feel the emptiness that only art could leave you with but in its place a sigh, a shadow of what it could have been. A master piece.
ps: [Atonement : A Novel - by Ian McEwan].
- the girl.
They could either sweep the rug of reason off your feet and take you to another space and time where their protagonist becomes the center of an ever expanding thriving universe (like how an unassuming ten year old from pivet drive realized his parents were the greatest wizards of all time). Such a premise easily lends itself to drama and larger than life characters (like the man who cannot be named). Or they could show you a seemingly insignificant card and make you a witness while a minor accident sways it and makes it fall. And just as it falls, it kisses another card and takes it along and soon they all fall, an entire castle of cards, kissed with death and a twist of fate. And when the whole castle is in shambles, you have no one to blame but a minor insignificant accident - a woodworm that ate the cross. And a satisfied writer who orchestrated it all.
On a midsummer morning, 13-year-old Briony Tallis watches, from a hidden window, her sister take off her clothes before her father's ward and jump into a fountain. An admittedly unusual incident (aggressive foreplay if it were in a hollywood movie) but not an event that by itself could entwine three lives, destroy them beyond belief and dismember a family. But by the time you are through with Part one of Atonement, you realize that the lives of those caught in that decisive moment have been irrevocably altered and each of their picture perfect plans for future irrepairably destroyed.
The first part of the novel is a master piece. It paints an upper middle class setting in the early part of twentieth century, overlays it with an entire family of interesting characters. Briony Tallis is looking forward for her brother Leon to return and writes a play as a welcome act, that she plans to stage with the help of her cousins. Her sister Cecilia is spending time at home after her years in Oxford and living with them is Robbie turner, who's on his way to study medicine, after an exceptional year of academics. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one character and hence events are revisited and shown in the different perspective. And it's eventually this difference in perspective - subjectivity of realism - that causes the seemingly insignificant card to sway and fall and take with it the entire castle.
The story could have ended there. But the laws of cause and effect wouldn't have been complete. The unlucky wouldn't have been victimised and erring soul wouldn't have repented. The rest of the book binds the ends and records the atonement of the protagonist. Though the text is exquisite, the imagery detailed, these introspective parts fail to capture the magic of the first act. More so because they do little to advance the story - time goes by slowly as the characters trudge through the walk of life reconciling themselves with here and now and try in their own little ways to mend it. But like the author himself writes, "The crystalline present moment is of course a worthy subject in itself ... it allows a writer to show his gifts, delve into mysteries of perception .... However, such writing can become precious when there's no sense of forward movement ... underlying pull of simple narrative".
In the end, time flies. Lives end and plot twists are resolved. The thirteen year old girl reaches the autumn of her life and waits for the witnesses in her prosecution to fade so that she could finally atone for her sin. In a master stroke in the end, the line between the reality as in the book, and those recorded as a work of fiction by the Briorny is forever blurred. And when the final page is flipped, she stares out at the autumn sky and reconciles with herself and her written word.
Atonement is no doubt a work of class. And as with anything with class, it runs the risk of being compared with itself than with its contemporaries. I would have loved to like Atonement a little more. You know that when the last word is said, you don't feel the emptiness that only art could leave you with but in its place a sigh, a shadow of what it could have been. A master piece.
ps: [Atonement : A Novel - by Ian McEwan].
- the girl.
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