My Stories...

Smoke

2009-04-21T21:44:00.000-07:00

Cold feet, Goosebumps all over and a thin veil of smoke around me. These were the least of my worries… more important was the dread - icy cold, lead heavy dread that slowly wraps itself around my heart. Its tentacle like fingers advanced when I was absorbed elsewhere and when they had the whole pulsating thing in their grip, they gave it such a major squeeze, I never recovered from it. That cold dread had become a part of my days and the evenings and the nights. I waited for the inevitable, because I knew it was coming. Even on days when it did not come, there was no respite. It was not an end, a mere break. What solace was to be derived from the postponement of misery? Especially when you know the misery will be back the next day, stronger and more forceful. The first time he struck me, I cried for hours on end. My eyes were red and puffy the whole day afterward and I pretended conjunctivitis at work. The dark glasses hid my eyes, the pain, the hurt, the sadness in them. What they could not hide was the strain in my voice. So I spoke little – very little. Those who cared did not get to hear my voice and those who heard it did not care. I hid behind a self created smoke screen, telling myself that there will be flowers and an apology waiting for me when I get back home. I’ll be angry for a while, but give in when he professes his undying love and devotion to me.

Today, I laugh at my naivety, my optimism and my inane belief in the goodness of mankind – especially of mankind. But there’s no way I could’ve known. I was young, not worldly wise enough and ridiculously woven into ideas of romanticism. Blame a protected childhood and hordes of Mills & Boons for that. What waited for me back at home was an evil shadow monster armed with a leather belt and spiked buckle. The welts on my back stung for years – they never healed. Every evening, he’d rip open the partly healed flesh, drawing fresh beads of dark crimson blood. He stopped wearing that belt after 2 days – it stank of blood and sweat soaked leather. He hung that belt proudly in his almirah and soon his clothes began to emit that smell too. No matter how much of Brut or Axe he showered upon himself, he was always enveloped in the perfume of stale blood and rotting, decaying leather.

The beatings wore him out usually and he downed 2 cans of pepsi after them. Ironically, he was a teetotaler and a non smoker. He was a well educated, highly placed professional in a reputed MNC that I had chosen as my life partner, almost against my parents’ wishes. “No vices” was the phrase I’d used to describe him to mum. No vices indeed. He didn’t need a plural. He had but one vice – to flag his wife everyday. But that took over everything else, a thousand times over. Husbands who smoke, drink or cheat on their wives can still be forgiven. But those who derive their satanic pleasures from seeing blood dripping across their wives’ flesh are not meant to be forgiven.

It was a matter of weeks in which I began to hate everything he did, everything he touched. I would shudder every time he stood close to me. The involuntary shiver of disgust was perceived as fear and his satisfaction bolstered his confidence, fanning the flame of monstrosity. Every belief he upheld in public began to seem like a façade, every word he uttered was laced in treachery. The very language he spoke seemed repulsive. That’s when I switched to Hindi. The first time we had met, he spoke to me in English and we had continued with the language even though both of us came from primarily Hindi speaking families. My switch from English to Hindi seemed to infuriate him and he was more brutal the evening I refused to answer him in the Queen’s language. He saw my action as a taunt and a vertebra bore the brunt. That evening I ended with a broken rib. I moved through my agony, as if nothing had happened. I knew he could batter my body, but would not break it. He was careful to land his blows where the world could not see them. After all, he had a reputation to protect. And since I had most nearly walked out on my family when they opposed our marriage, returning to them was out of question. I called it a quirk of fate, this suffering I had to suffer.

I vividly remember the day he was promoted. His friends demanded a party and he promptly threw them one. He arranged for everything himself – the food, the décor and the booze. I was informed an hour before the first guest arrived. I had to rush home from work and be ready to entertain his elite visitors. I was expected to be the perfect trophy wife – reveling in her husband’s new found success. That evening I saw his old self again, the one that had charmed me. He was an embodiment of charm - his words, his actions, his glances; his touches were all just perfect. He was the perfect doting husband. But the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away from my eyes long ago. I could see the knuckled fist when he had to be polite, the flared nostril when he uttered an endearment. I could feel the pressure on my arm when he held it. His hands were itching for his belt – his ever faithful belt, hanging in his almirah and waiting for his loving caress just before it scorched my skin. After the party was over, I received a verbal lashing for not being the perfect wife, for not displaying enough affection. While one part of me covered in fright, the other spat out in disgust. How could this man expect me to partake in his gross scheme after what he did to me, was still doing to me? He gave me a look, shook his head and disappeared inside. I waited for him to come out but he did not. I was frozen to the spot and dared not move. In the two hours I spent there, I passed through every emotion from self pity to disgust to intense hatred for the man whose snores now reached my ears. When I did get up, my hand brushed a bottle and it rolled on the ground. I leapt to pick it up. My hand clamped over it and the noise stopped. I waited for the sound emanating from the bedroom. The sound of his rhythmatic breathing, his snoring, a ruffle of sheets. There was none. None of these. The sound that greeted me was the soft creek of his almirah followed by muffled footsteps as he crossed the carpeted floor. I was frozen for the second time. The footsteps stopped. I knew he was standing right behind me. I could sense him and smell his belt. I closed my eyes, bracing for it to come crashing down on my back. It didn’t. Instead, he ordered me to pick up the bottle and stand. I did. He turned me around harshly and took the bottle in his had. It was a bluish tinged bottle with a clear liquid in it. The label said Bacardi. He read it and smirked. “Bacardi Nights” he said and thrust the bottle back in my hands. “Drink”, he whispered with a devilish glint in his eye. I looked up at him, slightly confused, unsure whether I heard his command correctly. “Drink” he said once more. I raised the bottle to my lips and brought it down, merely wetting my lips. Infuriated, he grabbed the bottle with one hand and my jaw with the other. Forcing my mouth open, he poured the rum into my mouth. I tried hard to not swallow it, allowing it to fill my mouth and fall to the sides. He kept pouring. I kept resisting. Finally, he left my mouth and punched my stomach. I gulped and the liquid burned through my insides like an acid. The horrible taste made me want to throw up, but the alcohol went straight to my head. Within a minute, I felt braver. I knew he would beat me and that I couldn’t do anything about it, but the fear had flown. The blows had started and I was not even aware of it. I felt something tickle my side and laughed. He, who was jabbing his finger at sides, was maddened. I don’t recall much after that, except for the fact that I woke up the next day with a headache. I had long since stopped noticing the pain in the other parts of the body. I knew I could not live with the awareness of that pain every moment. If every breath served as a reminder of the horrors of my life, I would die. And like each organism on this planet, the will to just be alive kept me going. I still do not know the reason I did not wither and break then. That would have been easier perhaps than to endure what I did.

Alcohol became my aide after that evening. I would already be high before he returned home from work and his beating would be a lot less painful. The mornings that followed were much worse, but I was willing to pay the price. I discovered the cigarette soon after, realizing it allowed me to get through the day. Dependant that I was on booze, I never took it before evening. I knew its role in my life, and was determined to keep it that way. There were only so many things about my life that I could control, I wasn’t about to relinquish that. In the evenings, I would often smoke before I drank. Holding the cigarette in my left hand, its unburnt end touching the side of my engagement ring. It looked out of place in my long shapely fingers, adorned by the wedding ring but felt just right. It felt as if it belonged. For him, flogging me had become a routine, something he did out of habit – like brushing his teeth or shaving his overnight stubble. But try as I might, I could not look at this as a routine. Perhaps it was this one thing that kept me sane then.

Today, my nightmare is over and I can’t believe it. No, I didn’t kill him… but I didn’t save him either. Last evening was another deception party – a gathering of a few elite officials and their wives. The Wasabi restaurant at the Taj was brimming with people and our table faced the entrance. I waited for him to take a place first and then proceeded to sit on the other side, wanting to put as much distance between us as I possibly could. He had his back to the door and when the mass of the bodies parted, I had a broken view of the entrance and the gallery beyond.

I heard the noise before I saw them - the gun yielding maniacs who open fired at everyone in view. The people shouted and tried to run helter-skelter. People on our table scattered and tried to duck below the tables. He was left standing as he looked around, tried to gauge what was happening around him. I saw the gunman turn, bringing his gun back in firing position. I was less than a two feet away and could have pulled him under the safety of the table. Perhaps he could have been saved. Any other wife would have done that, but I watched with bated breath. Every fiber in my body willed the gunman to shoot and the bullet to pierce the heart of my tormentor. The gunman lowered his gun once more. Perhaps he was looking for someone and the man left standing was not him. But then, another gunman entered. His face was contorted with a rage much stronger than his partner. He looked around the room and not finding his target, roared in anger. He opened fire at every person in sight, one lucky bullet finding its way where I had wished.

I have vague recollections of running, hiding and being rescued by black uniformed men after losing all sense of time. Others called it shock, I called it ecstasy.

I am back in the flat now, perched in front of the television, watching endless debates and the political drama around what the media calls 26/11 attacks. A bottle of Bacardi sits on the table nearby and a cigarette dangles from my fingers, touching the engagement ring yet again.

The Meeting - Ep 3

2009-01-06T00:44:00.000-08:00

"Last night, while watching a comedy show on TV" he said. "But that isn't good enough for you now. Is it?"

"No. It isn't. Whatever happened to letting yourself go and laughing?"

"Whatever happened to self control?"

"Self control? In laughing? Why should there be any? What is it about a laugh that needs someone to practice restraint?"

"It is not just about laughter"

"Then what is it about? And why is it not about laughter? We were talking about laughter. Right? That’s your problem Rishi, you go and mix issues where that is just not required" Rishi saw that Sasha's nostrils had flared up the way they always did when she was angry. Her temple was creased and her fingers trembled lightly. If she got any angrier, her voice would shake and then crack. Her BP would rise and the migraine could attack. He had seen it far too often in their short marriage, no in their short period of togetherness. So he changed his stand.

"What’s gone wrong Sasha?" he asked her softly. "We never fought when we were friends. And look where we've come to. We meet after ages and can't converse ten minutes before getting into an argument. Why did that happen?" there was pain in his eyes, his voice a mixture of sadness and regret. He was asking questions that he had dared not ask for years. Not even to himself. He had quietly accepted their separation as destiny and moved on, forcing his mind to not wander towards her, towards their relationship. It took an enormous amount of effort, but he managed to sever himself so completely, that he never bothered to learn about her whereabouts. A big thing, considering he regularly kept in touch with her parents. Rishi had fit very well into Sasha’s little family – Sasha, her parents and her granddad. He had bonded especially well with her grandfather and the two were even pen pals. After he and Sasha separated, he was hesitant of calling up her parents. They must’ve guessed it, so it was her grandfather who called him one day and chatted on like before. He gave no sign of anger, not even a resigned acceptance of his children’s fate. That’s when Rishi realised that nothing had changed between them and would not till he wanted it to. They talked about everything under the sun, but they never talked about Sasha. That’s where Rishi drew the line; perhaps grandpa guessed it and he never ventured into that ground.

Rishi’s soft voice seemed to have calmed Sasha as well. She lowered her gaze and then picked her cell phone from the table and started fiddling with it. Rishi imitated her actions. Though he was glancing through the mails on his handheld, his thoughts were elsewhere. He remembered their first real fight after marriage. The blissful training was over and they were thrown into the thick of the corporate world. The trainee bunch that joined the Delhi office consisted of Rishi, Sasha and 3 others from their training batch. They were put into different within days of joining. For the first couple of weeks, they kept in touch. All 5 waited for each other and went for lunch together, even if it meant a cold lunch at 3:30. They called and IM’d each other and had the evening tea together. But then work caught up with them and one by one they began to drop out. It was easier to coordinate with a team member than 4 others from another department. To give them due credit, Sasha and Rishi and tried their best to wait for each other. It kept getting more and more difficult and then they made a pact to eat together 2 days in a week. They stuck to this for exactly 6 days. And decided there was no point being sentimental about it. After all, they ate dinner together everyday. Office was not the place to proclaim undying love to your spouse. But then, the love wasn’t undying…

The Meeting - Ep 2

2008-06-03T23:41:00.000-07:00

“So what else has changed?” Sasha asked.
“Well lets see… My city, my job, my field…”
“Your weight”
Rishi cringed at the last one. Years of living off the pizza and sandwiches had begun to show in now. Despite his regular jogs and walks, his girth had begun to expand. He let that one pass with a smile and asked her, “So what’s changed with you?”
“My profession”, she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I am a business reporter with News Biz”
“News Biz?”
“That’s an upcoming news channel for business news”
“Ah, planning to eat into CNBC’s business?”
“No. We are planning to gobble it up whole”
They burst out laughing at that and the sound of it took Rishi to yet another memory tucked away in the corner of his mind.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon during the training. They were sitting in the lounge downstairs and watching reruns of Friends. A couple other colleagues were hanging out with them and suddenly Sasha declares she is so fed up of watching old season rerun. They should do something fun, like head out into the backwaters and go boating & swimming. Everyone agreed to the idea and they all left to get ready. Sasha was still sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked under her.
“Come along pup. You’ll be left behind”, Rishi tells her.
“That’s the idea”, Sasha says with a grin. “The crowd was boring me. They were making too much noise. So I shooed them away” and she burst out laughing.
Rishi looked at her, a little surprised, a little amused but absolutely glad of being alone with her. The afternoon and the rest of the day that followed were put to good use by the two of them. The next morning when they walked sleepy eyed to the training room, the crowd threw meaningful glances at them. Of course from then on, their colleagues left them to themselves quite easily – a feat that was difficult to achieve till then.

“What are you thinking Rishi?” Sasha broke into his thoughts.
“Nothing, just one of those times you’d laughed like this before”
“At the supermarket?” Sasha smiled
“No, the lounge when you sent everyone off to the backwaters” He smiled back. “But the supermarket was good too. Everyone thought we were crazy”
“Thought? No, everyone knew we were crazy!”
“Yeah, you certainly were. Demanding a ride in the trolley along the supermarket aisles”
“Oh, come on. That was fun!”
“It must’ve been considering how you kept raising your arms above your head and laughing and asking me to run faster on top of it all”
“Yeah, you did go fast and so fast that we dashed into the manager when he tried to stop us!”
“Oh yes. That fatso took two whole minutes to get up after that! And three people had to pull him. No less. And you kept laughing all that while too”
“Hey, I was not the only one. You were laughing too. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.
Sheepishly, Rishi had to admit he had. “Maybe it was the Bacardi”
“Maybe it was me. You wouldn’t have any fun if I didn’t goad you”
“That’s not true”
“Really, have you had fun after we separated? When was the last time you laughed carefree?”

The Meeting - Ep1

2008-05-16T02:32:00.000-07:00

It lasted for just a fleeting moment. A chance meeting of two strangers’ glances. But that one fleeting moment brought on a flood of memories. Because she was not a stranger. No she wasn't. Couldn't be in at least this life. And this was something Rishi had to acknowledge. He couldn't deny it. Finding Sasha at the check-in queue ahead of him had been a shock. They had drifted apart years ago, and neither had bothered to keep in touch. They had been absolutely unaware of each others whereabouts, which is why this chance meeting shook him a bit. After all, Sasha was still his wife!

The last ten years of his life came back to him in an instant. A mind-boggling array of memories & events, big and small, insignificant and life changing. Meeting Sasha in class 11th and falling in line with her long list of admirers. Befriending her, a comfortable friendship that got uncomfortable as his feelings deepened and then finally gathering courage and proposing to her. It was the last month of college and 6 years worth of suppressed feelings found an outlet in an auditorium full of people! During the farewell party, he had gotten to the stage and proposed to her in front of all students and teachers. Even the Principal had his mouth hanging open; for he hadn’t just said, “I love you” he had proposed marriage. Sasha then had coolly walked upto him and said, “Yes, I will”.

Rishi smiled as he remembered his wedding. It was held in the very same college auditorium for the lack of any other venue, barely a month after the initial proposal! The parents thought they were rushing, but Rishi and Sasha had been adamant. Their honeymoon had been in the college library, where they spent entire days preparing for the final exams. They had both been placed in the same software company and knew that the real honeymoon would be the three month long training they would attend in Kerala. And what a honeymoon it was! Perhaps the best period in their married life. No, not perhaps. It was the best period, said Rishi. When all the people standing next to him turned to look at him, he realised that he had spoken it out loud. And perhaps too loud. He had turned all red with embarrassment when Sasha turned, looked up to him and said, “Yes it was. Wasn't it? The backwaters were beautiful”. Rishi could only gape at her as she finished the formalities of her check-in and moved aside to give him way to the counter. When Rishi handed his ticket to the counter, Sasha asked the attendant to allot him a seat next to her. “You wouldn't mind, would you?” she asked him. “No” he said, shaking his head and went on to collect his boarding pass. “Your flight is delayed by an hour sir”, declared the counter attendant as the two moved towards the airport lounge.
They walked in silence next to each other, the way they had done countless number of times. But that seemed a lifetime ago.

Another life when they were younger and so full of hope for a fantastic life of togetherness. He remembered the trouble they had both undergone to be put in a single room during the training period. The guest house was a large multi-storey building with 2 bedroom apartments. Rishi and Sasha had to get their marriage registered urgently so that they could get a single flat allotted. The training in-charge had refused to accept Invitation card or pictures as the proof of marriage and demanded the legal, marriage registration certificate!

“Good afternoon sir, please make the entry for your lounge passes”. The lounge hostess' voice broke Rishi's thoughts. He fished out his gold credit card and handed it to her. She looked up at Sasha, waiting for her card perhaps. “She’s my…” he began and hesitated. “Wife”, she finished it for him. It has been a split second hesitation on his part, but she had sensed it or perhaps she had pre empted it. She had a knack for such things. “She hasn't changed at all”, thought Rishi. Neither has the way she looks. His eyes settled on hers. Still lined with kohl. It was only a little subtler than the heavy kohl lines she would wear back then, and smudge it all over his face every night. But that was not the only time Sasha's kohl smudged. He vividly remembered the dark crooked lines on her cheeks left behind by a river of tears. Remnants of their first bitter fight and perhaps the point where things started to fall apart. After merely sixteen months of togetherness.

“I’d like a coffee, black please”, Sasha was instructing the butler. “And what about you Rishi? The usual strong tea?”
“No, I’d like something cold. A lemon tea please”
“Still the invariable tea drinker?”, she had a hint of a smile now
“Yeah, only the form has changed”, he replied quietly.

to be continued

The love story that never was

2007-01-25T04:47:00.000-08:00

If your jaw drops in surprise - Well, thats Anks for you! I got so inspired by Ricky that I completed this one today. A short story - very short by my standards - it runs to 3 word pages in font size 12 and has just about 1482 words.

The love story that never was

"See... I told you na ke iss hum tum ki jodi kabhi nahi ban sakti.... :'("

I read the message from my friend Kunj once more. I had just come out of a grueling two hour meeting and was surprised to see five missed calls and three messages. Kunj's message was the first I read, and it didn't make any Sense to me. I read the other messages. One was from Prachi and the other from Vidya. Both college friends. Both wanted me to call them. Four of the five missed calls were from them. The last call was from my boss and I promptly returned it, only to be told to rush to another meeting. It was late afternoon when I emerged from the second meeting and like before, there were calls and messages from Prachi and Vidya. I dialed Prachi and she answered before the first ring was over.

"Where have you been?" She sounded excited and loud enough to be heard even without using the phone.
"Busy in meetings yaar. Kya hua, both you and Vidi are going bonkers"
"Arre, bahut achchi news hai. Guess kar"
"Prachi, mujhe bahut bhookh lagi hai. I've been in meetings since morning and am really pissed at some people."
"Oho, madam is in one of her famous moods"
"Prachi...."
"Ok. Ok..... bataati hoon. Bhavna is getting married"
"What?"
"Yeah, shaadi fix ho gayi uski"
"Oh, kab hai?
"Kal"
"Kal?", I nearly screamed "Kal Shaadi hai?"
"No baba, shaadi 6 months ke baad hai. Kal sirf engagement hai."
"Oh", I said quietly. A feeling of shock and anger came over me. Shock at the suddenness of things and anger at getting the news so late.
"When did this happen?"
"Last week. The guy is an NRI. Came down to meet her last saturday. They met and now tomorrow is the engagement. Cool na?"
"Yeah, cool"
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing, I gotta go. Got a big campaign coming up. Haven’t had last weekend off. Will have to work tomorrow as well."
"Oh, then how will you come?"
"Where?"
"For the engagement"
"In case you haven't noticed, she didn't invite me.", my voice was seething with sarcasm, and a silent anger. An awkward silence followed, and Prachi wasn't sure what to say. I knew she wasn't at fault, and I shouldn't have snapped at her. So I apologised.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. But I am really hurt Bhavna didn't call me."
"We were trying to call you. Me and Vidya and Bhavna in a conference."
"Oh, ok. But still yaar, can't come."
"Ok, take care. we'll catch up one of these days"
"Yeah. Bye"
"Bye"

I walked into the canteen and looked around for something to eat. The food was over, all that was available was cold samosas or sandwiches. I ordered for two grilled sandwiches and sat down to eat. It was then that Vidya called me.

"Hi madam"
"Hi Vidi.... main call karne waali thi tujhe"
"Yeah yeah, I know... Prachi called me after she talked to you"
"So?"
"No, I'm not going"
"Why not?"
"Am busy this weekend. It’s not like I don't have a life of my own and am simply sitting around waiting for someone to call me at the last moment and I’ll jump up and go.”
I could see that she was angry. As angry as I was. “What about you”, she continued in the same stream “what will you say?”
And that’s Vidi for you- always presumes things and presumes them right.
“I have a pitch coming up. Can’t go even if hell breaks loose.”
We chatted for a minute about this and that, with the same question running in both our minds – Why had Bhavna not informed us?

While nibbling through the sandwiches, I thought about Kunj’s message. It made a lot of sense now, and behind the deliberate tone was a lot of hurt. I could see that. I decided to call him.

“Hello ji. Kyaa haal hai aapka?” There was a tone of false cheerfulness in his voice.
“Kunj. I just heard. Am sorr” He broke in between saying “Arre, why are you sorry re? Tu kuch kar sakti thi kya? Dekh Ami, sympathy mat dena mujhe. I am very sad for myself. But happy for her. Ladka achcha hai. Bhavna khush rahegi. That’s all I want yaar. And you are one of the three people who know my feelings for her and the only one who knows the whole story. Don’t just tell anyone. I am closing this chapter of my life”
“Kunj…”
“Arre, chill kar re”
“Yeah. Best of luck. And hope you find a girl who’s even better than Bhavna”
“Nobody can be better than Bhavna yaar. But it’s ok. I’ll be fine”
With that the call ended. I thought of the brave front Kunj was putting on and the intense disappointment in his voice when he’d said “Nobody can be better than Bhavna”

It was about six months ago when I learnt of Kunj’s feeling for Bhavna. An idle evening being whiled away on the net, resulted in a heart-to-heart with Kunj, a classmate of mine in college. I was never very close to him and knew him only through Bhavna. Bhavna, Prachi, Vidya and I were pals. And close ones at that. That’s the reason I was irked more than ever by Bhavna’s attitude towards us. For the last one year, she had broken off all contact with me and Vidi. The calls were unanswered and messages ignored. It was during this time that I had my conversation with Kunj. He wanted Bhavna’s contact number – for the one final time when he wanted to tell her of his feelings, instead of throwing about hints as he had been doing.

It wasn't love at first sight. Kunj saw Bhavna on the first day of his college. He was one of the sixty who began their college education and like the other fifty-nine, wasn't thrilled about it. Reason - he was stuck in this jail of a college. He had wanted a better college, but like thousands of students, he too had been forced to choose between a so-so college and a course of his choice and a good college and an uninteresting course. He had chosen the former and landed in St John's technical Institute, as a first year wishing to get a bachelor of Engineering degree in Computer Science. And that’s where he met Bhavna and Sarita and Pari and Neelam and Poonam and Lipi and a lot of girls who were all first years in his college. When he learned that Bhavna would be in his class, he was pleased. She was a pretty and petite girl, who had a cute smile. They got talking, and suddenly she asked him.
“Are you a gujju?”
“Yes, why?”
“I am one too”
“Oh”
“Yeah, guess it takes one to spot another”, she laughed at her little joke and Kunj joined in. From that day, they always talked in Gujrati, even when a horde of friends surrounded them.

Bhavna wasn’t mindblowing. She was a gentle girl and it was her sweet disposition and naturally caring nature that made Kunj fall for her.

“She really cared about me Ami” Kunj had told me “Always helped me with assignments and journals. Even allowed me copy in the tests. And you know what, she would also check if there were mistakes in the papers I had written. Imagine, if she cared so much about my studies, how much she would care about my life, my family?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Kunj that she was like this with everyone. She had a natural mother goose instinct. And didn’t exactly understand his reasons for falling in love with her. Maybe he wasn’t telling all. But, I didn’t press him. I just heard him tell me of the times when he tried to tell Bhavna of his feelings for her. Long lines on the chat window – Kunj’s story in his own words.

“I really like you Bhavna” I told her one day. And she said “So do I. We should always remain friends. Don’t forget to call me for your wedding”

This to my mind was the clearest indication of Bhavna’s feelings. Kunj was a classmate, a friend. Maybe to Kunj’s mind there seemed a possibility. But then, love is blind. I’d given Kunj Bhavna’s number and mail id when he’d asked for it. I knew that he’d called her, but I don’t know what that conversation came to. Kunj didn’t tell and I didn’t ask. I’d thought of him often for I knew Bhavna and Kunj weren’t together. Prachi would’ve told me and Vidi if this was the case. And now Bhavna was getting married. A heartbroken Kunj was putting on a brave face – It’s a love story that never was.

It tastes yuck - a 55er

2006-07-14T22:38:00.000-07:00

"Uhh, I've had this before, and this one I don't like"

"Try this M'am. Its called Raspberry delight"

"What do you think Aman? Should I take this one again?"

"Not this Jaanu. It tastes yuck"

Red-faced, she replaced in the hands of an equally embarrassed salesgirl, the tube of lipstick she was planning to buy.

the end

Desperate Measures

2006-01-06T21:51:00.000-08:00

She was fed-up with all the nagging, tired of having her life controlled.

She desperately wanted it to end...

She was fed-up with the irresponsible nature, tired of making all decisions.

She desperately wanted it to change...

Next day's headlines - "Girl commits suicide. Suicide-note names nagging mother"

Four months later - "Nagging mother depressed. Drinks poison"

The last conversation

2006-01-06T21:49:00.000-08:00

"...I hope you understand now" sad
"Yeah" upset"I had to..." sad
"Hmm" quiet
"I'm sorry..." apologetic
"Its ok" forgiving
"If I ever come back?" uncertain
"I'll welcome you with my arms open" excited
"But I won't. You have my number on your cell, but don't call me. I am Mrs. William Berry now." cruel

Kaya's Story

2006-01-06T21:48:00.000-08:00

Kaya was walking home from work one evening, when she suddenly became aware of the familiar sinking sensation in her stomach. Familiar because she had experienced it numerous times in her life. It was her intuition, a forewarning of something to come. Something big. Something important. Sometimes happy, sometimes not, but each time this sinking sensation had accompanied an event that would impact her life in a major way. And this one was to be the biggest of them all.... but she didn’t know it, yet.

She continued down the busy street, winding her way forward through the throng of Diwali shoppers, the vegetable and fruit vendors, slum kids who were selling diyas and lanterns and calling out to each passer-by to attract attention to their colourful wares. On any other day she’d have loved the hustle bustle of the market, stopped by to gaze at the lovely sarees and dresses in the display windows, picked up a fruit or vegetable, admired the colourful wares of the slum kids. But today, she did none of that. The spirit of Diwali that she would have reveled in was lost out to her and the festive air failed to buoy her drowning mood. She was in a hurry to get to her place and call her aunt.

Her aunt was the only living relative she had now, and she was anxious about her safety. Her aunt’s name was Shakuntala Sharma, and she was a music teacher. Not a music teacher in a small municipal school, but a music teacher in a music village. A village built by her and her sister Sharmila, who was Kaya’s mother. The two sisters had devoted their lives to this music village, which they built on their ancestral land in Ranipur. Set admits the lush hills, a few hours away from Haridwar, this music village was as sacred to music lovers as the holy town itself. They called it Veena, after Goddess Sarawati’s favorite instrument. Veena was Kaya’s birthplace and had been her home for the first sixteen years of her life.

A month after her fourteenth birthday, Kaya felt a strange feeling in her stomach. She thought she was hungry and scampered off to her favorite guava tree in the village. She picked out a hard green one and a soft ripe one and ate them on the treetop. She looked out at the road that snaked around the hills, the guardians of Veena. Kaya loved to do this, sit on a tree with a fruit in hand, and stare at all that she could. The hillocks, the village pond, the fruit orchard, the vegetable garden, the dairy farm and the little cottages which were home to the students and faculty of the music school. She liked to look at all these places, but the one sight she loved most was that of the school building. The sprawling structure, with a large open courtyard and a number of balconies and classrooms was always reverberating with the sounds of music. A close second came the cluster of huts inhabited by the local villagers. These people took care of the village’s farms and animals, and the village trust took care of them. Kaya knew that her great grandfather had been a revered landowner in these parts, and a man of great wealth and compassion. Today, the village and a few hundred acres of farming land was all that was left with his daughters. She had once heard her parents discuss about the value of the village trust and even at that little age, she knew it was good money. She recalled that conversation as she looked at a black van approach Veena, and realized that her stomach still rumbled. This not hunger, she said to herself, this is something else. Wondering the cause, she traced her path back home. She arrived home just in time to see a solemn looking man alight from the vehicle and ask for her mother. She led them to the school building wondering who he was, and why her stomach sank lower than ever.

She had answers to all these questions before the hour had passed. The solemn looking man was a policeman, and had brought news of an accident. An accident that had taken away Kaya’s father and uncle.

Another accident a few years later was the cause of her mother’s demise.

By this time, Kaya had moved out of Veena. She had inherited her parent’s talent but not their undying love for music. She completed her education in Delhi and did a variety of jobs over the next ten years. Two years ago, she had joined a radio station as a jingle writer and moved on to host her own show. And this evening the familiar sensation was back. Though not always the bearer of bad news, it filled Kaya with dread. She tried to console herself that she had this feeling the day she topped her college, the day she got her new job and the day she became a radio jockey. But the dread would not leave her.

She reached home just in time to hear the phone ring. She picked up the phone with trembling fingers. The voice at the other end was familiar. It was Leela, her aunt’s maid. She confirmed Kaya’s worst fears. Her aunt was dead. Kaya was an orphan now.

She did not relay the details of her death, nor did Kaya ask. She was required at the village now; the village trust’s solicitor had requested a meeting with the last living member of the family. Kaya said she would leave right away. The next few hours were spent in making arrangements. She got the tickets for a late night flight to Delhi, and it was not until she was airborne, that the tears began to flow.

Kaya cried through the whole flight. Tears punctuated by muted sobs were all she remembered of the flight. She was picked up at the airport by a taxi, which would take her all the way up to Veena. She thought about the last few hours and realized her sinking sensation hadn’t left her. It had perhaps been with her all through the flight, but in her grief Kaya had felt nothing else. And now as she saw the passing countryside from her taxi window, she wondered why it was so. Is there still more to come? Leela hadn’t told her anything else about her aunt’s death. She had been healthy, so a natural death was out of question. Perhaps an illness, or another accident? Or a murder? No it couldn’t be. That was too far fetched to believe.

Kaya reached Veena in the afternoon, and headed straight to Leela’s cottage. Leela looked pale and weary, and made Kaya eat something before meeting the lawyer. But she was very quiet. All of Kaya’s attempts to learn the cause of her aunt’s death had been futile. Each time she broached the subject, she was met with nothing but a stoned silence. Exasperated, she left for the school administrative building, where she was to meet Kailash Pradhan, the lawyer.

She was intercepted on the way by the Kumar family – Paras, his wife Nalini and their son Vaibhav. They broke into loud sobs upon her sight and Nalini crushed her in a bear hug. Paras Kumar was her father’s cousin and Kaya was most surprised to see them in Veena. She had first met at her father’s funeral, and disliked them instantly. She despised their excessive show of concern and over the top affection display. She began to ask them what they were doing in Veena, when a portly man emerged from the school building. He introduced himself as Kailash Pradhan and ushered Kaya in the building for the meeting. She was thankful to be rescued, but did not miss out the scowl on the faces of the Kumars at the sight of the solicitor.

Kailash Pradhan told Kaya that he had been managing their family’s finances for 40 years now, and even though had never met Kaya in person, he knew a great deal about her. He told her that her aunt’s death was a result of an accident. She had been on the way back to Veena after meeting him at his office three days ago, when her car was crushed by a landslide in the hills. Kaya wondered why Leela would not tell her as much, and she nearly missed Kailash Pradhan’s last remark. “It seems strange indeed that each one of your family members have died in the same way” Kaya’s gaped at that remark. The possibility of foul play in the sudden death of each of her family members had never occurred to her until now. And now she began to wonder if a decade old scheme was brewing to wipe out her entire family.

Kailsh Pradhan echoed her thoughts, and said that her own life might be in danger. The villagers thought the family cursed, and that perhaps explained Leela’s behavior. They apparently did not want to associate with her, afraid that she carried the curse like a disease, and would pass it on to them. He asked if she was interested in running the school now. If not, he advised her to sell the property and live comfortably with the money. But who would but so much land? And here in this remote area? Kailash Pradhan told her that several ayurvedic spas had opened up in the area, around Haridwar and Rishikesh. Selling this property would not be very difficult. He estimated the worth of this land, and combined with the trust, he named a sum that made Kaya’s jaw drop. She had no idea how rich her family had been. And in spite of all that, they had never lived in luxury. The meeting ended with Kaya consenting to put the property on the market and moving to a hotel in Haridwar for ease of communication between Kailash Pradhan and herself. He was to make all the arrangements and send for Kaya the next morning. By then, he advised her to be careful. It was then that Kaya asked him, “ What would happen to the trust if I were to die now?”
“Your living relatives would become the direct benefactors “
“ But I have no living relatives!”

He smiled, “The Kumars”, he said and left the room. Kaya sat there; numb from all the information she had just received. Her family member’s deaths, the Kumars being in Veena, the villagers’ fear of being cursed, the large family fortune, and the selling off of her home was too much to handle at one go. She sat in the office till it was very dark outside, and the sounds of the night became prominent. She reached her aunt’s cottage and settled on the sofa. She had taken a circuitous route to avoid meeting anyone, and had succeeded. She had especially wanted to avoid the Kumars. Such hypocrisy! They were barely acquainted, yet in the afternoon Nalini had made such a spectacle of herself. There hadn’t been the barest glimpse of grief in her eyes. She was clearly putting on an act. For whose benefit? Kailash Pradhan? Could they know that they would be the direct benefactors of the trust, if anything happened to her? With these and a hundred other thoughts spinning in her head, she fell asleep on the Sofa.

Kaya woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. It was early morning and her head felt heavy. On the line was Kailash Pradhan, with the name and address of her hotel room. He had sent a car for her, and she was to leave right away. He also mentioned his having talked to a hotelier friend, who had expressed interest in the property. Kaya moved out of the cottage, and started toward Leela’s to collect her bag. She was glad for the early morning fresh air, which helped clear her brain. Veena looked so beautiful in the early morning, when the sunlight caressed the mountaintops, reflected off the shimmering pond, and cast long shadows about the trees. She looked around ruefully, a hundred happy memories of her childhood flooding to her mind. She saw the smiling faces of her parents, aunt and uncle, heard the morning ragas, that filled the air at sunrise, the early morning Aradhana was a daily ritual at Veena. Her reverie was broken by a muted scream of anguish. She looked around to discover a group of people at the other side of the pond. Kaya could hear angry, animated voices speak as she approached the group. But they fell silent as they spotted her.

A young girl was standing at the centre of the group, apparently being reprimanded by the others. Though no one said anything anymore, the tension in the air was electric.
“What is going on here?”, she demanded to know.

“Kaya beti, this is a matter of the village folk. We will handle it ourselves. God knows, you have enough problems of your own to take care of”, the speaker was an elderly man, whom Kaya recognized as the supposed chieftain of the village. She was taken aback at his words, for had her aunt asked the same question, it would have never met such a reply. She nodded at the old man and turned away.

Another tie to Veena had been severed. The people of the village did not consider her as one of their own. This should lessen the pain of leaving forever. But would it? Kaya mentioned the incident to Leela, and was again met with silence. She silently went about serving breakfast to Kaya, and then continued with her chores. Kaya’s mind went back o the happenings of the day before, and she realized with a jolt that today was Diwali. For the past seven years, she had never been home for Diwali, and each time had wondered what it would be like. She had wanted to be home for the last seven years, but something or the other had kept her from coming. This year too, she had been denied leave. But now that she was in Veena, she wished for things to be back to before.

Silently, she picked her bag and told Leela of her plan. Leela surprised her by saying that the Kumars had moved out too. Good riddance, thought Kaya, and walked to the school building where the car would arrive. As she waited up for her transportation, she realized that the sinking sensation had never left her. It was pushed to the far recesses of her conscious self, but it was always there. And that puzzled and scared her at the same time. When her pick up arrived, Kaya was more than ready to leave. With a last wistful glance at the place she called home, she sat down in the car.

Soon, the vehicle was snaking down the winding mountain road, and Kaya was apprehensive of what was to come. She wondered if her life would ever been the same again. Though she was not particularly close to Kaya, her aunt’s death had left a void that she already began to feel.

“Now I have no family, and soon I will have no place I can call home”, she tried to push this thought out of her mind, but it kept coming back to trouble her.

Suddenly the car lurched forward, and Kaya’s head banged against the dashboard. She looked up to see why the driver braked so hard, and she saw the girl standing in the middle of the road. The girl wore a forlorn look on her face, and both the girl and her expression seemed familiar to Kaya. It was a while before she recognized her as the same girl who had been the centre of attention of the group at Veena.

“What is she doing here standing in the middle of the road, so far away from home?”

The car’s driver had moved out and was screaming at her for being so careless. The girl was close to tears and seeing the expression on her face, Kaya’s heart melted. She stepped out of the car and motioned for the driver to be quiet. She then beckoned the girl and sat her down in the car.
“You are from Veena, right?”
The girl nodded.
“And you were standing near the pond in the morning?”
She nodded again.
“You ran away from there?”
A slight nod followed.
“You want to go back?”
She looked up at Kaya with moist red eyes and spoke for the first time. “ No, please no”
Her voice was tearful, and her tone pleading. Kaya asked the driver to continue to the hotel and turned her attention back to the girl. She gave her a drink of water, which the girl gladly accepted.
“Whats your name?”
“Kajri”

As the journey continued, Kaya learnt that Kajri was the granddaughter of the village vaid. Her mother had died at childbirth, and her father moved to a nearby town and re-married. After that, she had come to Veena to live with her grandparents. Now, her stepmother wanted to marry her off to a widower, and her alcoholic father did not object. Even her grandparents, and all the villagers wanted her to agree to the proposal.
“But why do they want you to marry an old man?”
“Because I told them I wanted to learn music and be a singer like Shakuntala Mausi. She has taught me ever since I came back”

Kaya was surprised to learn this. Her aunt was particularly choosy about the quality of students admitted to Veena, and teaching one of the village children was unheard of. Kajri must be really good. The very next moment her surprise turned into anger at the villager’s behavior. They wanted to ruin this girl’s life just because she wanted to learn music! Preposterous!

The remainder of their journey was covered in silence, and Kaya reflected upon the happenings of the day, especially the incidents with Kajri. She now had an idea what had been going on around the lake when she had interrupted them. She could also perhaps understand the unwillingness of the villagers to let her in on a sensitive manner such as this, but what she could simply not comprehend was Kajri’s standing in the middle of the road. What was that girl doing, so far away from the village, in the middle of a deserted mountain road? Only one possibility came to Kaya’s mind, one that chilled her, one that she didn’t want to believe, and one that she hoped was not true.

Soon, they reached Kaya’s hotel, and when the car came to a halt, Kajri looked unsure of what to do. As Kaya began to alight, she noticed Kajri clutch a piece of paper that had been lying unnoticed on the seat of the car.
“What is that? “, inquired Kaya.
“This, nothing “, was Kajri’s timid reply. Her eyes were downcast and she put up little resistance when Kaya tried to take the paper from her hand. The paper was crumpled; the writing was smudged, but legible. As she read it, Kaya realized it was a letter – a letter written by her aunt to someone called Charulata. The name sounded familiar to Kaya, but she could not place it immediately. The letter was written in a very impersonal manner, and contained a recommendation. Kaya now remembered her aunt’s friend Charulata Bhandari who lived in Benaras. She was an accomplished singer, and discovering new talent was her passion. Kaya’s aunt had included in her letter, a generous praise of Kajri’s raw talent, and hoped that she would train under herself someday. Kaya handed the letter back to Kajri and persuaded her to join her in her room.

As the two of them made their way to the hotel reception, Kaya was more than ever aware of her familiar sensation. She looked around the lobby and was surprised to find Kailash Pradhan waiting for her in the lobby. He covered the distance between them with rapid steps and asked her what kept her so long. He had been in the lobby, waiting for her arrival for almost 30 minutes. This information surprised Kaya. Kailash Pradhan had always displayed the impatience of a busy man. He had always carried himself with the air of a successful and important man. This was supported by the fact that he had in one evening lined up a prospective buyer for the village. Why he should be waiting in a hotel lobby for Kaya’s arrival was lost out to her. Kaya said that she had not been aware of any particular urgency to get to the hotel, and had taken her time leaving Veena. This reply seemed to irritate the man, and he began to usher her towards the elevator. Kaya turned and called out to Kajri, who had been standing a few feet away while the exchange between her and her lawyer took place.

Kailash Pradhan immediately looked at the slightly disheveled girl and inquired who she was. On being told so, his irritation increased, and Kaya even detected a hint of anger on his face. He demanded to know her entire story once they reached upto Kaya’s room. That had been Kaya’s intention since reading the letter, but she did not like Kailash Pradhan’s highhanded manner.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the elevator that took them to Kaya’s fourth floor room, and it prevailed even after they had entered and settled down. Kajri’s story came out in a steady stream of words, Kailash Pradhan grim all the while.
“How did you meet Kaya?”, he asked when she had finished.
“She came near the pond when everyone was…”
“No, how did you meet her afterwards?”
“I hid in a truck, and got down when the driver stopped. I hid behind some bushes till they were gone, and then waited on the road for a vehicle to come by.”
“And if none had? That is not a well-traveled road. What would you have done alone on that mountain road?”
“I… I didn’t think of that…”
“You didn’t?”, the scowl on his face deepened, and with that, Kaya’s dislike for him. It was clear that the man did not believe her story. What he wanted to imply though, was lost out to Kaya. He would have gone on in his ridicule, had Kaya not declared time for lunch. She asked Kailash Pradhan to brief her about the meeting with his friend, and how they should go about will the deal. Her trick worked, over lunch, all they discussed was business. The lawyer was still vary of Kajri, and did not reveal any names or the amount of money involved.

After lunch, he asked for a private conversation with Kaya, and outlined the specifics of the deal. Apparently, the procedure would take three days, and Kaya would be required only at the time of the actual signing of papers. As Kaya got up to leave, he said, “But, there is one thing you have to be very careful about”
“What?”
“That you do not interact with any more strangers”, the stress on the anymore was deliberate and there was no doubt that he referred to Kajri.
“Any particular reason for that advice?”, her tone was icy.
“No logical reason. Just caution. Caution arising from the fact that the death of all your family members was a potential murder”
To this Kaya had no answer. Even she had admitted the possibility of this being true. And even though Kajri was from her village, she knew nothing about her or her parents.
“I’ll be careful”
“And what do you plan to do about her?”
“Well, she wants to go to Benaras to learn music from Charulata Bhandari. I want to help her reach there.”
“Very well, I shall make the arrangements for her journey, and get in touch with Mrs Bhandari. You stay in the hotel. Don’t go about trying to make arrangements for her”, his tone was reprimanding.
“Am I supposed to be under house arrest?”
“Its for your own safety Kaya, that you remain low profile. In addition to your unseen enemy, there is also the wrath of the villages to consider”
“The wrath of the villagers?”
“Yes, they are bound to react when they learn that you will sell this place”

And it suddenly hit her. Something that she had not considered. If she were to sell the village, and a spa was to be built on the land, the villagers would be forced to move. They would have to leave their homes. The situation could turn messy. She now understood Kailash Pradhan’s intention in moving her out of Veena in such hurry, as well as his advice for a low profile. The man was only trying to shield her. It was at this moment that Kaya decided to place her complete trust in Kailash Pradhan, and do exactly as he said. But try as she might, she could not suppress the sensation in her stomach, which rose to a crescendo at this moment. Her head told her one thing, her instinct, the exact opposite.

Kaya reached her floor in a state of absolute confusion. As she approached her room, she heard voices inside. The manager of the hotel was present, along with another staff member. They were apparently talking to Kajri, who seemed hysterical. The party fell silent as Kaya entered. Kajri ran to her and declared the manager was trying to throw her out of the hotel. Kaya turned to the manager who explained that Kailash Pradhan had arranged for a separate room for Kajri. They were merely escorting her to her room. It was after ten whole minutes of coaxing that Kaya managed to convince Kajri to move to a separate room.

There was a nip in the October air, which turned into a chill as the evening came. Kaya looked out of her window and saw the streets shining with all the diyas and the sounds of prayers seemed to be emanating from every nook and corner of the holy city. The realization of her being all alone in the world hit her harder than ever, and she felt stifled. Suddenly, the room felt too small to hold her and her emotions. Kaya walked out of the room, and decided to go for a stroll in the garden. As soon as she stepped into the garden, the chilly air struck her, and she hugged herself. Living in Mumbai, she hadn’t needed any warm clothes. She only had a light travel jacket and a shawl that she had been wearing over her jeans since yesterday. During her walk, her thoughts ran to Kajri and she realized that Kajri had no warm clothes either. She was still wearing the light Salwar Kameez that Kaya had seen her in earlier that day. If the evening continued to grow colder, Kaya was sure she would fall ill. She abandoned her walk, went up to Kajri’s room and announced that they would go shopping. They had no warm clothes, and Kajri would need some decent everyday clothes as well if she were to go meet Charulata Bhandari. Kaya went to her room, collected her handbag, and they left for the market.

They shopped for clothes and laden with bags, they made there way back. The Diwali festivities were picking up all around them. People were pouring on to the streets, some to light the firecrackers and some to watch the display. Still others were making their way to the banks of the holy Ganga to pray.
Suddenly, Kaya had this urge to go to the riverside. She felt as if the river was calling out to her. She knew that the arti would begin in a few minutes. She wanted to be there and join the masses in offering prayers. She wanted to pray for peace. Peace for her deceased family’s souls, peace for her own soul. She wanted strength to go through this time. She wanted a direction to make the correct choices.
“I want to go to the river bank and join in the arti. Do you want to come?”, she asked Kajri.
“No, you go. This is the river in which my dadi drowned. I am never at peace on its banks”
“Very well”, Kaya said and turned to leave.
“Give me your packets”, she called out “I’ll take them to your room”
Kaya handed all her bags to Kajri and moved to the riverbank. The arti began almost as soon as she reached the Har ki Paudi. The prayers went on for the good part of an hour, and as soon as it ended, a magnificent display of fireworks erupted across the evening sky. In spite of herself, Kaya enjoyed watching them. Kaya sat on the riverbank for a long time, gazing at the river, as if trying to seek the answers of the questions that bothered her. She shut out all the sounds in her surroundings, and recounted the events of the last two days. She pondered over each event, thought and re-thought about every thing that bothered her. She must have sat there for hours, and would have sat through the night had the sudden noise not broken her reverie.

She snapped out of her trance when she heard it. It sounded like dozens of sirens blaring together. Turning back towards the market, Kaya saw a near pandemonium. Dozens of vehicles were blaring past – police cars, ambulances and fire engines. People were running about in all the directions. She stepped on the street, trying to make her way past the crowd, the sinking sensation greater than ever. She turned around a corner and gasped. Her feet were rooted to the ground and the sight in front of her would be stamped in her memory forever. A four-story building engulfed in towering flames. The building where Kaya would have been had she not gone to the attend the arti. The realization hit hard, and along with it came another one. Kajri was still in the building! Kaya tried to move closer to the hotel, but her progress was hampered by the enormous crowd. Every inch that she moved closer to the burning building, her feeling of dread deepened. There was chaos all around her. Finally, she managed to reach the edge of the crowd, and was as close to the building as the fire fighters allowed. A frantic activity was in progress. The fire fighters had managed to bring the fire under some control, but it still threatened to engulf the adjacent building. The residential building had been evacuated by the police, and all the residents stood by, helplessly watching the raging battle before them, hoping that the fire loses, and their homes and belongings remain safe. But the glowing beast had no intentions of losing. Slowly, but steadily, it began approaching the residential building, and before the eyes of the entire crowd, the top storey caught fire. Suddenly, a piercing wail shot through the night, audible above the noise and chaos, and it caught the attention of the crowd as well as the firefighters. The crowd because of the extreme anguish in it, and the fire fighters because of the originator. Apparently, a young woman had sneaked past the authorities and had entered gotten too close to the entrance of the building. A burning block had landed on her foot and he resulting scream had everyone’s attention. She was whisked away from the scene and the police suddenly put up ropes barricading the area. Every one of the by-standers was being driven away by the policemen, and Kaya had no choice but to leave.

Kaya moved in the general direction the crowd seemed to be moving, with her mind in a daze, she moved on and on, until she suddenly realized that the crowd surrounding her had dwindled a great deal. She looked around her, trying to guess where she was, trying to fathom her next move. She had no money, no credit cards, and no papers with her at the moment, for her purse had been taken to the hotel by Kajri. A while later she saw a dharamshala, a small neat looking structure, and a small crowd outside its door. As Kaya moved towards it, she heard the quiet murmurs and the soft sobs that came from the crowd. They all stood facing an aristocratic looking man, who somehow seemed familiar to Kaya. He stood listening to them with a sympathetic look on his face and as Kaya neared the group, he turned to talk to a short man standing next to him. The man next to Kaya said,
“Balwant Babu is so generous. He has opened the doors of his dharamshala for all the people affected by the fire today”
“Yes, at least our families have a place to spend the night. We don’t have to worry about that.”

Kaya knew she should’ve felt relieved at that, but somehow she didn’t. She was uneasy even as they were led into a dormitory. A few cots were aligned against the walls, which were filled up soon, and most of the crowd stood huddled in the centre of the hall. Kaya walked to one of the windows and looked out into the night, trying to gather her thoughts. The initial shock and panic was wearing off, and Kaya thought about her next move.
“I should get in touch with Kailash Pradhan”, she thought, “I should’ve done that, instead of drifting with the crowd and coming here”

She left the room in search of a telephone, silently thanking him for making her memorize his office and residence numbers. Outside the room, the corridor was deserted. The diyas that were perhaps lit for Diwali celebrations had extinguished and a faint smell of burnt oil lingered in the passage. The sound of an occasional firecracker could be heard in the distance. Kaya reached the end of the passage, where a large sign was hung on a wooden door. It said Balwant Pradhan. The door was shut, and Kaya turned back. Her tired feet seemed to walk on their own to the dormitory, where mattresses had been brought in and strewn about the floor. Kaya fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, but she slept fitfully. Her sleep was punctuated by strange dreams and visions, and finally she did wake up. She was surprised to learn that it was early morning; she had tossed and turned nearly the whole night. Many people had left the dormitory, and Kaya guessed they had gone to check on the fire.

She decided to call Kailash Pradhan and then go back to the site of the tragedy to get news of Kajri. She went down the same passage that she had seen the previous night. This time, the door was slightly ajar and Kaya peered inside. The room was dark, and looked like a small office. Kaya was about to leave when she caught sight of a small ray of light. It appeared to be coming from under the opposite wall. She could make out the shape of a large door, and the light was creeping out from beneath it.
“ This must be the outer office, probably the secretary’s. If someone is there in the inner office, I can probably get to use a phone.”

She moved towards the door, and as she approached it, the voice from inside the room became audible. Kaya paused, and lifted her hand to knock when the she heard her own name. Her hand stopped in mid-air and she strained to catch the words of the conversation.
“This is good news Bhaiya, the fire chief practically confirmed her death. She is now out of our path”
Kaya froze as she heard the words. Who was the she that was being referred to?
“Do not be hasty. How can the fire chief confirm Kaya’s death?”, said a cold voice. A voice that Kaya recognized immediately. A voice that Kaya had been hearing for the last two days. It belonged to Kailash Pradhan.

Kaya was so shocked to hear that voice, and specially its cold tone, that she almost missed the words that were said. Do not be hasty, how can the fire chief confirm Kaya’s death? Her death? Kailash Pradhan wanted a confirmation of her death? What was going on?
“Arre Kailash babu, they have found a body on the top floor. On that floor, only one room was occupied. And that was Kaya’s. So the body has to be hers. And it’s a female body, that much they have confimed.”, said an oily voice that again seemed familiar to Kaya.
“Aur nahi to kya? Now what more do you want, a DNA test?” , this voice was immediately recognizable. It belonged to Nalini- Nalini Kumar. And that meant the oily voice had to be her husband. Paras.

What were the Kumars doing here? And talking with Kailash Pradhan, Kaya distinctly remembered the looks on the faces of the Kumars when they saw Kailash Pradhan in Veena. And his own face had shown no pleasantness at their site. And now they were sitting her in this place, discussing her death, like partners in crime. The fact that they were indeed partners in crime was revealed to Kaya by the next words spoken by the lawyer.
“You people make unnecessary haste. What was the need for you Paras an Nalini to come to Veena. Especially since I told you not to? The fact that you are the last living relatives of Kaya would’ve escaped everyone’s mind till the trust was actually transferred to you. Why couldn’t you people remain quiet? And did you have to wail and make that show of grief in front of Kaya?”
The cold tone was gone. He now seemed agitated and the was nearly shouting.
“Kailash bhaiya, ant bhala to sab bhala!”, it was the voice that had earlier spoken about the fire chief confirming Kaya’s death “And with a brilliant scheming mind like yours, we’ve actually killed three birds with one stone. The girl gets out of our way; We get all her money and the land to build a new spa; and I get rid of my old hotel building. You are an absolute genius. Telling that girl that the accidents were probably murders, getting her out of the village, putting her on the top floor of my hotel, and then getting that good for nothing rogue Rasbihari to create the fire from the diyas. Even if there is an enquiry, it will look like an accident. An absolute foolproof plan.”

This flattery had its effect and Kailsh Pradhan seemed to mellow down.

Kaya had heard enough and she didn’t need her intuition to tell her that she could not be seen by these people. She needed to get out of this place. She crept out of the room, and fighting the urge to run, walked out of the dharamshala as fast as her feet could carry her. And all this while, one question loomed in her mind. “Whose was the body that was found on the top floor?

The most logical conclusion seemed Kajri. The fire must have started when she was in Kaya’s room, probably putting away the bags. Kaya thought about Kajri – her slightly scared expression when Kaya had first seen her, the intimidated look throughout the car journey, she had no regrets about leaving her family, her so-called home, she was full of hope for her musical future, eager to learn and train under Charulata Bhandari. Kaya recollected the brief time they had spent together, and realized that Kajri – waiting to blossom into a beautiful flower, had been nipped at the bud. She had been strangled in her cocoon just as she was ready to come out of it. Kaya felt her anger rising at the greed of the man called Kailash Pradhan. The lawyer, the liar, the cheat, the murderer. Hot tears began to flow down her cheeks, and as she put a hand in her pocket to draw out her handkerchief it brushed against a soft paper. The moment Kaya drew it out of her pocket, she realized it was her aunt’s letter addressed to Charulata Bhandari, praising the talent of the young girl called Kajri, who was coming to meet her carrying this letter. A tear fell from her eye; and Kaya moved the paper to prevent the drop falling on the writing. She must’ve folded the paper and thrust it in her jeans’ pocket while entering the hotel. And there it had remained till now, a reminder of Kajri. She put the letter back into her pocket and moved on. She arrived again at the banks of the Ganga, and looked out at the devotees having an early morning dip in the river- seeking absolution of their sins. Kaya wondered whether all sins were pardonable. If Kailash Pradhan took a dip in the Holy water, would his sins be absolved? She sat on the riverbank, her emotions raging from anger to grief. Kaya tried to figure her next step. She couldn’t hide on the streets for long, she couldn’t linger in this city for long. She had to get out. And leave the bunch of crooks to enjoy her family’s wealth.

As she sat gazing into the river, every now and then her thoughts would drift to Kajri, and her aunt’s letter would leap into her mind. Kaya felt that she was in such a filmi situation. On her radio show, she would sometimes elaborate a situation and asked her listeners to call in and tell what they would do if stuck in it. She had once asked them what they would do if they were stranded in a foreign country without any cash. A husky voiced girl had called her, in fact Kaya had felt that the caller was probably a boy, and the nature of his answer forced him to pretend otherwise. The caller had given a filmi solution to her filmi problem. But it was a fairly simple one. Sell your jewellery. Kaya considered it, and counted her jewllery pieces. A small diamond ring and matching diamond earrings, a thin gold chain about her neck and a lone silver anklet on her left foot was the jewellery that she wore. All of it together was probably worth seventeen thousand, but she had no clue how much she would get if she tried to sell it. And after taking the money, where would she go? She would get out of this city, but she couldn’t go back to Mumbai or her job. Kailash Pradhan had probably told them of her death, and if she were to go back, he would definitely come to know. And the second time, she may not be so lucky. Her despair turned into anger as she realized that she had no options. And deep in her heart, rose a desire for revenge, to leave them as helpless as they left her. Kaya could not spend the rest of her life watching her back. But, as she calmed down, her old rational self took over. Revenge was best left to movies and novels. Kaya had to get on with her life. Her life? What was left inher life? What could she go on with? And with that, she once again thought of Kajri, the girl who had been eager to get on with her life. And then, a thought entered her mind. She wouldn’t get on with her life, she would get on with Kajri’s life. Kajri had taken the death meant for Kaya, and Kaya would take the life meant for Kajri. It was an unfair barter. But, destiny had chosen it for Kaya. She would forever be grateful to Kajri for the gift of her life. But now, she had to get to Benaras.

Kaya decided to use her caller’s trick. She walked into a medium sized jewellery shop and urged to meet the owner, who turned out to be a portly middle-aged man.
“Yes madam, what would you like to see?”, his tone was doubtful, as if he knew the real purpose of Kaya’s visit. Maybe it was due to her disheveled state and distressed voice.
“Sir, I need your help”, Kaya began.
“Hmmm, a victim of the fire tragedy? “
“Yes..”, Kaya was surprised.
“Sell or mortgage?”
“What?”
“Madam, do you think you are the only one who wants to use her jewellery? I have had at least seven people in the last one hour who want money.”
“Oh, I want to sell it.”
“Are you sure? We keep the mortgaged items safe for one and a half years.”
“I am from out of town. I want to sell”
“Ok then. What have you got?”
Kaya pointed to her ears handed her ring to him. “They are a set”
“These are branded?”
“Yes” She told him the brand.
“Certificate?” He enquired, “Do you have the certificate?”
“No, it is at home.”
“Tsk tsk. Too bad. The re-sale value of this brand is high, but not without the certificate. Anything else?”
She showed him the chain. He took all the pieces from her and examined them. They completed the transaction, and Kaya walked out with ten thousand rupees in her pocket. She had to haggle a bit, and she was pleased with the negotiations.

And now she was ready to leave the city. She would get to Delhi by bus, and then catch a train to Benaras. She walked to the bus stand and enquired about a bus to Delhi. It seemed to her that there was one every half an hour. So all she had to do was buy a ticket, and get going. Kaya purchased a ticket, and while she waited for the bus, she spotted a dhaba right opposite to the bus stand. The place was quite crowded. People were constantly moving in and out of it. And as she came close to it, a variety of smells hit her nose at the same time. Poories, Pakodas, jalebis, boiling almond milk, all from the huge kadhais placed outside the dhaba. And suddenly Kaya’s stomach gave a lurch. And she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day’s lunch. She entered the eatery and found herself a table at the far corner. She ordered a king’s fill and gorged on the food when it arrived. She took longer than she had intended to, and after paying her bill, rushed out of the dhaba into the busy street. She had to cross the road to get to the other side, and hurried on for the fear of missing her bus. She was about halfway across, when a speeding black car turned the corner, a few hundred meters from where Kaya stood, and rushed in her direction.

Kaya tried to leap out of its path, but there was traffic on the other side now. She frantically looked at the incoming car, and her froze at the spot. Her eyes met the eyes of the front seat passenger. The shock in them equal to the fear in her own. Kaya’s heart beat very fast, and stomach tingled with apprehension. But, her feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. She tried, but she couldn’t move her legs. Time seemed to have slowed down, and those few seconds; everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Going back would mean colliding into the traffic on the other side of the road. Moving forward would be rushing into the path of the speeding car, or walking into the hands of the very people from whom she was trying to run away. This and a thousand other thoughts passed through her brain before she could comprehend what was happening. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t realized that the car was swerving. The driver seemed to have lost control of the car. It was now heading straight towards Kaya. Just as it came within a few feet, she turned sideways. At about the same time, the driver turned the car as well. The car had spiraled totally out of his control, and the wild turn had caused it to completely block the other lane. For a fleeting moment everything seemed all right, but it was not so. A large loaded truck was coming down the road, its speed a little more than what should’ve been. The driver braked hard, and the sound of the air brakes could be heard all around, but the truck did not slow down enough. Still at a good speed, the truck driver made a frantic attempt to avoid an impact, and turned towards other side. The truck hit the side of the car, and dragged it diagonally across the road for a few meters. Suddenly, a bus turned the same corner that the car had a few seconds ago, and the car was sandwiched between the two large speeding vehicles. The sickening crunch of metal against metal filled the air.

Kaya was horrified, she had stood transfixed from the moment the car had turned, she was still in the middle of the road. She could have been hit. A few people gathered around her and ushered her to the side. As if in a trance, reached the side of the dhaba and sat on a chair outside it. The people asked her if she was fine, for she looked pale and shaken. The owner of the dhaba came out and asked one his boys to bring hot ginger tea for her her. As she sat there sipping the tea, and watching the commotion on the street, she noticed a few buses emerge from the bus stand. One of them was Kaya’s. The next few hours passed in a daze, and Kaya had a bleak memory of ambulance and the police approaching. The bus had no passengers, and both the bus and the truck driver were injured, but the passengers of the car were all dead. Five battered bodies were laid down by the side of the road, and covered with white sheets. Dark red spots began to appear on the sheets as the people tried to identify the victims. All they could determine that there were four males and one female. But only Kaya knew who they were. Kailash Pradhan, his driver, Nalini, Paras and Vaibhav. All the people in Haridwar who had seen her, who recognized her. And now they were all dead. She didn’t have to fear being discovered anymore. She was free. She was Kaya no more. She was now Kajri. With this thought in her mind, she thanked the dhaba owner and crossed the road. She went to the bus stand, and was on her way to Delhi on the next bus. She felt free, like a bird flying out of her cage, into a new shy, to scale new heights. No one would ever know who she is, and she would do what her mother had always wanted her to do. Devote her life to music.

The ten thousand rupees that she had gotten were enough for her to reach Delhi. She bought a couple of clothes, a few basic necessities, a travel bag and a ticket to Benaras. With her past behind her, she reached the house of Charulata Bhandari. Charulata Bhandari read her old friend’s letter, and looked at the cotton salwar kameez clad girl from head-to-toe. She led the girl to a large room where her students were practicing. The gentle sounds of the sitar and the melodious voices practicing ragas filled the room. The atmosphere was calm and happy, and she immediately felt at peace there.
“I would like to hear you before I can begin with your training.” Said Chaurlata Bhandari.
She looked at her and nodded. She sat down on the floor, and closed her eyes. For a moment her mind was all blank, and then a thousand memories rushed through. She was back at the village, in a tiny room, a lady sat facing her, a veena in hand, teaching her raag Bhairavi, asking her to sing along. She did, she sang with all her heart and when she opened her eyes, Charulata Bhandari stood smiling at her. She had moved from reality to memory and back. Her years of training in Veena came back to her in a flash, and her talent had shown. Charulata Bhandari sat down beside her and said
“You have a very good voice, and it will be a pleasure teaching you. Welcome to my school”
She smiled and said thanks. They both got up and Charulata Bhandari hailed one of the girls and instructed her to take the new girl to a room. She picked up her back and turned. Just as she was about to go, Charulata Bhandari called her back, looked deep into her eyes and said,
“Did anyone ever tell you?”
“What?”
“You have your mother’s eyes”

The END

Red roses

2006-01-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

There was a boy in high school we will call Joey. One day Joey leaned over to the girl sitting next to him in class and whispered, "Red roses."

The shocked girl stood up, slapped Joey in the face and went crying to the teacher. The teacher called Joey to the desk and asked what he had said.
"Red roses" was Joey's reply, at which the teacher screamed and sent poor Joey to the rincipal's office. As Joey waited in the lobby to be called in, he pondered what was happening to him. His thoughts where cut short by the sound of the secretary saying he could go in. Joey walked into the office and was told to take a seat, which he did. After telling the story of how he had been wrongly accused and how he knew there was some mistake, the principal smiled and asked, "OK, Joey, I understand. What did you say to her?" Joey was sure the principal would be a reasonable man and responded "Red roses." you could watch as the principal turned red and shouted "YOU'RE EXPELLED! GET OUT!"

Joey asked to wait for the bus to take him home, since he lived some distance away. "NO!" Then Joey was informed that if he were caught on the premises again, he would be arrested for trespassing.

Very distraught, Joey set out on his way home. He had made it about a mile down the road when Old Man Jones, the local pig farmer, stopped and offered a ride home. Joey, being very upset, of course, accepted the ride. Not more than a mile down the road, Old Man Jones asked why Joey wasn't in school, so Joey told the story of the events that had happened that day. At the end of the story, the old man said that it sounded like Joey had quite a rough time of it "Oh, and what did you say?" Joey hesitated-- should he tell the man what he said, or not? He decided to tell him. "Red roses."

The tires squealed as the truck ground to a halt.Old Man Jones reached over and opened the door and pushed Joey out of his car. Now very angry, Joey got up, brushed himself off, and continued on his way home. Upon arriving at home, Joey's mother, Mrs. Campbell, saw
that her son wasn't looking too good, and asked why he hadn't caught the bus. Joey told her. She fixed Joey a bowl of soup and then asked, "Joey, dear, what on earth did you say to that little girl?" Joey wasn't sure what to do. He knew his mother loved him, but he didn't want her to have the same reaction everyone else had. But he told her anyway. "Red roses."

Joey waited in his room with a bruised ego and a sore bottom, wondering what would happen when his father got home. Six o'clock came around and Joey's father got home. He could hear his parents arguing outside his door and then suddenly it was quiet. Mr.. Campbell came into the room and said, "Your mother told me you had some trouble at school, but I told her you and I would figure it out. But the first thing is you have to tell me what you said." "OK, Dad, I said red roses'," was Joey's response. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU"RE NO SON OF MINE!"

The next morning, Joey decided he needed to get a job. It was awhile before he found anyone who would hire a 15-year-old who had been expelled from high school and kicked out of the house. But Joey wasn't a quitter, and he did find a job working at a gas station in a neighboring town. After a few months, Joey had managed to get settled in his new job and had even moved into the apartment over his boss' garage.

On a particularly slow day at work Joey's boss asked what had happened that caused everything that had happened to happen. Joey went into along story of emotional stress,misunderstood youth, the pain of having lost all of his friends and family in one fateful day. The tale Joey spun was so powerful; his boss was moved to tears and, out of compassion, offered to adopt Joey.

With the firstsmile to cross his lips in months, Joey accepted. On the way to the court proceedings a few days later, Joey's boss asked him, "Exactly, what did you say to her?" Without thinking, Joey replied, "Red roses." His boss grew as white as a ghost and said, "That was my niece, you little pervert!"

Once again, Joey was without a friend in the world. The next day Joey took all the money he had managed to save and bought a bus ticket to wherever the farthest place from here is. As he waited for his bus, a little old lady sat down next to him on the bench. Even though he didn't want to, she started talking, and before you knew it, she had heard almost the whole story. But she interrupted and asked what he had said. "Ma'am, I said 'red roses'."

Well, the words were just barely out of his mouth when she started beating him with her cane. In order to flee the fury of the old woman, he ran across the road, but he never made it to the other side. He was hit by a speeding Mack truck and he died.

The moral of this story is, Always look both ways before crossing the street. :)

Progati - The tale of Progress

2005-11-23T03:10:00.000-08:00

"Have we really come to an age where we no longer differentiate between the sexes? Have we really given women their true position in our so-called well-educated and advanced society? No, we have not!

There are still those narrow minded and conservative people who believe that letting women of the family step out into the world is hazardous to their family's honor. There are those who not only restrict the freedom of the women in their own family, but try to influence the others to do that as well. Then there are those who are absolutely unconcerned with whatever goes on outside the four walls of their own house, inside, the women are captives of an age-old culture. One such captive was Sudha....."

As soon as I read the opening lines of this book, I was reminded of Rewa. Rewa Shastri, the tall dark girl from my colony, an ordinary girl with an extra ordinary personality. It wasn't as if she was very beautiful or very charming, but she had a personality that left a mark. Every one who had met her was impressed by her. Well, everyone except Nabin. Rewa lived in the same neighborhood as me, and we ended up in the same school and college. But we were never close friends, acquaintances you might call us, but not friends. She had her own group of friends who were interested in everything from sports to dramatics to movies to debates, from fashion to boys. I was this demure girl from a simple middle class family where the stress was to raise a girl to grow up to be a good homemaker. We were three sisters, and my Father was forever worried about our dowry. My mother spent the entire day looking after her elderly in-laws, and our home. The three of us began pitching in at a very young age, and the time that should have been devoted to books was devoted to pulses and rice, and needles and threads. My sisters accepted this gladly, for they had no interest in the former, but I always wished I had some more time to spend with them. But I could never vocalize my feelings. The very upbringing my parents gave me prevented me from rebelling against them. I found it ironic, and laughed it off sometimes. At others, I simply pushed it to the farthest corner of my mind and continued with my chores. Rewa led an exact opposite life. She was the free spirit of our neighborhood. She lived with her aunt and uncle, and was always out of her house. Yesterday was a basketball match, today a debate, tomorrow a dance competition. Where was the time to sit at home and learn the chores?

Rewa had been popular in school and in college, her popularity grew double fold. Three months into the start of eleventh standard, Rewa became an instant celebrity in the entire college. She had taken Nabin Mukherjee head to head in a debate. Nabin Mukherjee was the college star, intelligent, good looking and the son of an influential industrialist. He was a student of second year B. Com and had won many university medals in debates and elocution. When Rewa faced him in the intra-college debate finals, all were sure of his easy victory. Can't blame them, none of them knew Rewa. They had to speak about the freedom of women in a man's world. Rewa was supporting and Nabin opposing. That was probably the first time Nabin met his match. Quite literally too! Well, fact is that Rewa won and Nabin, not used to facing defeat, took it very badly. He claimed on stage that Rewa had had the advantage of an easy topic. Everyone is advocating the freedom of women in today's society. Her part was cakewalk. And Rewa, stung by his remarks, refused to accept her prize. Not only that, she called for a re-debate where she would speak against and Nabin could "advocate for the freedom of women". Two days later, the auditorium was packed. Everyone had heard of an SYJC girl who had challenged Nabin Mukherjee. This time, the debate was more heated, more passionate, and once again, Rewa outshone her opponent.

I think of Rewa often, wondering where she is and what she is doing. Last heard, she and her family moved to another part of the city. And since then, no one from the neighborhood had heard from them. And that was twelve years ago! While we had been waiting for our final year B.Com results. So much has changed since then. And in the deepest corner of my heart, I thank Rewa. After all, it was the article written by her that changed my life.

Rewa, the master of words, wrote articles and stories that were published in various magazines. One such article was this. Abbu had just rejected my plea of continuing my education. I was to take my final year exams and get married to a well-settled boy from a good family. He was already on the lookout of such a candidate. And I knew, like always I would accept his wish, killing my dreams for my own future. Just as I'd done before. After all, I was a girl. I was to keep my family's honor by mutely accepting my elder's orders. One afternoon, I saw a classmate of mine waving a magazine in her hand.

"A fab article by Rewa. It's a must read. "

She passed the mag around. A few saw it and passed it on, a few read a couple of lines. I read the whole of it. And the words are etched on my mind forever.

"For how long will we be suppressed under the guise of culture? Which culture says you have one set of rules for some people and another set of rules for the others? Who gave men the right to decide what to do with our lives? And if we don't ourselves protest and fight for our rights, then who will? What are we women waiting for, that an angel will descend from the skies, wave a magic wand and all our problems will disappear? No, nothing of that kind will happen. Problems have to be worked upon, else they remain. If we have to improve our position, we have to act ourselves. You have every right to fulfill your wishes. And to do that, if you have to break the shackles of loading, then break them. Live your own life."

It seemed that she had written this for me. Rewa's face was staring out of the pages of the magazine, her voice saying,

"Live your own life Saira, follow your dream. You let go of one, don't make this a habit. Fulfill your dream, after all, its your life."

Her words inspired me so much that I decided to live my dream. It wasn't easy then, convincing Abbu to let me study further after my graduation. I used logic, tears, and pleas, all that I could, and finally Abbu relented. Maybe it was my broken heart, maybe it was the difficulty of finding a groom for an average looking, average educated girl from an average family. I was so happy the day he said yes. I wanted to meet Rewa and thank her. But, she had moved the day before.

Over the years, I went on to do my masters and become an asst lecturer in my college. And that is where I met Aftaab. He was studying in the same college where I taught. Final year CA student. A year later we were married and Abbu was glad the last of his responsibilities had been suitably fulfilled. Ammi was happy that I found such a well-educated husband. All these years she had been my support. Silently encouraging me to go on. Perhaps she had once felt the need to break her own shackles, but she never could utter a word in front of first her father and brothers and then her husband. Perhaps she saw a reflection of her own unfulfilled desires in my freedom. When I was getting out of their conservative world, she let me go with smiles on her lips, tears in her eyes and blessings in her heart.

Aftaab encouraged me to study further and I went on to do a Doctorate in economics. Years went by, he is now a successful finance consultant and I am the deputy HoD at my college. Three months back, I read about a book on the best seller list - Sudha by Progati. It was a story of a middle class girl and her progress. I heard a lot of acclaim for the author's views expressed in the book. Her philosophy on women's position in society and their progress were charted out in the book through her protagonist Sudha's life. And when I read it, I immediately though of Rewa. Progati's opinions were very similar to those of Rewa, and soon I read all of her four books. About the same time, my own book - The Common Man's Economy was released, and before I knew it, not just the academic circles but also the man on the street was reading it. My book was a bestseller! I still remember the day I showed Abbu the card - guilded letters on a rich cream background, announcing my nomination for the award in the best in non-fiction category. A nomination for the Indian Writer's Association Awards may not be a big thing for Dr Saira Bashir, but it was a big thing for Saira Sheikh, the timid girl who was dead scared of her Abbu. The very man who now read the invitation card with misty eyes. He read reread and re-reread it. He clutched the card the whole day like a little child clutches his favorite toy. Finally, I had proved that I was right – a daughter could bring as much honour and pride to her family as a son. Ammi would have been so happy today. And I saw her smiling photograph, her eyes seemed to be saying,

"Saira, I am proud of you"

I would've attended the function with my entourage, complete with my husband, two kids and Abbu, had Aftaab not gotten that urgent call. He had been called away an hour before we were due to leave for the function. He left assuring us all that his work would be over in half an hour. And all of us got ready and settled down to wait. After forty minutes of listening to "The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently not available", I had begun to get irritated at the recorded message. We should have left long ago, the function was due to start in fifteen minutes, and Aftaab's phone was still unreachable. That was when Abbu decided that I should leave.
"Go on, I'll wait with the children. Once Aftaab comes, we will all join you."

And so I endured the hour-long journey alone, in a stifling taxi, the hour seeming longer than it really was. My entire life passed before my eyes in that one hour. Two faces kept coming to my mind again and again. One was Ammi's and the second belonged to Rewa.

By the time I reached the venue, the function had already begun. I quietly slipped into the back rows and glanced about me. The function wasn't a grand one; it was stark simple affair, living up to the clichéd writer’s belief "Simple Living and High Thinking". The hall was small, seating about a 100 people. On a low dais in the front, sat the Organizing committee and the chief guest, an eminent fiction writer. I had read two of his books, and found him high on sleaze and sensation and low on intellect. But the truth was that his work sold and thus he was the guest of honor. In the melee of intellectual looking writers, stood out a plump woman who sat in the front row. Her shimmering dark green saree stood out in deep contrast admits the dull pastel fabrics of the remainder of audience. And the diamonds she wore on her fingers, ears and neck certainly qualified to be called rocks! In a glamorous page 3 event maybe, but here she looked absolutely out of place. She sat diagonally opposite me and every time I looked at her face, it seemed more and more familiar.

The nominations were called, and the awards given out. My heartbeat rose to a crescendo when my name was called out in the nominations. The guest of honor was handed the envelope and he opened it. An eternity seemed to pass as he adjusted his spectacles over his nose and read the name written on the card. Then he glanced at the audience and smiled. He said, "The second lady winner of the evening ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Saira Bashir..."

I walked up to the dais in a trance. The chief guest shook my hand, placed the trophy in my trembling fingers and invited me to speak.

"Well, I owe the success of my book to Allah and to all my readers, and I thank all those who have helped me become what I am today. My kids, my husband, my Abbu, my Ammi, and the girl who gave me the courage and inspiration to get started - Rewa, Rewa Shastri"

The customary polite applause followed my words as I descended from the dais. The lady in the green saree sat directly in front of me, and as my gaze fell on her, I saw a look of immense surprise on her face. And now, from such close quarters, she seemed all the more familiar.

I glanced at the heavy line of sindoor on her forehead and the Shaaka-Pola, the sign of a married Bengali woman on her wrist and thought, "Maybe I've seen her in some newspaper or magazine. These society ladies are everywhere these days"

I sat through the remainder of the awards and the vote of thanks in a mild trance. Seeing and hearing all that was happening around me, but not really taking anything in. I was euphoric on receiving the award, sad because none of my family members were present, proud of my achievements and mildly surprised by the Bengali lady in the front row. I was missing Aftaab and I was missing Abbu. I really wanted them to be there with me. After al, it was not everyday that you got awarded for your books! And while I fidgeted about my chair, cradling the trophy in my arms, the ceremony rolled on, the chief guest rose to speak and his booming voice cut through my reverie and brought me right back to the proceedings. I caught something about encouraging the women writers, the fact that there aren't enough women writers of Indian origin was emphasized by today's winners list. Only two women writers. That was when my cell phone screen lit up, and reading Aftaab's name on the display, I moved out of the hall to take his call.

"I'm so sorry Saira, I tried to get free earlier, but things just kept moving on and on..."
I cut him off. This wasn't the time for explanations.
"Its ok. Listen, I've got to tell you..."
"I'm on my way home. I just talked to Abbu. I'll pick him and the kids up and meet you at the hall. Then we'll go out to lunch and celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" I was smiling. He already knew.
"Oh come on Saira. You think I wouldn't know? I can hear it in your voice. You've won"

My smile turned into a wide grin and I felt such a rush of love for my husband that I wanted to fly out to him and hug him right then. And at that moment, for the first time in twelve years, I wished I had wings, though for a different reason.

"Yes, I won. And I missed you and Abbu. But never mind that now. Come soon. I'm dying to meet all of you."

"Yeah, will be there in about an hour"

I moved back to the hall to find people drifting away to the left side wing. I crossed over and joined the throng when I heard the sonorous voice of Neel Survekar. Neel was Aftaab's friend, my editor and the one who planted the germ of writing a book in me. The only reason I'd refrained from mentioning him in my acceptance speech was that he'd absolutely forbidden me to do so.
"Think of my reputation Saira", he'd said with mock seriousness "Do you want people to think that I urge people to write, and then go on to edit their books, and thats how I get work?"

We'd laughed it off then, but this morning, when he called to say best of luck, he didn't forget to add a line about not mentioning him in my speech.

"Oh Dr Bashir, congratulations. Many many congratulations", he said, reaching my side. "So, when should I come home for a celebratory dinner? Mind you, I want Murg-dam-Birayni, fried fish and Gosht-a-la-Saira Bashir in the menu. So you decide the date or I'll drop in on my own accord one of these days"
I was laughing.

"Sure Neel, you are welcome anytime"
"You know, I'm glad you reached in time for collecting your award. I thought I'd have to collect it for you."
"But I thought you liked collecting awards."
"I do, but not for someone else"
"Why not?"
"Because I've to give them off to them afterwards"
"Ha ha. Neel, you are impossible"
"I know"

We had reached the second hall by this time. It was a small rectangular room where the refreshments were laid out. Contrary to the dull atmosphere of the hall where the award ceremony was held, this room was electric. The place was buzzing with the voices of about a hundred people talking at the same time, the waiters serving refreshments, friends and colleagues catching up with each other and debates and discussions from politics to films to world peace that took place when the collective IQ of the attendees was more than that of the Lok Sabha!

"Ah, there she is. Someone I thought you'd be interested in meeting."

"Who?"

"The winner of best fiction - Progati"

"Progati?"
"Yeah"

I looked in the direction Neel was pointing towards and found the green sari clad lady deep in conversation with the chief guest. Looking at their animated faces, I could figure out that they were probably having a debate. As we neared them, snatches of their debate fell on our ears.

"What do you mean by not enough women writers? Who are Arundhati Roy, Jhumpa Lahiri, Mahashweta Devi and Manjula Padmanabhan? "

I halted as I heard the voice, and stared at the mouth that had spoken, the eyes that sparkled, the hands that had gestured. I couldn't make a connection between this obese garish lady standing in front of me and the enigmatic Rewa. But the connection was undoubtedly there. It had been nagging at the back of my mind ever since I laid eyes on her, and it was laid bare by her words. And yet, I couldn't quite believe it, that this was Rewa. That Rewa was Progati hit me a moment later, and that didn't surprise me at all. After all, hadn't I thought of Rewa when I first read Progati?

"And have you heard of Anita Desai, Shobha De, Kamala Das, Amrita Pritam and Shashi Deshpande?"

The man had been struck by Rewaitis, I thought smiling to myself. Rewaitis was the term people used in college, to describe the condition of the poor soul who entered into a discussion with Rewa, and could think of no counter-arguments.

"These are the famous ones - only the tip of the iceberg. There are so many women writers around. You shouldn't make off-hand remarks about there not being enough women writers, specially in a setting like this, where you are going to be heard and quoted", Rewa went on. Once she started of, there was no stopping her, just like the old days.

"Oh come on dear, all he wanted to convey that women writers should be encouraged and supported. Surely you don't disagree to that!" said the tall, authoritative looking man who had just joined to debating duo, or rather the debater and her victim. This man was easy to recognize. I was surprised to see him there and more so seeing that after all these years, he still looked the same. Almost as if time had forgotten to brush over him. The image of Rewa standing on the stage facing Nabin flashed through my mind, for that is who she stood facing even now!

"That's her husband. Nabin Mukherjee", Neel whispered into my ear "He is the chairman of Kaymes Industries"

Nabin and Rewa married? How was this possible? They couldn't satnd each other in college.

Three shocks in succession - finding Rewa, learning that she was Progati and that she was married to Nabin. The third more so. Neel had been looking at me and expecting some sort of a remark, an exclamations of awe maybe. After all, Kaymes Industries was among the top ten business groups in the country and though it had been affected by family feuds over the past decade, it had held together. And now, under Nabin Mukherjee's flagship, it was on a fast flight to the number one spot. Nabin had had a glorious career, and I had followed it not just out of professional interest, but also because Nabin had once been a college mate. Neel certainly expected me to be impressed, and the shocked expression on my face confused him. Dazed, I allowed myself to be led by Neel and introduced to the couple.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Mukherjee"
"Hello Mr. Survekar. How do you do?"
"Very well. Very well indeed. Meet Dr. Bashir. She is one of the two women to have received an award this afternoon"
"Of course. That was expected. Wasn't it? The common man's economy is a splendid book Dr. Bashir", said Nabin, addressing me, "your ideas have made people sit up and notice of India economy."
"Thanks", I said, "I didn't know that even the uncommon man read my book"
"Oh, then you under estimate yourself Dr. Bashir. I must say you need to develop more confidence in yourself and your achievements"
I didn't know what to say to that, and before I could mutter something incomprehensive, Rewa took over.
"Still the same timid girl. Don't let him intimidate you Saira, he is a big bully", she laughed, took my hand and continued, "You haven't changed one bit. Still look absolutely the same"
"But you have changed a lot. And by a lot, I really mean a lot. I just couldn't recognize you when I first saw you sitting in the front row."
"Yes I've put on a little weight", she laughed. But it was not the same merry carefree laughter I'd heard as a child. It was wistful. There was something to it that I couldn't put a finger on. I didn't dwell on it much, because the look on Neel and Nabin's faces distracted me. Both looked utterly puzzled and Neel even had his mouth hanging slightly open. Rewa was visibly enjoying herself. She hadn't let go of my hand yet - a fact that I found strange.
"You two know each other?", Nabin finally asked.
"Yes, we are childhood chums", said Rewa "we lived in the same locality."
"I didn't know that!", said Neel.
"Yes, we even went to the same school and then the same college.", I ventured. "So you can say that me and Rewa know each other."

"Rewa is dead."

"What?", I asked.
"Yes, Rewa is dead. I'm Progati", her tone was icy as she uttered these words and her hand which still held mine seemed to have lost all its warmth in an instance.

For a full minute, all four of us looked at one another, not speaking a word. Finally, it was Nabin who recovered and said, "Rewa was christened Progati by my late mother on our wedding day. Ever since, she likes to be called Progati and not Rewa."
"Nice try Nabin!", I thought, " but your explanation does not cover up for the intensity in Rewa's voice, nor for her sudden rigidity."

We chatted on for a while then, the way people who've met after ages would - where do you live now, where do you work, do you have kids, how old, what are they doing etc. After about five minutes of re-familiarization, we ran out of topics and stood looking around, somewhat awkwardly. Rewa's behavior had killed the host of questions in my mind about the last twelve years. Where had she been? What had she done? And most importantly, why had she married Nabin? Why did she go from being Rewa to Progati? Why did being addressed as Rewa upset her so much?

My cell phone buzzed. Aftaab had arrived with Abbu and the kids, and I excused myself from the group.
"Don't forget the Gosht-a-la-Saira Bashir!", said Neel.
"I won't" , I smiled at him and turned to leave.
"Saira", Rewa had called out to me.
I turned and looked up at her questioningly. She asked for my cell number. We exchanged the numbers and set out to meet my family, leaving behind the thoughts and memories of the past one-hour at the entrance of the hall.

The drudgery and pace of routine life pushed Rewa to the back of my mind, and I really didn't think much of her till last week. When my colleague Mrs. Aarti Ahuja approached me for an endorsement, the first person I thought of was Rewa. Mrs. Ahuja was all of 55 kgs, had graying hair and looked like a complete push-over. That had been my first impression about her. But true to the saying, her looks proved deceptive. She was the HoD of the humanities department of our college and involved with a host of charity organizations and NGOs. She had recently undertaken a fifteen day tour of the tribal areas in MP and had returned with a steely will to do something for the women back there. Her plan was to spread awareness about the appalling conditions of those women and then campaign for their improvement. And to spread awareness, she wanted people to pitch in. Getting acclaimed writers to do articles in newspapers and magazines seemed like a good idea to start, but I didn't consider she was going to ask me to write an article. When she did, immediately thought of Rewa.

"I know someone who would be more suited for this job, Mrs. Ahuja"
"Who?"
"Heard of Progati?"

"Progati, the same one who wrote Sudha?"

"Yes, the same one"

"Oh, that will be great. If she endorses this cause, we will surely get some positive results"

I smiled at Mrs. Ahuja's child like enthusiasm. It was almost as if the old lady was transformed into a little girl. Later that evening, I rang Rewa. She sounded dull, I wondered why. But, I didn't ask and she didn't tell. We decided to meet the next afternoon, in a swanky cafe close to my college. I wondered what my students would say when they see me walk into their regular joint!

I chuckled at the thought next afternoon, walking down to the cafe. It was a cloudy day, and the pleasant breeze ruffled my hair. A few youngsters did turn their heads when they saw me enter the place, but they went back to their chattering almost immediately. I spotted Rewa sitting in a corner and took the chair facing her.

"Hi", she made the beginning.
"Hello"
"So what was the important thing you wanted to discuss with me?", she came straight to the point. A thing that suited me for I was hoping to reach home sooner that day. The kids loved it when I unexpectedly arrived home early.
"A colleague of mine has surveyed tribal areas in MP and I've seen some of the reports. The women there live in a pathetic state. Can you believe it, some of them are grandmothers at the age of twenty-nine!", I was surprised the amount of passion in my own voice.
"So?", her tone was cool. No emotion betrayed.

"I wanted you to endorse the cause of those tribal women in MP"
"Sorry Saira, I can't do that!"

I was so taken aback at the blunt tone that she had used, that all I did for a few moments was gape at her. She coolly picked her coffee mug and sipped the steaming brew.

"Hmmm, less sugar", she said and emptied the two sugar pouches lying nearby into the mug. And then, as if nothing had happened, went on to enquire about my kids.
"They are fine, but why wouldn't you do the article on tribal women?"
"The answer is simple my dear, nobody wants to read it!"

"What? Nobody wants to read it? What sort of an answer is that?"
"Honest and simple"
"Honest and simple?"
"Yes, I'm not pretending I can't do it, I'm not giving you excuses like I don't have the time. I'm telling you that I can do it, I have the time, but I don't have the inclination. And that, is the plain and simple truth Saira.", her voice was steady, no emotion betrayed.
"Ok, I appreciate the honesty, but I don't understand it. Why do you not have the inclination?", as opposed to her cool demeanor, I struggled to maintain control.
"Who do you think wants to read about these illiterate grannies at twenty-nine? Is there an audience for such a work?"
"People don't know about these people, we are trying to spread awareness about their plight. We have to create the audience." My own words surprised me here. I had considered an easy option. I will talk to Rewa and she would agree to work with Mrs. Ahuja. There, my work was done. And now here I was, across the table from Rewa, talking passionately about this project.
"It doesn't work that way Saira. Creating audiences is easier said than done.", again a crisp business like tone.
"Do you always write for established audiences?"

"Yes"
"Yes?, but all that stuff you wrote about in school and college. About independence of women, about liberation from an age-old culture, what was that?"
"That was exactly what the people wanted to read at that time."
I was gaping at her with my mouth hanging open. This was not the Rewa I'd admired. This was not the Rewa who was my inspiration. This was not the Rewa whom I had mentioned in my speech. But then, this was not Rewa. Rewa was dead. This was Progati.
"I was surprised when you mentioned my name in the acceptance speech. Becoming an inspiration to people was never on the agenda. I was merely writing what they wanted to read. My writings have always been driven by need. The audiences' need and my need- the audiences' need of reading seemingly progressive writing and my need of Progati, of progress."
"Rewa …"
"Progati. Not Rewa. Progati. Rewa died the day I married Nabin. The day I progressed. It's a long story. The tale of my progress", the crisp business-like tone was gone, replaced by an emotional weary voice. And as if to reflect her sudden change of mood, the plreasant breeze started howling at the windows.
"Tell me", I was intrigued, not just by the prospect of hearing her story, but also by the sudden change in her voice.

"It all began with my parent's accident. The day my sister Rachna and were orphaned. Rachna was very young then. Just a toddler, but I was old enough to understand things. None of our relatives wanted to take us in. At least not the both of us together. They were debating and trying to decide who would be a better fare - the stubborn Rewa or the toddler Rachna. Obviously, they were trying to decide which one of us would be less troublesome. It looked like we were bound to be separated, till I ran to my Ajji, my mother's mother and told her I did not want to leave Rachna. She was moved by my tearful pleas, and asked her son, my uncle to take us both in. His wife, my mami was strictly against that. She had two daughters of her own already, and to her, rearing us was akin to rearing unwanted pets. But they had to bow down to Ajji's wishes, and take us in. They did, and that's when all my troubles began"

"Your troubles?"
"Yes, my troubles. All you people thought I had a fantastic time. Didn't you? You thought I was the independent Rewa, the free spirited Rewa, the Rewa who had no responsibilities. But you couldn't have been more wrong. Rewa was neither free-spirited, nor was she free of responsibilities. Rewa was an innocent girl, whose innocence, family and happiness were robbed from her at one stroke. The first twelve months at my mami's house were the worst days of my life. She treated Rachna and me like dirt. She didn't care whether we went to school, whether we ate our meals, whether we were living or not..."
Her voice trailed off, and I felt she was the eight-year old Rewa once more, reliving her hell.

"And one day, I got the solution to my problem at school. I was picked up by my teacher to perform in a school play. It was more like stand in the school play actually! But it was the route of my escape. I spent that whole afternoon at school, and when I returned home in the evening, my aunt didn't even bother to enquire where I was. I realized that as long as I was away from home, my aunt didn't bother about me. So, in spite of my stage fear, I began participating in as many plays and dances as I could. Soon, I moved to debates, sports and what not. This is where I met a lot of people and I realized I could be a real charmer if I wanted to. That's when the stubborn Rewa transformed into the popular Rewa. I kept Rachna with me as much as I could, and my aunt was happy to have us out of her sight as long as possible. That suited me just fine, for when we were out, both of us could forget the venom she spurted out at us. Rachna was the intelligent one, and she began spending as much time in the library as I was spending in all my various activities. Did I tell you that she is now doing Ph. D in bio-informatics at Georgia University?"

She was proud of Rachna, almost as a mother would be of her child. The pride showed in her voice, her eyes and her expression. She was the mother goose and Rachna, her goose ling.

"Yes, you did", "only about ten times" I wanted to add, but decided that this wasn't the time for humor.

"I always wanted her to be a doctor. She is so intelligent and so hard working. She used to study all the time. I was heart-broken when she had to give up her medical seat because uncle wouldn't fund her education and I couldn't get loan. That happened two years after we moved from your locality. Uncle bought a better house in a better locality, but mami's behavior towards us didn't become better. I was working in a small accounting firm at that time, and was paying for Rachna's education and all of her needs. I didn't have the money for Rachna's medical education, and she had to give up her seat. That's when I decided that I had waited enough. There was no point in waiting anymore. That's when I asked Nabin to marry me!"

That was surprising. She asked Nabin to marry her! Even though no one had given me an indication, I had assumed that it was Nabin who had asked her to marry him. This was so unconventional. But then nothing about her was conventional, wasn't it?

It was only then that I noticed, heavy raindrops had arrived to give company to the howling wind outside. I worried about getting home in this weather; I worried about the kids getting home from their activities. My kids did all sort of activities at school - drama, debates, singing, dancing, sports -just like Rewa. Unlike me, they were free to do whatever they wanted, and unlike Rewa, they were not forced to do them. The right to choose was a wonderful gift my children had. And only now, when I heard Rewa' story did I fully appreciate it. The right to choose meant you could do whatever you wanted, and it also meant that you didn't have to do what you didn't want to.

"What are you thinking?" her words brought me back to the cafe.
"About something both of us didn't have", I was still glancing out of the window.
"Whats that?"
"The right to choose", I turned to face her and for the first time since I had known her, my gaze met hers. All those years of looking upto Rewa were behind me. I had realized she was as human as I was. She had her flaws like all humans. She wasn't the Goddess that I had once thought she was. The expression in her eyes was intense. I knew that she agreed with me, but would probably never admit it.

She surprised me, again.

"Yes, we never did have that."

My cell phone buzzed at the exact moment and that allowed me a chance to hide my surprise and avoid gaping at her. I answered my phone. It was Abbu.
"Where are you?"
"Close to college Abbu. What about you? And the kids?"
"When I saw the signs of the approaching storm, I went over to their school and picked them up. Don't worry, they are fine. Aftaab also called. He has started for home. When are you coming?"
"In a while. I'll call you while leaving"

"Ok. Should I ask Aftaab t pick you?"
"No Abbu, I'll get a taxi. Don't worry. If there is a problem, I'll call you"
"Ok. Be sure to call me"
"I will. Don't worry"
"Ok. Bye"
"Bye"

"That was Abbu" I told her. "I have kids of my own and he still worries as if I am a little girl"
"You are lucky", her voice quivered when she said this.
"Yes, I know"
"I don't have anyone to take care of me - except Rachna"
"Why? Nabin doesn't take care of you?" the words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
"No. He doesn't think there is any need to."
"Why?"
"Because he married an intelligent, independent, steel-willed lady, who doesn't need to be taken of."
"But you are an intelligent, independent, steel-willed lady. Aren't you?"
"Yes, but even an intelligent, independent, steel-willed lady needs to be taken care of. And Nabin doesn't think thats necessary. I guessed I impressed my independence too much on him. I always wanted him to think that I can do everything. I don't need anyone, much less a man."
"Then why did he..."
"Marry me?"
"Yes?"
"Because I wanted him to."
"You...."
"Yes"

She paused a while before going on. Took a breath and said "If there was anything mami hated more than Rachna and me, it was taking spending money on Rachna and me. Other than basic necessities and school fees, she didn't spend a penny on us. Rachna Liked to read. She wanted books. They were expensive. I liked to play. I wanted sport shoes. They were expensive. Rachna wanted to join the library. That was expensive. Everything we wanted was expensive. Each and every thing that we wanted. Each and everything that we needed." Her voice was bitter. Her face was like a filmstrip, with expressions passing over with every word spoken.

But there was no self-pity. She wasn't feeling sorry for herself. She wasn't crying. Perhaps the clouds saw that too. They were shedding lesser tears.

"And so, I decided that if they weren't going to give us any money, we had to earn it for ourselves", she said "I wasn't sure how, but I was lucky. Like Alice, I found my magic hole."
"Magic hole?" Was this too emotional for her to handle? Why is she speaking gibberish?

"Yes", she giggled at my confusion.
Rewa never giggled. She had this dignified chuckle. Not a schoolgirl giggle. But hen again, this wasn't Rewa. This was Progati. And I didn't know Progati. But then, did I know Rewa? No, I didn't.
"Yes, I found a talking rabbit. Mrs. Krishnan. Do you remember her?"
"Mrs. Krishnan...... sounds familiar", I was trying to place the name.
"She was the English teacher at our school."
"Oh yes. I remember now. The lady who spoke with a lisp."
"Yes, she was my talking rabbit, and she showed the magic hole through which I found my wonderland"

Her delight shone through her eyes. I guess Mrs. Krishnan was another person she cared for. She was as animated talking about her as she had been while talking about Rachna.

"Mrs. Krishnan was helping me research for a debate once, and she handed me an article to read from. It was good, and had some useful points. And when I saw the author's name, it was Sumangala Krishnan. Mrs. Krishnan was the author! She said she loved to write and seeing her work being printed had been a childhood dream. That's when she went on to suggest that I take up writing too. She said I had a flair for writing. I was about to dismiss the idea as a waste of time and energy. After all, what could I gain from writing for a few magazines? But then, she showed me the magic hole. She said that the fee she got for her work was being put in her son's education fund. I was surprised that this work paid. At a time when you have no money, any money is good money. So I went home, pulled out an old essay, refined it and gave it to her. She sent it to some magazine, and it was published. I got 50 rupees for it. And those 50 rupees were like a treasure for me. I paid Rachna's library fee with that money. Ever since, I've written scores of articles and short stories in magazines. I guess even you have read some of them"

"Yes, I have. I have read more than a few", the fact was that I had read all of them. In school and college, I could read only a few of them, and since I idolized her so much, I wanted to read each and every one of them. So after I started teaching, I scanned the library archives to read all her articles. And that took a long while. A lot of her work had been published.

"Yes, a lot of articles were published."
How so, I was wondering.

"They had to be. I wrote what the readers wanted to read. I wrote what the magazines wanted to publish."
"What?"

"Yes, I had a strategy"
"Oh", that was all I could say.

"Every week, I would pick a magazine and read the last five six issues from Rachna's library archives. That gave me a fair amount of idea what the magazines published. And the most useful page, was the reader's feedback page. Most people don't read that page when they read a magazine, but for me it was the biggest source of information. When I had my finger down on the pulse of the readers, I'd dish out exactly what they wanted to read. So you see Saira, I've always been a writer for the readers. And that is the reason I can't do the feature on tribal women."

"What??? Oh!!!", I had almost forgotten about that. I was so engrossed in her story. But I already knew she wouldn't do that. I was sitting there to hear her story.

"You need a strategy Saira. You always need a strategy. And once you have it in place, you can get absolutely anything."
"Strategy. I've had no strategy in life. I owe everything I have to serendipity."
"Well, I don't I got everything I have after a great deal of planning and careful execution. Even Nabin."
"Nabin?"
"Yes, him too."
"How did you...."
"How did I? It wasn't easy. But it wasn't impossible. When I started college, like all the girls I too was besotted with Nabin. He was the perceived God. Wasn't he?" She took a break at this point, signaling the waiter was a refill of the coffee mug. "You have been sitting here for so long, and haven't had anything. What would you take?"
"Anything"
"Please refill my mocha, and a latte for my friend", she told the waiter and calmly turned to me "You don't agree?"
"I said anything was fine. I'm not too particular about my coffee"
"Not that. You don't agree about Nabin being perceived as a God?"
"No.... I don't."
"No?", her single raised eyebrow could put a tele-vamp to shame.
"No"
"Why not?"
"Because God, is too big a title, and anyways, this is my opinion. I'm allowed to have one. Right?" I didn't want to get into a debate with her. The temporary lull had passed away and the rain was picking up momentum again. I wanted to go home, but I also wanted to hear her story. Getting into a debate would mean I get to do neither.

"Well, yes... but I saw him as a God then. He was far too above and I knew that to reach him, I needed a strategy. I observed him for a while, him and his friends, specifically his girl friends. He was always surrounded with those who were awed by him. All the girls he hung out with were pretty lasses. Spoilt little daddy's girls. Not one of them could converse intelligently for more than ten seconds. I guessed that that perhaps that was the reason he was so easily bored of them. That's when I decided my strategy. I was going to be this intelligent, independent woman, who is not awed by his looks, brains or social status. But before that, I had to get him to notice me. That's where the big debate helped."

"So you see, it was serendipity"
"No Saira, it wasn't. Not one thing in my life do I owe to serendipity." Her voice was cold, devoid of all emotion.

"But how is that possible?"
"I arranged the debate. I befriended Sumita, the cultural secretary of our college and planted the idea of the debate in her mind. That is how I knew all the topics before hand. I prepared both sides of all the topics for fifteen days. I had to reach the finals. I had to face him in the last round. You see, I knew that the winner of last year gets a direct entry into the last round. So once I made it through the semi finals, I would be in front of him. And he would notice me."

"Oh...." I was speechless, that someone could go to such an extent.

"After that things were easier. He had not only noticed me, he was impressed by me. All along the next three years, I made sure that I was in every debate, in every sports event if Nabin was there. I always treated him with a cool regard. Not like a friend, just like a known acquaintance. I guess he had never been subjected to such treatment. He was intrigued. I knew he respected me, he was impressed with me, but that was not enough for me. I wanted to marry him, but I didn't know how to bring that about."

Our coffee had arrived. The fresh brewed coffee aroma reached my nostrils and I suddenly realized I was hungry. I glanced at the counter and scanned the menu display. Club sandwiches seemed tempting, and I asked her if she wanted them too. No, she said. She was trying to reduce. I asked the waiter to get one for me and turned to her.

"But you did bring that about."
"Yes, after graduation I was looking for a job and there was none coming by. So, I went and asked Nabin if he had a job suitable for me. He had just started working for his father and I told him that the only jobs available without any references were of secretaries and clerks. I knew I had the caliber for more challenging work, and if a reference was what it took to get it, I'd prefer getting a reference on my own rather than anyone else. Little did he know then that no one else would give me a reference. He gave me a job, and a good one at that. I worked very hard there and that's when we became friends. That's when I delved a bit deeper into his psyche and understood him a bit more. That's when I realized he thought that I was this intelligent, independent and steel-willed lady who could take care of herself. When Rachna's admission into a medical college did not come through for money, I was shattered, I was heartbroken. I broke down in front of Nabin, saying that being independent and intelligent doesn't pay. That I should have looked for a rich husband to support us rather than trying to support us on my own. That this world did not respect intellectuals, all it cared was for outer gloss. The words had their effect. Nabin went on to negate everything I said, trying to control me. Saying there were people who respected me and he was one of them and that whatever I had done was the right thing. And then I said you are saying all this just to console me. And he said no, I really do like you for what you are. That's when I said, if that is the case, will you marry me, and he said yes. So we went ahead and got married."

"But why did you ask him? Did you love him?"
"No. I did not. I married him for Progati"

"Progati?" this wasn't making any sense.
"Yes, for Progati. For progress"
"Progress?"

Yes, for my progress. For Rachna's progress. Progress from that drudgery life to a better, easier and comfortable life. Progress from a world where we yearned for little little things to a world where we got everything we wanted. Progress from a world where we crushed our dreams with our own hands to a world where our dreams became reality. Progress from inside a cage to an open sky outside the cage. Marrying Nabin would have gotten me all that. My marrying Nabin was the route to our Progress, to our Progati."
Her words were interrupted by the buzzing of her cell-phone.

"Hi Nabin....... No no, I'm not at home. I'm with a friend of mine. You remember Saira..... yeah, Dr. Saira Bashir....... nothing, we are just reminiscing old times...... yeah, I'll be home soon..... Shukto, again?....... but we had it the day before......... No I..... Fine, I'll tell Paro to make it for dinner...... ok.... bye"

She put it down with an exasperated look on her face, then turned to me and said, "That was Nabin. He wants to eat Shukto again tonight."
"Shukto?"
"Yeah, it's a supposed speciality. I hate it, and he wants to eat it everyday. He hates maharashtrian food. That's why I never cook for him. We've got Paro, a girl from Kolkata to do all the Bengali style cooking for him."
"Why don't you learn Bengali style cooking?"
"Why should I?"
"Because Nabin likes it."
"But I don't"

The cell phone buzzed again. But this time, it was mine.
"Hello"
"Are there any windows?"
"What?"
"Are there any windows where you are?"
"Yes, there are. Why??
"Can't you see the weather outside? The storm is raging."
"Of Aftaab, I don't worry about a bit of rain."
"Well, my fearless Nadia, you don't, but I do. And that is not a bit of rain. So tell me where you are, and I'll come and pick you up"
"There is no need for that. I can find my way home. I won't get lost or wander away. Ok daddy?"
"Stop kidding Saira, and tell me where you are"
"I'm in the cafe near college."
"What are you doing there? Isn't afternoon too early to be dating?"
"If I were dating, you'd be with me hubby dear. I am with Rew..... er Progati"
"Did she agree?"
"What?"
"“To do the piece on tribal women"
"Oh that"
"Yes, that."
"No"
"No. Why?"
"Well........"

"Ok, tell me later, I'm coming to pick you up" and he disconnected.

"That was Aftaab", I said to her. She nodded, and said "I'm repeating myself, but you are very lucky. Nabin called too, merely to order the dinner menu. He didn't ask me where I was, or what I was doing, forget offering to pick me up", at that moment, I saw a fleeting look of jealousy pass her face. That was most unbelievable. All those years when I was cooped up at home, helping ammi with housework, reading my schoolbooks, I often thought of the free life Rewa had. I often wished that I sprout wings and fly away into the sky, freed from the bondage of my life. I often wished I could change places with her. And today she, Rewa was jealous of me, of my life. But then, did I really want to do it? All those years I fantasized about living her life. But today I know that would mean giving up on ammi's love, abbu's affection, and the warmth and security of my childhood. No, I definitely did not want that. My chain of thoughts was broken when she continued, "You have such a caring loving family."

"Yes"
"And a husband who cares. He is coming to pick you up. Right?"
"Yes"
"Mine would never bother. He just doesn't care."
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you care about him? Don't answer me. Answer yourself. Perhaps he would care, if you care too. Perhaps he cares, but is too intimidated to show it."
"Intimidated?"
"Yes, of the steel willed independent woman. If she needs to be taken care of, she has to let her husband know. If she needs to be shown love, she has to show her love."
"What will that accomplish?"
"Progati"
"What?"
"You have progressed so much in life. From the days you lived in your aun't fear to the days when you were the most popular and confident girl in school. From those days to being the idol of so many girls your age. Yes, Rewa was the one a lot of girls idolised. What if she wasn't a miss universe, she was intellegent and confident and talented and wittty. Not only that, she was courageous You have progressed, but you can progress a lot more, with a little bit of love. If you have that, you'll have a perfect life. Well, as perfect as human life can be. But if you want love, you have to first give it."

She was silent, her face impassive. I had expected a battery of arguments or a stiff 'mind your own business look' or some reaction. Not this. She looked as if she hadn't even heard what I said. And then she said, "Look, the rain has suddenly stopped." We settled our bill and walked out of the cafe. The moment we stepped out, the clouds broke and a feeble sun started shining.

"It's a sign", she said.
"Do you believe in signs?" I asked, a little surprised.
"Yes. I do." She turned to look at me and said, "What you told me just now.... "
"I didn't....."
"Stop. I guess I needed to be told what you told me. All through my journey of progress, I have done things only for myself. I have never given back. And looking at you now, so happy and content, I realize what I have been missing out on. I don't know if I can have all that you do, but I sure can give it a try and hope to be successful.", there was a change visible in her manner. A feeble one, but a change nevertheless. The way she spoke, the way she looked, the way she carried herself. The cold stiffness seemed to be receding, and a warmth was seeping into her demeanor. Just like the clouds breaking up outside and the sun shining through.

"I am sure that you would."
That was when Aftaab's car turned around the counter, and we said our goodbyes. I walked to my husband's side, whose face relaxed when he saw that I was fine. Before getting into the car, I turned back and looked at her. She was walking towards her car, on the other side of the road, on her way to progress.

The inspiration to write Progati was a line that someone once said to me. It went something like "People are not always what they seem. You can't judge a person based on a few interactions. Its only when you know everything, including circumstances, do you really require why and how people are how they are." I don't remember when and how I heard this. But one fine day, I just remembered it and Rewa and Saira were born. My current mood has severly affected my writing. I guess thats evident. But the end is generally what I hand in mind. Finally, do give me your comments. How did you find this tale? Good or bad. Nice or Rotten. Whatever you felt, honestly...