My Picture Stories

A picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes, a picture could totally change a vague idea into a very real breathing and kicking thing, assuming a life of its own, completely occupying you, consuming you whole – body, mind, and soul.

Mine is a typical arranged marriage. You arrive at a “marriageable age”. Your parents talk to you and put out a word about your “availability” in their social circles. And you wait…

Then finally, a few weeks later, they find a “nice” boy. They match your ages, heights, horoscopes, and a whole load of crap that’s to be matched. And then, you exchange photographs.

When his photograph arrived, a few people at home looked at it before I did. They started throwing around these random judgments – he's cute, he's handsome, nice, tall, etcetera, etcetera…

So, my indifference slips a little bit and I get a little curious. Finally, I open the laptop and while his picture loads, my family throw in more appreciative adjectives for my benefit. Amidst all this hubbub, I look at his picture and decide – well, they are not wrong. He is one attractive man. It’s a waist length photograph. He’s in this red and white shirt, posing for the camera, smiling and all…

He had a very gentle and pleasant smile and I wonder “what's he smiling at”, though I knew that he was just posing for a photo.

He had thick and black curly hair which was well-groomed and I wonder “Did he get a hair-cut done specially for this picture?”

His arms are long and strong-looking and I wonder what his touch would feel like.

While going to bed that night, I wonder if he was going to bed too. While having breakfast next morning, I wonder what's his favorite dish. I wonder what movies he likes to watch, what books he likes to read. I wonder what his kind of vacation is. At every moment, I would think – What is he doing right now, at this exact moment? Is he eating, is he working, is he sleeping? Does he know I am thinking about him?

All of a sudden, he was this real, living, breathing person whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to, of course. I shamelessly admit – I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet this stranger.

Fast forward six years. I’m married to this stranger, we have an adorable little boy, who’s also a brat sometimes. And now, we register to legally adopt a girl child. We fill up a truck load of forms, face innumerable interviews, finish another truck load of formalities and then, we wait…

Here again, they match your requirements with the available children and finally, a few years later, there’s a match – a nine-month old baby girl! While speaking to the Children’s home about the baby, I hear some appreciative adjectives – she’s very cute, she’s extremely active, healthy, adorable... My nerves are a wreck (well, I can’t tell you how nervous I was) when I opened the laptop and saw her picture and I decide – well, they are not wrong – She’s one adorable little munchkin.

It was a tiny passport size picture. She had little almond-shaped eyes looking not towards the camera, but towards a side and I wonder “What is she looking at? What’s there that grabbed her attention?”

She had thin little lips, forming just a hint of a smile and I wonder “What’s got her so amused?”

On her head were just a few brownish strands set slickly on her head with a couple sticking out awkwardly from one side and I wonder “Has some one combed her hair back so slickly or is her hair prim and proper always?”

While having dinner that evening, I wonder what she liked to eat – is she a fussy eater? While going to bed at night, I wonder if she likes to hear lullabies at bedtime. I wonder if she liked to play peek-a-boo or would it scare her. I wonder if she has a favorite toy, I wonder what she likes to play, I wonder if she smiles a lot. At every moment, I would think – What is she doing now, right at this exact moment? Is she eating, is she sleeping, is she playing? Does she know I am thinking about her?

All of a sudden, she was this real, living, breathing person, albeit a little person, whose existence I was not aware till now, who I had never met till date, yet strangely, could not get out of my head. Not that I wanted to of course. I admit I was obsessed. I was obsessed and I just couldn’t wait to meet my little stranger.

Is it really all gone?

The initial magic has worn off. They are now just a boring middle-aged couple, each caught up in his or her own daily lives. Gone are the good morning kisses, the starry-eyed staring at each other, rambling on and on in each others arms late at night, and all the other things that consumed almost half of the ‘honey moon years’.

She longs for those little gestures that used to make her days, made her feel wanted, made her feel loved, made her feel alive. Had she not vowed, as a teenager, that she would never let this happen to her life? Wasn't she determined never to get bored of her marriage?

She forgot how it felt to have butterflies in her stomach. She forgot how it felt to snuggle close to him on cold winter nights. She forgot the fun of pillow fights. 

How many days has it been since they spoke of something other than news during breakfast?

How many years has it been since they had called each other during work for something other than to remind each other of an unfinished chore?

How many evenings has it been since they sat together for something other than to watch the television?

How many nights has it been since they actually ‘shared’ a bed?

The sharp ringing of her phone snaps her out of her sad reverie. It is him calling.

But surprisingly, it is not his voice. She hears an anxious voice of a stranger. He is sympathetic and tries to break the news about the fateful accident as gently as possible. As he goes on rambling about how the accident happened, she blanks out, the phone falls off her sweaty palms, and she collapses on the ground.

How could this have happened? How could he be gone? What would happen to her now? Her mind becomes a mirage of confused feelings, coming and going.

Who would give her news briefs during breakfast in the morning?

Who would call her during work and remind her of an unfinished chore?

Who would she watch the television with, during evenings?

Who would she find beside her, when she wakes up in the middle of the night?

Oh, what would she not give up to have him back in her life! She didn't want any butterflies in her stomach or the silly pillow fights. She just wants him back!

She is oblivious to her phone that is still ringing and the impatient knocking on the door. She loses track of time and doesn't even know how long she sat there, sobbing and regretting. Suddenly, she sees an apparition, his apparition, in front of her. 

Is it a dream!?

She stands up and rushes into his arms. His palms smooth her hair, comfortingly till she comes back to her senses.

He is not an apparition, she realizes as sense dawns upon her. He is alive! Very much alive! He is here, in flesh and blood! 

But the phone call…? She is very confused! She is blabbering incoherently.

‘Honey! Someone stole my phone in the afternoon,’ he explains and tears of relief stream down her eyes. They are lost for words and fall asleep in each others arms.

The next morning…

As usual, the persistent alarm wakes them up. They hurry through their chores and before long; they are at the breakfast table.

As she listens to her husband’s news briefing, a line that she had read in a book years ago strikes her:

“Early love is filled with attraction. It is like a flower of a plant. It is beautiful, but it is delicate and fragile.

The love that comes later on is filled with responsibility. It is like the root of a plant. You may not be able to see it and it is not beautiful like the flower. But, do not forget that it supports and nourishes your entire life!”

Going Back Home...

Their eyes twinkle when they see me. I am aware of their hearts leaping with a bittersweet ache, for here, my own heart reacts similarly. All of a sudden, I forget that I am a woman, all grown-up. I go back in time, becoming a little child all over again. I fly straight into my mom’s arms, just like how I always did, when I came back from school. I embrace my dad, just like how I used to do every evening, after he came back from work. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them now, do I realize how much I miss them…

It jumps onto me and licks my face entirely, the moment it catches my scent. Though it does not have a mouth as large as mine, I know its heart is screaming noiselessly. The poor creature does not even understand why I had to leave and tend to myself. All of a sudden, I forget the fact that I had been away for so long. I play with it, allowing it to pull me and push me as much as it likes. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at it, do I realize how much I miss it…

They come in bustling, as noisy as always, and give me bear hugs, rough and playful, just like how they used to be when we had lived together under the same roof. All of a sudden, I forget that we don’t do it any longer. I join them in the loud laughter, the ear-splitting music and awkward dancing, without any restraint, without a shame. These are my siblings, who knew my most embarrassing secrets. I am aware that their feelings and thoughts at this moment are the same as mine. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them, do I realize how much I miss them… 

My old room is just the way I had left it. It’s just that it felt a little empty now, as all the stuff that I really cared for; I had carried off it with me. Yet, the moment I step in, I feel as if the room has come alive. All of a sudden, I forget that it is no more the room I used to dance in, without a care in the world, without inhibitions. Automatically, my feet move and I do a jig, just like how I used to do frequently. I still have my privacy in this little hub of mine. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at it now, do I realize how much I miss it…

 They giggle and grin, as always, when they look at me. We hug each other and tease each other. Someone has her hair too short. Someone has grown a paunch. All of a sudden, I forget that we hardly hang out these days. We relentlessly pull each other’s legs, just like how we used to do, when we hung out, every day, without fail. These are my friends, who had been with me, through thick and thin, crying over my shoulder when they needed it and offering me their shoulder, when I needed it. For now, here we are reminiscing past memories. The tears which follow are inevitable. Only when I look at them, do I realize how much I miss them…   

A PEACOCK QUILL STORY...

The mansion was silent and I was idle. Yes! I was idle! After so many years.


The kids had gone off to their school and my husband to his work. As for my work, I had it organized enough to take care of itself even in my brief absence.


I looked around myself and found nothing to comfort my racing nerves. Was it a good idea? The doctors say anything. Do they know me better than myself?


I remembered the doctor’s words, “you have to slow down, take some time off,” and that’s what I was doing. I was suddenly tempted to rush into my den, the place I retreat to in the midst of every night, when I get jerked off my sleep, just to see my laptop and may be just sit there a while, check a couple of mails, finish a couple of errands (though they could have waited till morning). And that was what got my family alarmed. I’m a workaholic. I knew that. But it isn’t a disease. Is it?


Why has it suddenly become so difficult to think of something else other than home and work? It was not so when I was a little girl, was it? What did I ever do when I was small? I remember running. Yes! I ran a lot! I ran at home, I ran outside, I ran in the school. I remember I had a little doll, and all my energy went into looking after it. I smiled. And suddenly, a thought struck. I know what I could do now!


It was as if I was transported back to my childhood. I ran across the hall- not like how I do every morning, before rushing off to my office, but I ran like how I used to do when I was little. I ran straight into the dusty store room. I rummaged through layers and layers of stuff that hadn’t been used for years. I never had any idea before now how much filth I owned. What was I storing all this stuff for anyway?


After an incredibly long time, I finally found what I was looking for. The large box was old; the surface of it was peeling off. On the top was my name, barely visible, scribbled in blue- I remembered my mother’s handwriting, the characteristic scrawl, when she wrote in hurry, all the while issuing warnings and concerns, for I was going to live all alone, for the first time in my life.


I lifted the awfully heavy box and carried it into my bedroom, set it on the floor and carefully started removing the things from it, one-by-one, the things I had cherished as a little girl, the things, though looked trivial now, but were so treasured once- a stack of papers splashed with colors, tiny dolls, old ribbons, a little book in which, I wrote meaningless poetry, countless number of shells, photographs of friends and family and so on…


It was when I was going through an old book that it flew down, straight into my lap. I picked it up gingerly. A peacock quill. It still felt soft. At first, I couldn’t remember owning it and then slowly, it all started coming back, in bits and pieces.


Where I had got it from or when I didn’t know, but it somehow ended up in my fairy tale book. It was the most colorful and beautiful thing I had ever possessed and I loved it. I was possessive of it. It was my secret possession and prized. I never showed it to my parents for the fear of parting with it. And one day, when I took it to school and showed it to my friends, they were full of awe. Some asked me to give it to them, some begged and some cried. But, I wouldn’t. Would I? I had it with me, day and night, where ever I went.


But I didn’t know what it ate! My best friend had suggested feeding it with grains. “Feed it well and the feather would grow. My grandmother told me. She had this magic feather when she was small. She had fed it well and the feather grew so big,” she said, stretching her arms wide. She said it had powers. It was a magical feather. I was overjoyed and surprised. Of course, it had powers!


I was so excited. I fed it with different grains. Ever day, my friend and I would peep into the fairy tale book and every time, we got overjoyed imagining 'the magic quill' had indeed grown a little.


For a few days, my life revolved around it. After a few days, I suddenly got bored of the peacock quill and I gradually forgot all about it and managed to push off its existence into oblivion and its memory into a deep, dark corner of my mind.


Wow! What a life it was! This is what is missing in my life. That passion! That innocence! That obtaining joy in the little things of life! This is all there is to life and happiness.


In pursuit of the biggies in life- studies, career, marriage, kids, money, status and power, we often forget living life, enjoying the things that bring us a lot of happiness. I had realized it now and had decided that becoming a little girl and living my life once in a while, wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

ARCHAIC ROMANCE...

"We'll be back soon, mom!"
"See you grandpa"
"Bye, granny"
I stood there, on the porch, waving happily. He stood beside me, doing the same, smiling. My bigger children sauntered down the walkway, noisily, chatting, joking and laughing as their children- my grandchildren skipped and hopped around their respective parents. The air was charged and lively. I just caught a glimpse of my youngest daughter, who was now eight months pregnant, clasping her husband's arm as he led her on slowly and my eldest son slapping the youngest one playfully on his back and the whole group erupted in another fit of laughter, as they rounded the corner and disappeared.
Silence...
I stood for a few seconds looking at nothing in particular, smiling contentedly and turned to him to make some remark on how nice our kids had turned out to become. But the porch was empty. He was gone. I hadn't realized when he had gone in, so noiselessly. Didn't he share the wondrous sight i had just enjoyed? Or didn't he care?
A not-so-uncommon remark of my feminist sister crossed my mind. "Men," she said, "are emotionally dead human beings."
I walked back into the house, into the bedroom, deep in contemplation, to check on the twins. The twins- a boy and a girl, only a few moths old, belonged to one of my daughters. They were left behind under my care. The original plan, an evening walk for my pregnant daughter and her husband, when materialized, embraced everybody else, leaving out the two too young and two too old people in the house.
I stared at the twins sleeping peacefully, marveling at them, when I spotted a faint smile on the boy's sleeping face. I was overwhelmed. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but my grandchild had the same smile- the smile I had grown addicted to, after all these years. It was 'his' smile. Now, I looked closer searching for any other similarities between the little boy and his grandfather. There was a sound outside and when I turned back, I realized that it was soft music. As the much familiar notes filled the air, I sprinted into the living room. It was a mess-ribbons, balloons, remains of food strewn all over. The huge banner screaming, "WELCOME INTO THE FAMILY, TWINS!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!" was half trailing on the floor, its other end still managed to hang on to the temporary support on the wall. Amidst all this turmoil, he stood there, as if unaffected by it, oblivious to it, his eyes on me, smiling. Looking at his smile now, I was surer that it had passed on to his grandson.
"Remember the song?" his voice barged into my thoughts. Of course! Could I ever forget it? This was the song we loved to dance to. This was the song we had first danced to. Hell, this was the song we had ever danced to. But it was so many years ago. Back then, I was young, energetic, beautiful. Now, I was old, tired and well... not so beautiful.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when he had walked towards me and stretched out his hand and said the famous words, "Ma'am, dance?" His first words I'd ever heard, many years back. Then, I was a lot shy and hesitant. Now, though I was shy, I was sure and happy to oblige.
He gently took my hand, placed it over his shoulder and I buried my face in the hollow of his neck, feeling against my cheek, his steady pulse-a contradiction to an erratic one, back then. I felt his arms tightening around me, the same way as they had always done, as if protecting me from the world. The strength of his embrace was still the same. He held my palm against his and out fingers locked as we gently rocked to and fro to the rhythm.
I looked at his fingers and the back of his hand. The skin was wrinkled. I smiled. He was old! Who am I kidding? Am I growing any younger? I looked at his face and eyes were looking at me as if questioning my amusement. I kissed him on his cheek and said in whisper, "I love you, old man."
He smiled. "I know," he said and touched the tip of my nose lightly. I immediately wrinkled it, involuntarily, something in which, he found a great amusement. He laughed out loud and said, "you are cute" and I blushed.
It was all the same. All these years passed by and changed so much in our lives. The only thing that was left untouched was probably the way we felt for each other.
There were times when we had fought for each other, there were times when we had fought against each other.
There were times when we'd wanted to take a break from each other, there were times when we'd wanted to take a break from the world, to be alone with each other.
Some times we'd drifted apart from each other. But then, at the end of the day, we'd come home to each other.
We had laughed together, enjoyed the happy times together.
We had cried together, found solace in each other's company during the hard times.
All that we'd faced together had only succeeded in strengthening the bond that we shared. Nothing could ruffle it. Nobody could meddle with it.
I danced with him as always, losing myself in him, losing track of time.
I was shook out of my thoughts when I heard a noise.
"Looks like the kids are back," he grumbled, impatiently. I smiled and said slowly, still holding him tight, "I thought of cleaning up this mess before they came home."
He immediately broke away from me. " Don't ask me to help. I'm tired." And off he went. I gritted my teeth as I remembered another one of my sister's frequent remarks. "Men," she said, "are the laziest class of human beings."

AN EMOTIONAL LABYRINTH...

"Only a week from now," I told myself.
Oh my God! It is a week!
Not a day or two!
It is a whole Goddamn week!
Seven days! Seven restless days appended by seven sleepless nights...
"Do all the girls in my situation feel the way?" I wondered.
I wouldn't want to say that I entirely disliked the sudden rush of emotions I had begun to experience these days. I wouldn't even want to say that I liked them.
What I'm going through is a strange mixture of pleasure and displeasure; a combination of fright and tranquility. It is strength and weakness ensembled; enigma and euphoria blended with each other.
Am I nervous? Hell yes! I'm! I'm absolutely nervous! Completely freaked out!
And worse, I started imagining all sorts of absurd things.
Too many questions started ravaging my mind, causing an interminable havoc there.
What if something really terrible happens on that day? What if I trip and fall down in front of him? What if I become unconscious? (and that did seem like a certainty looking at the way I'm going on right now) God! That would surely be a disaster!
What if he doesn't like me? What if he doesn't find me beautiful? What if he thinks I'm ugly? What if he doesn't like the way I talk? What if he thinks I wont make a good wife for him? What if he is already in love with someone else and has agreed to come here due to the persistence of his parents?
What if he doesn't meet my expectations? What if he is a freak? What if he turns out to be some sort of a lunatic? What if...What if...What if...?
What has happened to my adamantly maintained self confidence and the always accompanying rationality and reasoning? Where had they vanished?
My head started spinning and I collapsed into a chair.
I know nothing about him. I know absolutely nothing. Except for his name, which continually keeps ringing in my ears, owing to my noisy family, who now seem to find immense pleasure in teasing me, taking his name again and again (I'd hate to admit it but, I enjoy it too) and his picture, his awfully nice picture that they had shown me only a few days back, the picture I'd been tempted to steal a look at at every possible opportunity, I know nothing about him. I don't even know what his voice sounds like.
Yet, here I'm unable to think of nothing but him, thinking of how marriage with him would be like. Weird huh? Arranged marriage matches do seem a little weird. But that is the beauty in them.
I'd never foreseen the anticipation and nervousness that has now engulfed me completely. I want to 'fast forward' the time and go ahead of the week separating me from that fateful day. At the same time, I don't want to loose all this waiting and the thrilling suspense. And at the same time, I also want to stop the time here, run away from my house, away from the noise, excitement and laughter, away from the charged air and hide somewhere, bury myself somewhere.
I spoke at lenght to my best friends to quieten my racing nerves. It gave me a momentary solace. But nah! No amount of talk, meditation or efforts to distract my mind proved fruitful.
I need something else, something more. I need to clear my mind off things. I need to sit and think. I need to sit and write.
Well, here I'm trying hard to get myself together, penning down and sorting out all my confusion and my irregular, clogged thoughts... trying to clear my emotional labyrinth!!!

THE PERFECT ARRANGEMENT...

Major part of our country's population is opting for arranged marriages. Reason: I am not sure either, as I am not an analyst or a psychologist. But I guess it is because Indians, many of them, if not all, heart-in heart, do not want to change the age-old traditions. However, I was never interested in a marriage arranged by my parents. It is not that I don't trust them, but it is because I didn't like the idea at all. I always thought love happens, naturally. It should and can never be arranged. And also, what do my parents know about what kind of a guy I want. So, I had set out searching for my 'natural love.' I had tried everything under the sky. I had gone out with a few, had made new friends, I searched faces desperately and even went to the extent of blind dating. But no! I'd never found anyone who had interested me enough for a second meeting at least. My parents, naturally, were worried.
"How long do you choose to stay unmarried?" my father asked me one night, quite abruptly. Such situations were not entirely new to me and I tried to cut him off.
"Listen!" he said, this time, a little stern, "I don't understand what you have got against arranged marriages."
"Dad, I told you this so many times," I tried to reason with him, "it sounds like a business deal and I don't my life to be settled like one."
"If you fee that way," my dad continued, making it clear to me that this time, he is not going to give up that easily, "do you think there is no love in our marriage? Don't you believe that your mother and I love each other. Ours was an arranged marriage, you know?"
But, I was not convinced. "Dad, you lived in a different time. Times change dad. Today, the whole perspective of marriage has changed..." I was about to say something else.
But, my dad snapped, "nothing has changed." Looking at my expression, he seemed to soften up a little. He continued softly, "there is my friend's son..."
"Oh no!" I interjected, "not again!"
"Please," he said more persuasively, "at least, listen to me. We think he is perfect for you. Just meet him once. Just once. If you don't like him, I promise you, I'll never try to convince you again in this matter."
I thought for a moment.
I wasn't sure, for a moment, which one was more attractive- was it the promise that dad made or was it my anxiety to see which kind of a man my parents thought would be perfect for me. I couldn't wait to prove them wrong. After all, they dint know what I actually wanted!
Somehow, what ever the reason was, I agreed to go out with 'the perfect guy.'
I was dressed quite plainly and dint take any special effort to look beautiful. All I was interested in was to get this ordeal done with, rush home and voice my rejection of my parent's 'perfect guy.'
It turned out I was partly right. When he arrived, he neither took my breath away, nor made my heart skip a beat. He was just like this ordinary-looking guy, who wouldn't turn many heads.
"Strike one!" I thought, triumphantly. How could my parents even think we would fit in together? He smiled uncertainly and let his hand out to introduce himself. His grip was firm. But, nah! The handshake was so business -like. And that was what I loathed the most- making marriage a 'business.'
But when he had started talking, a little reservedly at first, and then more openly later, in spite of myself, I was a little amused. And then, he smiled. Hmmm... he actually didn't look that bad when he smiled. In fact, if I had met him at another place, at another time, under different circumstances, I would have called him attractive. But now, he is my parent's choice. He couldn't be that good. Or could he?
As time progressed, I couldn't help enjoying myself more and more. Soon, I became aware of a contradiction to my earlier thoughts shaping up in my mind. He was actually good, very good. What surprised me the most was how much alike we both were. My father wasn't joking when he had said, 'perfect for me.' And until now, I wasn't aware that my parents knew so much about me, so much that they have chosen this man for me.
I couldn't be more sorry when the meeting (or I would rather call it a really lovely date) was over. With all my thoughts turned topsy-turvy, I let him drive me home. I shyly bade him good night and disappeared into my room, without even a word for my anxious parents. That was my ego!
But truly speaking, I couldn't wait for out next meeting, which I suspected wasn't far away.
A few weeks later, one night, after yet another great evening, at my door, he said a little hesitantly, "I should tell you something." I was a little alarmed at the tone of his voice, as I didn't want anything to spoil what we were having. Now, all I wanted to do was to admit to my parents that I was wrong and they were right, absolutely right! Oh! how right they were!
"I was really not very interested in meeting you, in the beginning," he said, evidently trying to put his words carefully and he added hastily, "only in the beginning, not now." He searched my face and said slowly, "I always felt love should come, all by itself. No can can set it up. But, my parents..." I needn't listen to the rest. I smiled and could feel it growing by the time he finished, "I didn't think I would say this to a girl after knowing her for such a little time but," he paused, moved nearer to me, as my heart started beating wildly, "but I think I'm falling in love...I am falling in love with you."
Only a few months later, we were married.

IN THE HEART'S CORNER...

I sat at the window looking out of it. The evening forecast had proclaimed a rough whether and the weather was solemn enough to keep its promise. The winds were wild and it looked as if it would rain any minute now. The condition of the whether somehow, matched the tormented thoughts running through my mind. I pulled together my loose hair into a tight knot, simultaneously trying to pull my thoughts together too. I comfortably leaned against the soft cushion and continued looking outside. This was my favorite corner in my house. It had been since I was a very young girl. I looked around, drawing in the familiar sights surrounding me. The walls of my room are adorned with photographs. I had my books piled in a corner. And there was my study table, a witness to all my endeavors to become what I am today. I turned my attention back to the photographs that always reminded me of those sweet memories I'd compiled in the twenty two years of my life- my eleventh birthday, freaking out with my best friends, my graduation day, a fun trip I'd gone with my family and so on... I looked up at the tingling wind chime hanging from the window and smiled, sadly. I loved it, though the others in my family complained about 'the noise that thing makes.' I had always thought that it added a feminine touch to my room. Yes, this was my room, my favorite place in the whole world and this was my favorite corner, at the window, which I'd made with my own little hands, many years ago. I always sat here, thinking and humming the tunes of my favorite songs. Many a time, I slept into peaceful repose here. Now, as I sat here, brooding, a tiny tear rolled down my cheek. Why? I asked myself. Why do we get so much attached to things, lifeless things, in spite of knowing that they are not permanent?
I shook myself out of my reverie. I tried to reason with myself. Its not a time to be sad. In fact, I should be happy now. I'm getting married in a few days, to the man I'd wanted all my life. Yes! I should be happy and contented. of course, I'm happy. I'm excited about the new life that lay ahead of me. Somehow, the thought of loosing all that I'd owned all my life, the things, which I held very close to my heart and the grief that it had brought clouded my happiness and excitement. It'd never be the same again.
Will I ever be able to sleep in my bed again?
Will I ever be able to roam about my beautiful little house, singing loudly?
Will I be able to sit with my very dear family at dinner, laughing, as I'd done all my life?
Will I ever be able to sit on the porch with my friends, gossiping, cracking silly jokes and teasing each other?
No! It'd never be the same again. I let out a deep sigh...
Change is inevitable. I remembered what my mother told me once. Change is one of the most important ingredients of life. It is one of the forces that keeps life going on.
May be, its true! But then, why cant we welcome it open-armed always? Why do fee happy and sad at the same time? Well, I don't know the answer for that. All I know now, is that, whether I like it or not, 'CHANGE IS INEVITABLE!'




Inspired from my home in Dilsukhnagar, Hyderabad

JUST FOR THIS MOMENT

When I reach home after a tiring day,
I see you there, and your never-dying smile
So fresh, so pure, Re energizing and rejuvenating
Its then that I feel that I'm blessed
I'd lived all my life just for this moment...

When you're asleep, peaceful beside me
Far off in your dreams, you blush and you smile
So innocent, so naive, Relaxing and regaling
Its then that I feel that I'm blessed
I'd lived all my life just for this moment...

When I'm in a mess, all worked up
I feel your palm on my shoulder
So bold, so strong, Reassuring and restoring
Its then that I feel that I'm blessed
I'd lived all my life just for this moment...

When you embrace me, let me hold you in my arms
I close my eyes, enjoying your touch
So soft, so near, Reviving and reuniting
Its then that I feel that I'm blessed
I'd lived all my life just for this moment...

I'd lived all my life to see you smile
I'd lived all my life to feel your touch
I'd lived all my life to be loved by you and...
to love you!!!

BEST ENEMIES!!!

I looked on as the bright lights of the terminal gradually disappeared at a distance. As we sped away from the airport, a sadness swept over me, filling my inside. I felt as if I was loosing something dear. It felt funny. I had never felt like this before about my brother. I tried to focus…

We never had any pleasant times together. It was just that we grew up together, lived under the same roof and shared similar genes. And yeah…we fought, owing to the tiny age gap between us. And we ‘fought like dogs,’ my mother used to say.

A slight drizzle started outside and I felt tiny wet drops sprinkling against my skin. I closed the window and sat back again, thinking.

The rain…we played in the rain as small kids, jumping, splashing water on each other. But somehow, at last, we usually ended up crying or making each other cry. I smiled…remembering the day we fought in rain, doubled up in a muddy water puddle, in the back yard. When my mother found us, she gave us nice thrashing followed by a warm bath and a clean set of clothes. The next day, both of us fell ill…

When it was cold, we snuggled up, close to each other like little cute puppies. But once we woke up, the story repeated itself.

On his eleventh birthday, I had burnt his hand and as a revenge, on my birthday, which actually came only a few days later, he messed up my cake, before my friends came over. Wow! We were enemies!!!

We fought for everything. We fought for our parents. We fought for the TV.

As we grew up and became less violent, the only interaction we had too vanished. However, my brother actually started guiding me, helping me with my studies and career.

I looked at my parents-dad silently driving and mom with her eyes closed, a tiny tear materializing at one end of her eye: she is apparently thinking about her son, my brother.

I was startled and shook out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone. Clearing my voice, I softly said into it, “hello!”

“Its me,” he said. The very sound of his voice moistened my eyes. God! I’m crying!

“Just wanted to say,” he continued, awkwardly, “I’ll miss you, sis.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I crocked and then less awkwardly I said, “I love you, bro!”

Well, he is my brother and I love him! Of course we never had any pleasant times together. Or did we?!


Inspired from a my best friend's experience :) Thanks Amu for sharing it with me. Luv U!!

THE FORSAKEN...

He was woken up by a dirty drop falling on his forehead. The drop originated at the edge of his thin and flimsy iron shelter under which, he took his refuge and fell straight on his forehead, causing him to start. He trembled involuntarily for a while and slowed down gradually as he succeeded slowly in gathering his bearings.
It was damp outside, owing to the heavy downpour the previous night. He got up and sat in his little hub, examining the bruise caused due to the fight he had the previous day. He yanked of the little insects greedily feasting on his blood and continued looking at the injury with an eye of an eager chemist. He got up suddenly, ran to the nearby pool of water and washed it. But the bleeding wouldn't stop and the pain only worsened. He regretted his earlier action. But, he remembered correctly. His mother gave the same treatment to his injury before applying the thick green balm. it didn't give this reaction back then.
He suddenly realized that it was time to forget about the pain, which only seemed to grow by the minute. It was time to get to work.
He worked strenuously till the sun shined bright, carrying the stinking garbage to the waiting rickshaw from all the houses in the neighborhood. The rickshaw puller, his boss, was a mysterious man-always seemed to be a very cheerful and kind man, dancing unsteadily with a sweet smell hovering over him. He wondered where the smell came from. The boss had another thing which puzzled him-a brightly burning, thin stick emitting smoke between his lips, which initially frightened him. He choked when the boss had blown the smoke onto his face. But, lately, he had started to like the smell and the smoke. When he had enough money, he would try the burning stick.
When he had collected enough coins for his breakfast, he bought a stale piece of bread and ran quickly to hide and eat it. Exhibition of such a hard-earned prize food would attract the big boys, who would snatch his only breakfast and beat him up like how they did the previous day.
His stomach growled. He felt sick in his stomach as he took his first bite and he felt pressure building up inside his mouth, ready to push his bread out. He resisted it and waited until it died off. The bread didn't taste good, like it did when his mother gave him. He gobbled up the remaining part and settled down for another nap. But, sleep wouldn't come. He remembered his mother's voice when she sang him to sleep.
His head ached and throbbed. He put his his palm on his forehead, just like how his mother did when he felt this way before. His forehead felt warm and sweaty. He got up again and ran into the open though he didn't feel like running. It was time for school. He stood at a place from where , he could see kids running into the school building.
They were different-a lot different. They resembled neither him nor the big boys. They wore shoes and socks. They wore clean clothes and carried big bags. He enjoyed watching them.
There was a school boy as tall as he was, standing there, his mother bending down. She was setting his well-parted hair. The school school boy's hair look very impressive. He raised his sweaty palm to part his hair like the school boy's looking at his reflection in the small pool of dirty water on the street. When he got convinced that his ruffled hair looked like the boy's, he let out a sigh satisfied and looked at the school boy again. He moved closer to them to hear the mother's instructing her son to come back straight to his home after his school. He felt happy . He could go where ever he pleased. He had nobody to instruct him. He was a free bird, a master of his own.
But, as the mother kissed the school boy, and waved to him, he moved still closer hoping to catch her eye. She turned back without even looking at him and walked away as he stared after her. He turned back and ran in the opposite direction as the school boy walked slowly into his class.

DAD'S ANGEL...

There she was, standing amidst the beautiful flowers, looking prettier than the flowers themselves.She is my only daughter-my angel, the most striking girl I had ever known."She is no longer a girl," my wife often remarks, mockingly, "she is a woman now."But for my eyes, she is still that little, milk-toothed girl, wearing a small red frock, two little pony tails tied up with two little red ribbons, waving to me, tearfully as she walked into her school.I can never forget the day, when I first took her tiny frame in my arms and couldn't help,but awe at her resemblance to my own mother (I had lost her when I was very young).I had been grateful to my wife ever since she had gifted me with this tiny creature- the creature that absorbed all my time and thoughts. I had planned with extreme care and sincerity and worked ferociously to make her future more secure. Working for her sake gave me an immense happiness and satisfaction I had never dreamed possible.I ardently wished to be the only audience for her first step, her first word, or in fact, her first anything.Much to my surprise (I would rather say I was shocked), in spite of the amount of time I had spent with her, her first utterance was 'mama.' Not dada! But mama! My wife beamed at her and I just stayed quiet.She was so full of wonders and surprises. Everything she did was an achievement-her fist day at school, her first trophy, her first bicycle ride, her father's day greeting card (I always took pride in it as she made it with her own little hands.)And I was her 'Super dad'!...the greatest hero in her life, and an 'all-knower'. I was her best friend. She was as proud of me as I was of her. She was the loveliest and the most adorable child any father could ever have. Somehow, I had failed to realize that this phase was transient. As she stepped into her teens, her world widened. As her world widened, I became more and more insignificant, though her place in my life remained undeterred.She kept secrets from me...She was reluctant to let me into her room, which was almost always filled with her friends. Before I knew what was happening, the distance between us grew. "She needs privacy." Her mother always seemed to understand her. It was at this particular time that she had gifted me, on 'Father's day", a beautiful photograph that we had taken together."I love you, dad," she said, tears in her eyes. I was elated to learn that she still loves her father. It was one of those rare moments when I had tears in my eyes. She added, "Super dads don't cry."We spent the entire day together and it dawned on me that her priorities had changed over time and it was quite natural. I started coping up with this change. Suddenly, my daughter was a woman.When she was twenty five, she wanted to get married (that was the biggest shock I had ever got)."She is too young, " I argued with my wife and the 'practical thinker' laughed and said, "I was younger than her when we had her. Stop being an over possessive father, dear." She tried to put some sense in my mind.Now, as my daughter stood amidst the flowers looking beautiful than ever, in her bridal wear, smiling at me I prayed silently for her, asking God to shower all the happiness on her. I never realized that she was beside me, when she whispered playfully in my ear-"Super dad is praying for his daughter. God bless him."


Inspired from the movie 'Father of the Bride'

THE BEGINNING OR THE END...

"No! Don't go! Please don't leave me alone. I was screaming within myself. But, I said nothing. I just forced a smile onto my lips. This was what my parents were worried about. And this was what my friends were scared of. In fact, this was what everyone was afraid of and I was no exception. Marriage to an Army Major is no easy affair... I knew it. But, it didn't help. I was in love and couldn't bear the thought of someone else in my life-not even in my wildest nightmare. "If I have to marry, it would be either him or no one," I declared with indefinite finality. My parents were dumbstruck and so were everybody else. I-who never really bothered about anything in life, I-who lead a life completely carefree and careless, fell in love!!!!! I fell in love-truly, deeply and madly in love... That was the first time I cared for someone else. that was the first time I felt like getting extremely close to someone-so close that he'll remain with me all my life. that was the first time I felt like offering myself to someone. It was a miracle! 'He' was the miracle!! His eyes are magic... His voice is magic... His touch is magic... His nearness is magic... Days with him were like 'a dream come true'... Nights with him were ecstatic... He is my addiction...my obsession...my desire... He is my love... He is my life... It felt funny at the beginning just to think that I could have such intense feelings or such a wild desire for someone. Now, it is no longer funny. I can only feel a deep sense of grief sending away 'my man' straight into the claws of the inevitable DEATH!!! I cant let him go... I cant let him die... I cant stop him...because, I had long back realised that he belonged to the nation first and only then did he belong to me... I watched his lean figure moving away from me. "No! Don't go!" I was still screaming within myself. "I'll be all alone. I cant face the hostile world alone. Please! Don't...!!" He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, as if he heard the agonizing cries within me. He turned back to look at me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at him, hopefully. He smiled at me for the last time and continued... I stood there staring at him, until he disappeared, praying silently... praying ardently... praying God to spare him... Praying that this should not be the end... This should not be the end...This cannot be the end... Or is it?! Hell! No!! It cant be!!! It was just the beginning of something much awaited. I just began my life with him only a week back!!!!

THE PAIN AND THE PLEASURE...

I was tired- very, very tired. In fact, I was never so tired in my life. Every part of my body was throbbing and aching, bringing back the memories of the dreadful experience I just had.
Dreadful-was it? Yes. And not just that, but more than that. I had never known that such a pain existed and even if it did, I didn't think I would endure it and still be alive.
As I recollected it, a chill ran down my spine and I was shivering. I could sense a batch of fresh beads of perspiration on my forehead.
I fought with myself, trying hard to stay awake. But my eyes, in spite of my anguishing cries from within, persisted. They wanted to close.
I was waiting, waiting desperately, fighting with myself to stay awake. Unfortunately, the wait turned out to be longer than what I had anticipated. It was only a few minutes-I learnt later. But I felt it was the longest wait of my life.
Finally, I saw it. There it was completely and neatly wrapped up and small.
My arms barely had any strength. Still, I took it trying very hard to steady my shaking hands, trying to silence the tremors all over my body.
Then, I looked at it. The very first sight of it whisked off rapidly all the pain and exhaustion I had felt till then. I was smiling, smiling out of pure happiness. And whats more-I was very much sober, wide awake.
It was undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing I had ever set my eyes on. It made me so happy that I felt like screaming out and jumping with joy. I was on cloud nine.
I loved it...Yes, I did...May be, this is what they call 'Love at first sight'. I smiled again. My love for it is fierce and protective. 'I would never let it go through any harm-never!' I swore to myself. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at it again and again, afraid to loose it's sight even for the briefest moment, at the calm and serene beauty of the small, deeply set eyes, small tightly shut mouth and the small fidgety limbs of my First Born!!!!

THE MAKING OF A MORNING....

I woke up as the first rays of the morning sun bathed the room with their freshness, after having a pleasant dream. I turned my head to find a more pleasant sight.
Ah! There he was, sleeping peacefully.
I wrapped my naked body in the blanket and sat on the bed, staring at the heaving of his bare chest as he breathed steadily. I smiled. Waking up beside him is a bliss...
Cooking for him, Dancing with him, Lazing away the Sunday evenings with him were the most pleasant things i had ever done...
Living with him, Loving him, Making love for him, Mothering his children were the best things ever happened to me...
Life with him is ultimate happiness...

I blushed like a child as I relived our last night coupling in my head. He was so warm, so gentle, so caring, so soft...

I looked at his face which looked like a small, innocent baby when he slept. And this makes me love him even more. He is still handsome. Oh yes! He is! I observed lovingly his fine looks- the looks which attracted me in the first place...
"I love you!" I whispered, "I need you and I want you."
I stroked his thick, jet black hair (which had lately been showing signs of his age) gently and lovingly.
He opened his eyes. Slowly- very slowly like a small boy. I wanted to kiss him, but i suppressed my desire. I smiled at him instead.
He smiled back- a beautiful and radiant smile that lit the room, as his hands reached for me went straight into my hair and played with the curls.
"Good Morning!" he said sleepily.
Well... My morning was made!!!!!!!

JUST A MOMENT....

When was it you have last told your spouse that you love him or her?
When was it that you have last sat with your siblings roaring with laughter at all the silly things you had done as kids?
When was it that you have last hugged your parents and told them that you still cared for them?
A few days ago?
A few months ago?
A few years ago??!!!
Man is a social animal. His relationships with the people around him are one of the most important needs for him and it is these relationships that make him different from the other animals inhabiting the earth. To establish and to maintain them, man needs LOVE, PASSION, EMOTION...The three delicacies of life that add flavour and fullness to it, making his life complete. Without them, he leads an incomplete and dull life.
Often, he fails to realise this in his never ending pursuit of riches and power. However, at some point of time in his life, when he gets tired of the non-stop running after materialistic things of the world, when he pauses and looks back, what it is that he finds? Has he been living a 'real' life? May be not...He realises that he has just been living, but he had never felt life, because life is nowhere present in the materialistic things in the world. He gets filled with an unknown emptiness, a vacuum, a nothingness, which is far more depressing than anything he had ever experienced.
How does he remedy this? all he has to do now is just try to bring out the flavour in life, try to fill his life with love and passion, renew his relationships with the people around him and finally.....
Live a contented and happy life full of bright colours!!!!!