A few days ago, the gang and I attended Sonu Nigam’s live performance at the Kala Ghoda art festival. Unfortunately one of us was MIA (Missing In Action!!). It was a mixed bag of an evening. Things began well enough with us meeting up at the venue. My mom and her friend were with me. Thankfully I was able to let go of them soon!! An hour or so of aimlessly wandering about the art installations and the various booths yielded nothing but overpriced ‘arty’ stuff none of us were interested in buying. The concert was scheduled to begin at 7.30 and we reached the site a bit before 7. Big Mistake. We should have made it to the concert site as soon as we reached there. The Asiatic Library steps were already full and the crowd spilled over on to the road. It was like a live many-headed monster moving in all possible directions. At 7 the opening act fired up and miss ‘Gunjan’ waltzed onto the stage. We couldn’t actually see the stage but the audio worked well enough to inflict one of the worst renditions of ‘Sheila ki Jawani’ on the hapless listeners! All three of us were animatedly discussing where Sonu Nigam would be right now – “oh he must have just left his place / must be stuck in traffic / must be in his vanity van”. Several theories later, the screeching was over and the main act started.
There was a lot of pushing, we were jostled around madly several times and had to retreat to a much safer place at the back of the crowd, unsavoury characters were present in abundance, but all of it faded into insignificance once Sonu Nigam’s dulcet tones flooded the arena. He is genuinely one of the few singers who are REALLY good live. So many ‘studio singers’ are terrible live, and it was heaven to hear his velvety voice wash over you. There was some really sad mimicry in the middle, but we got over it soon. Goodness knows why he chose a made-up song which went “Aloo-Kanda-Bhindi-Mutter Paneer”. For me, the best song was from the newer Bhagat Singh movie – ‘Mera Rang de Basanti Chola’. It is a beautiful song that brings out the best in his voice, and the patriotism in the song really makes me sentimental. All of us were singing along to almost each and every song.
Of course, the best situations and the best movies often have an intriguing subplot and ours was no different. Intrigue spilled over when two teenage girls started arguing right next to us. It turned out that one of them had lost her cell phone. Someone in the crowd had found it, answered when the girl called and was now subjecting her to trashy talk like “I’ll give you your phone if you give me a kiss”. It was so irritating. And of course, the spineless jerk spoke like that only to that girl and hung up when our guy blasted him out. There is no dearth of jerks in the world I guess. All this drama notwithstanding, we all enjoyed the performance, the girls too. Listening to live music is truly one of the best experiences!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Rose
A new short story by yours truly....:)
Anish Desai stood at the gate of the family bungalow, one hand poised above the gate latch. There it was, his home, the family home aptly called Aaple Ghar. Just standing there looking at the familiar compound brought back a flood of memories. The sunlit summer mornings spent playing with Gaurav, his twin, while Mom looked on indulgently. Mom’s piping hot pohe and chaha, never failing to brighten up even the dullest afternoon. Dad coming home in the evenings, always ready with something special for his twin wonders. He and Gaurav squabbling over everything, yet always sharing things. They were never able to stay away from each other for long. And yet…
He had been away long enough. His family needed him, and more importantly, he needed them. He would never leave them again. A single tear tracked its way down his face and he hastily wiped it away, half smiling. They’d call him a girl! His face darkened with the memory of a long gone evening, but the frown on his face was gone before even he could register it. The past doesn’t matter anymore, he thought, I just have to focus on building a future.
He opened the gate and stepped in. almost immediately he noticed mom’s favourite corner of the garden – the one with the rose bushes. He frowned – the plants had wilted almost completely. One half-opened rose sat in lone splendour atop an almost dried up bush. It wasn’t like mom to neglect the roses. She had always taken such good care of them. She had always taken such good care of everyone.
The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked down the narrow winding path and rang the large antique doorbell. A sombre gong sounded through the house. The sound both surprised Anish and scared him a little. Shivering slightly, he waited for the door to open. It didn’t. He decided to walk around the house and see what was happening. At the back, he saw a window open and climbed in, landing in the guest room. The room was completely bare, the doors closed.
The unnatural silence in the house was beginning to disturb him. Anish tried to push the door open. Thankfully, it opened. He ran out into the living room and breathed a sigh of relief. Gaurav was sitting on the sofa, his back to Anish, flicking through TV channels at his usual breakneck speed.
“Gaurav! Thank God! What happened? Why isn’t anyone answering the door? Where did all the furniture in the guest room go? Where did mom disa…….” Anish’s questions trailed off into a horrified silence as Gaurav turned to look at him with hatred and loathing burning in his eyes. Anish’s hands started trembling as his mirror image got up of the sofa and walked towards him, that look of pure hatred still evident on his face. Gaurav was thinner than he remembered, his clothes hanging off his now skinny frame. His grey eyes, exactly like Anish’s, seemed to almost pop out of his face on looking at his twin. He strode towards Anish till they were face to face. The comforting familiarity that usually accompanied looking at Gaurav’s face was nowhere within Anish’s reach as he trembled where he stood.
“You ba*****!!” Gaurav hissed “You have the guts to come back after what you did?” “Gaurav, you have to hear me out, it wasn’t my fault….” “IT WAS YOUR FAULT!!!” Gaurav screamed at the top of his voice. It was a horrifying sound that made Anish close his eyes and put his hands over his ears. Gaurav pulled his hands off and rasped “open your eyes!! Look around! If it hadn’t been for you, our family would have still been together! You destroyed our family! You’re responsible for the state of this house today! You’re responsible for mom having to go through all that…..”
The mention of his mother seemed to galvanize Anish into finally reacting. His head snapped up, eyes wide open and overflowing with tears. “NO!! I did NOT make mom go through all that!! Where is she? I want to see her, I want to talk to her, explain to her what happened, explain to YOU what happened….
“You want to see her? Talk to her?” Sneering cruelly, Gaurav dragged Anish towards their parents’ bedroom. A horrible moaning sound issued from behind the closed door. Anish wanted to know what it was and dreaded it at the same time. Maintaining his vice-like grip on Anish’s wrist with one hand, Gaurav violently shoved open the bedroom door with the other hand. The door flew open and hit the wall. Anish stood there, horrified to the very depths of his soul.
His mother, his beautiful, amazing, loving mother lay there on the bed, her clothes bloodstained, her hair wildly dishevelled, her limbs thrashing against the mattress. She looked at Anish with unseeing, wild eyes and screamed like a wounded animal. Anish screamed and moved toward her without thinking when Gaurav blocked his way and tried to push him away. They struggled for a few seconds but Anish stopped trying to get past Gaurav and ran out instead. He could feel Gaurav’s heavy footsteps pursuing him, but he continued running. He ran out into the garden, towards his mother’s favourite rose bush. He lunged towards the solitary blood-red rose on top of the nearly dried-up bush. The sharp thorns pricked his fingers and drew blood. He didn’t care. He just somehow knew that if he got the rose to his mother, she would know who he was and this nightmare would end. Things would just go back to the way they were. The jagged pieces of his life would somehow glue themselves back together and his family would be whole again.
He turned towards the house, gripping the rose tightly in his hands. Gaurav was standing in his way, looking almost demented in his hatred. Anish somehow managed to evade him till they both reached the door, where Gaurav caught him. They struggled with each other in a chokehold, their strengths almost too evenly matched. Finally Anish managed to steer both of them towards his parents’ room. His mother’s screams were still ringing through the house. Anish and Gaurav crashed into the room, falling down in a heap on the floor. Gaurav was not giving up so easily. He pushed Anish towards the cupboard. Anish banged heavily into the cupboard, shattering the huge mirror on the door.
Gaurav stared at the huge, jagged shards of glass lying on the floor. Suddenly a look of pure evil twisted his features. He grabbed a huge glass piece and ran towards Anish, shouting “I’m going to kill you for what you did to us!” Anish evaded the first strike, stumbling to the left and letting Gaurav fall to the right. The rose! He had to get the rose to mom. He tried to get up, but felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down, and saw that a rose petal had stuck to his t-shirt, and its stain was slowly spreading over the thin grey cotton. But wait…..Gaurav had been wearing a grey t-shirt, not him. He had been wearing his old favourite blue shirt, the one that mom had gifted to him on his birthday. He looked up and saw that Gaurav had his shirt on. The shard of glass that had been in Gaurav’s hand was sticking out of his chest now. Wait….. If the glass piece was in Gaurav’s chest, then why was he, Anish, feeling such pain? The only thing sticking to his chest was mom’s rose petal. Anish collapsed on the floor, the pain reaching unbearable levels now. With one last effort, he pulled himself up and dragged himself towards mom’s bed. Her wild screams were now mixed with Gaurav’s harsh cries and abuses. The whole room seemed to be littered with a mixture of shattered glass and rose petals, the crimson of the petals slowly seeping into the shimmering white of the glass. He somehow managed to get to the bed. He took one last look at his mother, still screaming and staring with sightless eyes. His head drooped to his chest, the strength ebbing out of him. He glimpsed a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and knew that Gaurav was bearing down on him, his entire being filled with rage. Then suddenly all the pain was gone. The only sensation he remembered, as darkness took over, was the velvety feel of the rose petals in his hands……….
Two days later…
Several groups of policemen stood in and around a deserted bungalow, Aaple Ghar, on the outskirts of Pune, surveying a scene of utter devastation. Broken glass mixed with blood lay around the hall and the master bedroom on the ground floor. Several of the window panes were broken and a bloodstained blue shirt lay on the floor near a single body covered with a white sheet. A tall, middle-aged man sat on the sofa in the hall, his head cradled in his hands. The seniormost policeman in the group walked up to him. “Mr Desai?” he softly called. The man sitting on the sofa looked up, his eyes full of tears. “I’m sorry, but we need to record your statement as to how all this happened”. The man straightened up, and started talking in a voice weighed down with grief.
“My name is Prabhakar Desai. I used to live in this bungalow with my wife Sumati and my twin sons Anish and Gaurav. We were a small, but very happy family. My business was flourishing and my sons were growing up, ready to take on their responsibilities once their education was done. The tragedy struck on Anish and Gaurav’s eighteenth birthday. I bought them a brand new car so that they could go to college together. The boys had just learnt driving and they coaxed Sumati into going for a drive with them. They had reached the highway when the car’s brakes failed, it went into a skid and crashed into a tree on the side of the road. Anish was at the wheel and he survived, but he watched Gaurav and Sumati die in front of him, unable to help them because he was trapped himself. For so many days when he was in the hospital, I despaired of his recovery. I was so happy when his body slowly healed and recovered. Little did I know that his mind would never recover from this horrible event. He started seeing flashes of the accident all the time, he would get scared and shout and scream. Initially I thought he would get over it, but it got worse. He would curse himself and say that he murdered his mother and brother. I had to take him to a psychiatrist. He was diagnosed as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and given medicines, but nothing helped. His condition worsened to the point that I had to get him admitted into a hospital. Three days ago, the hospital called me and told me that he had managed to escape. He had no money, no food and no transport. How he managed to get here, and what he must have gone through, God only knows….” His shoulders shook as he wept openly. “Everything precious to me is gone now….” He stood up and walked to the window. The dried up lawn and neglected plants blew forlornly in the wind. The only thing that looked alive was the blood-red rose that still swayed atop the half-dried rose bush….
Anish Desai stood at the gate of the family bungalow, one hand poised above the gate latch. There it was, his home, the family home aptly called Aaple Ghar. Just standing there looking at the familiar compound brought back a flood of memories. The sunlit summer mornings spent playing with Gaurav, his twin, while Mom looked on indulgently. Mom’s piping hot pohe and chaha, never failing to brighten up even the dullest afternoon. Dad coming home in the evenings, always ready with something special for his twin wonders. He and Gaurav squabbling over everything, yet always sharing things. They were never able to stay away from each other for long. And yet…
He had been away long enough. His family needed him, and more importantly, he needed them. He would never leave them again. A single tear tracked its way down his face and he hastily wiped it away, half smiling. They’d call him a girl! His face darkened with the memory of a long gone evening, but the frown on his face was gone before even he could register it. The past doesn’t matter anymore, he thought, I just have to focus on building a future.
He opened the gate and stepped in. almost immediately he noticed mom’s favourite corner of the garden – the one with the rose bushes. He frowned – the plants had wilted almost completely. One half-opened rose sat in lone splendour atop an almost dried up bush. It wasn’t like mom to neglect the roses. She had always taken such good care of them. She had always taken such good care of everyone.
The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked down the narrow winding path and rang the large antique doorbell. A sombre gong sounded through the house. The sound both surprised Anish and scared him a little. Shivering slightly, he waited for the door to open. It didn’t. He decided to walk around the house and see what was happening. At the back, he saw a window open and climbed in, landing in the guest room. The room was completely bare, the doors closed.
The unnatural silence in the house was beginning to disturb him. Anish tried to push the door open. Thankfully, it opened. He ran out into the living room and breathed a sigh of relief. Gaurav was sitting on the sofa, his back to Anish, flicking through TV channels at his usual breakneck speed.
“Gaurav! Thank God! What happened? Why isn’t anyone answering the door? Where did all the furniture in the guest room go? Where did mom disa…….” Anish’s questions trailed off into a horrified silence as Gaurav turned to look at him with hatred and loathing burning in his eyes. Anish’s hands started trembling as his mirror image got up of the sofa and walked towards him, that look of pure hatred still evident on his face. Gaurav was thinner than he remembered, his clothes hanging off his now skinny frame. His grey eyes, exactly like Anish’s, seemed to almost pop out of his face on looking at his twin. He strode towards Anish till they were face to face. The comforting familiarity that usually accompanied looking at Gaurav’s face was nowhere within Anish’s reach as he trembled where he stood.
“You ba*****!!” Gaurav hissed “You have the guts to come back after what you did?” “Gaurav, you have to hear me out, it wasn’t my fault….” “IT WAS YOUR FAULT!!!” Gaurav screamed at the top of his voice. It was a horrifying sound that made Anish close his eyes and put his hands over his ears. Gaurav pulled his hands off and rasped “open your eyes!! Look around! If it hadn’t been for you, our family would have still been together! You destroyed our family! You’re responsible for the state of this house today! You’re responsible for mom having to go through all that…..”
The mention of his mother seemed to galvanize Anish into finally reacting. His head snapped up, eyes wide open and overflowing with tears. “NO!! I did NOT make mom go through all that!! Where is she? I want to see her, I want to talk to her, explain to her what happened, explain to YOU what happened….
“You want to see her? Talk to her?” Sneering cruelly, Gaurav dragged Anish towards their parents’ bedroom. A horrible moaning sound issued from behind the closed door. Anish wanted to know what it was and dreaded it at the same time. Maintaining his vice-like grip on Anish’s wrist with one hand, Gaurav violently shoved open the bedroom door with the other hand. The door flew open and hit the wall. Anish stood there, horrified to the very depths of his soul.
His mother, his beautiful, amazing, loving mother lay there on the bed, her clothes bloodstained, her hair wildly dishevelled, her limbs thrashing against the mattress. She looked at Anish with unseeing, wild eyes and screamed like a wounded animal. Anish screamed and moved toward her without thinking when Gaurav blocked his way and tried to push him away. They struggled for a few seconds but Anish stopped trying to get past Gaurav and ran out instead. He could feel Gaurav’s heavy footsteps pursuing him, but he continued running. He ran out into the garden, towards his mother’s favourite rose bush. He lunged towards the solitary blood-red rose on top of the nearly dried-up bush. The sharp thorns pricked his fingers and drew blood. He didn’t care. He just somehow knew that if he got the rose to his mother, she would know who he was and this nightmare would end. Things would just go back to the way they were. The jagged pieces of his life would somehow glue themselves back together and his family would be whole again.
He turned towards the house, gripping the rose tightly in his hands. Gaurav was standing in his way, looking almost demented in his hatred. Anish somehow managed to evade him till they both reached the door, where Gaurav caught him. They struggled with each other in a chokehold, their strengths almost too evenly matched. Finally Anish managed to steer both of them towards his parents’ room. His mother’s screams were still ringing through the house. Anish and Gaurav crashed into the room, falling down in a heap on the floor. Gaurav was not giving up so easily. He pushed Anish towards the cupboard. Anish banged heavily into the cupboard, shattering the huge mirror on the door.
Gaurav stared at the huge, jagged shards of glass lying on the floor. Suddenly a look of pure evil twisted his features. He grabbed a huge glass piece and ran towards Anish, shouting “I’m going to kill you for what you did to us!” Anish evaded the first strike, stumbling to the left and letting Gaurav fall to the right. The rose! He had to get the rose to mom. He tried to get up, but felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down, and saw that a rose petal had stuck to his t-shirt, and its stain was slowly spreading over the thin grey cotton. But wait…..Gaurav had been wearing a grey t-shirt, not him. He had been wearing his old favourite blue shirt, the one that mom had gifted to him on his birthday. He looked up and saw that Gaurav had his shirt on. The shard of glass that had been in Gaurav’s hand was sticking out of his chest now. Wait….. If the glass piece was in Gaurav’s chest, then why was he, Anish, feeling such pain? The only thing sticking to his chest was mom’s rose petal. Anish collapsed on the floor, the pain reaching unbearable levels now. With one last effort, he pulled himself up and dragged himself towards mom’s bed. Her wild screams were now mixed with Gaurav’s harsh cries and abuses. The whole room seemed to be littered with a mixture of shattered glass and rose petals, the crimson of the petals slowly seeping into the shimmering white of the glass. He somehow managed to get to the bed. He took one last look at his mother, still screaming and staring with sightless eyes. His head drooped to his chest, the strength ebbing out of him. He glimpsed a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and knew that Gaurav was bearing down on him, his entire being filled with rage. Then suddenly all the pain was gone. The only sensation he remembered, as darkness took over, was the velvety feel of the rose petals in his hands……….
Two days later…
Several groups of policemen stood in and around a deserted bungalow, Aaple Ghar, on the outskirts of Pune, surveying a scene of utter devastation. Broken glass mixed with blood lay around the hall and the master bedroom on the ground floor. Several of the window panes were broken and a bloodstained blue shirt lay on the floor near a single body covered with a white sheet. A tall, middle-aged man sat on the sofa in the hall, his head cradled in his hands. The seniormost policeman in the group walked up to him. “Mr Desai?” he softly called. The man sitting on the sofa looked up, his eyes full of tears. “I’m sorry, but we need to record your statement as to how all this happened”. The man straightened up, and started talking in a voice weighed down with grief.
“My name is Prabhakar Desai. I used to live in this bungalow with my wife Sumati and my twin sons Anish and Gaurav. We were a small, but very happy family. My business was flourishing and my sons were growing up, ready to take on their responsibilities once their education was done. The tragedy struck on Anish and Gaurav’s eighteenth birthday. I bought them a brand new car so that they could go to college together. The boys had just learnt driving and they coaxed Sumati into going for a drive with them. They had reached the highway when the car’s brakes failed, it went into a skid and crashed into a tree on the side of the road. Anish was at the wheel and he survived, but he watched Gaurav and Sumati die in front of him, unable to help them because he was trapped himself. For so many days when he was in the hospital, I despaired of his recovery. I was so happy when his body slowly healed and recovered. Little did I know that his mind would never recover from this horrible event. He started seeing flashes of the accident all the time, he would get scared and shout and scream. Initially I thought he would get over it, but it got worse. He would curse himself and say that he murdered his mother and brother. I had to take him to a psychiatrist. He was diagnosed as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and given medicines, but nothing helped. His condition worsened to the point that I had to get him admitted into a hospital. Three days ago, the hospital called me and told me that he had managed to escape. He had no money, no food and no transport. How he managed to get here, and what he must have gone through, God only knows….” His shoulders shook as he wept openly. “Everything precious to me is gone now….” He stood up and walked to the window. The dried up lawn and neglected plants blew forlornly in the wind. The only thing that looked alive was the blood-red rose that still swayed atop the half-dried rose bush….
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Back to Blogging!!
Turning 30…….
So I went and watched the movie “Turning 30” the other day. I had decided to watch it the moment the trailer first came on during a show of Raajneeti way back in July. Finally a movie that appeared to show the modern urban Indian woman and issues!! Of course, it had to be watched together with my best friends. It’s a movie about a gang of girls, so it has to be watched with a gang of girls!!
The movie was altogether no great shakes. A bit silly and mostly pretentious - and it had some really bad acting by several teakwood statues. What it did manage to capture fairly well was the emotional angst of the modern 30-something urban girl. Several lines spoken by Gul Panag while narrating the story did hit home. What is with men? Do they actually want to commit to a relationship or are they just out for a piece of ***? Has the marriage train passed us by? Or is this a station completely off the usual route? Will we ever find someone who appreciates us for what we are? Is the sanctity of a relationship still valid today? Or have people just become too selfish? Am I rambling too much? Has age finally gotten the better of me? :)
So I went and watched the movie “Turning 30” the other day. I had decided to watch it the moment the trailer first came on during a show of Raajneeti way back in July. Finally a movie that appeared to show the modern urban Indian woman and issues!! Of course, it had to be watched together with my best friends. It’s a movie about a gang of girls, so it has to be watched with a gang of girls!!
The movie was altogether no great shakes. A bit silly and mostly pretentious - and it had some really bad acting by several teakwood statues. What it did manage to capture fairly well was the emotional angst of the modern 30-something urban girl. Several lines spoken by Gul Panag while narrating the story did hit home. What is with men? Do they actually want to commit to a relationship or are they just out for a piece of ***? Has the marriage train passed us by? Or is this a station completely off the usual route? Will we ever find someone who appreciates us for what we are? Is the sanctity of a relationship still valid today? Or have people just become too selfish? Am I rambling too much? Has age finally gotten the better of me? :)
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Moron Sighting
Short story, based on real – life incident ;)
I logged on to my email id, and immediately saw a really long mail from my friend Neena. Even the gloomy weather couldn’t stop my 32 – buck smile. Neena and I went back a long way, all the way back to kindergarten. Our friendship had started with a shared cheese sandwich. In the past 25 years, it had weathered bad grades, exam stresses, adolescent crushes, shifting residences and what not. She had been staying in Pune for several years and was into the ‘marriage market’ these days. Her experiences were interesting, to put it mildly. I had been on the receiving end of several of her rants lately, and this email sounded just like the others. The title of the mail was “Moron Sighting…..Again!!”
Hey sweetie,
The marriage market is not only alive, but also kicking………me!!
My mom has started on a new site these days. Shaadi and Jeevansathi are a bit passé – assal Marathi site called Rohini is in!! Not much difference in terms of morons available, but the Marathi factor appealed to mom. Plus, she is getting the emails from the site. It’s a double blessing for me – mom is off my back and she is happy she is making her ‘efforts’!
So, mom noticed this really well-educated and reasonably ‘well-settled’ dude. He was a PhD in pharmacy, no less, and planning for a post-doc. She sent the mail, got the bio-data, blah blah…and then the document lands up in my inbox. The guy was average looking, and dark (my mom didn’t like that – she is a bit biased against dark guys!!). I didn’t mind the colour, it wasn’t so bad. I thought chalo, let’s give this a try. So I mailed the guy, and he sent me his number. We actually started off on the wrong foot from the emails only. In spite of mom clearly stating that the prospective bride’s name is Neena, this fellow addresses his mail to “Dearest Supriya”. Dude, stop hitting on my mom!! He definitely has a major complex about his looks and his career – he stated at least thrice that he is not photogenic and his appearance is better in real life. Got the message the first time round, dude!!
He also states in the mail that his research in pharmacology deals with medicines and their dynamics, “so don’t think that pharmacy people are downtrodden and cannot practice medicine”. This statement alone should have flashed a big red light at me. It did, actually, but I decided to give the poor fellow the benefit of the doubt. So I called him.
BIG mistake. I should have gone with mom’s instincts. Agreed, her reasons for not liking the guy were all wrong, but she is rarely off the mark when it comes to sniffing out morons. The very first conversation turned out several stinkers. The guy is a professor cum research assistant at a college in Pune. As a part of his job, he is a guide for post graduate students writing their thesis. He said “thank god this time I have only male students working under me” !!!!!!!!!! I don’t think I need to tell you what my doubts were. He then went on to say that all female students never work on time, and then use tears to get out of being punished. “You can’t even bang them properly” – God help his English, amongst other things.
There was more to come. He was a smoker, couldn’t handle stress and had had a major anxiety episode when completing his PhD. And he was a virgin – no, he DIDN’T tell me his sexual history in the first conversation!! I use the term virgin to mean someone who has never interacted with anyone on the ‘marriage market’. To add to his growing list of attributes, he was also gonna go abroad for his post-doc studies. And what the $%^& was I supposed to do for those two years? This formed our first talk.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and that is why I gave him a second call in as many days. Hope of finding some redeeming factor? Dunno. Fate had not finished with me yet. He tells me “Neena, I am a very emotional person, and I get attached to people very quickly. I could get emotionally involved with you if we speak any more on the phone”. Two phone conversations lasting 20 mins each, and the guy fancies himself “in lou” :p :p I hung up, and decided to end things ASAP. So the next morning I send him a very polite and kind sms. The exchange that followed is amazing.
Me : Hi ****, (I am blanking out his name, not a gaali!!) I think we have some points in common, but overall, it is not compatible. I think its best if we don’t take this ahead. Wish you all the best. Neena
Him: Is this because I told you about going abroad?
Me: No, its not just one factor, it’s a combination of many things.
Him: You are quick to decide. However, I had already rejected you on day one. (?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? And he says I am quick)
Not to be outdone, and wanting the last word like all women, I replied:
“Well, that makes you quicker than I am!! Goodbye and good luck!!”
Thus ended the story of the insecure virgin and the irritated girl….you are welcome to supply a better title if you can think of one.
I logged on to my email id, and immediately saw a really long mail from my friend Neena. Even the gloomy weather couldn’t stop my 32 – buck smile. Neena and I went back a long way, all the way back to kindergarten. Our friendship had started with a shared cheese sandwich. In the past 25 years, it had weathered bad grades, exam stresses, adolescent crushes, shifting residences and what not. She had been staying in Pune for several years and was into the ‘marriage market’ these days. Her experiences were interesting, to put it mildly. I had been on the receiving end of several of her rants lately, and this email sounded just like the others. The title of the mail was “Moron Sighting…..Again!!”
Hey sweetie,
The marriage market is not only alive, but also kicking………me!!
My mom has started on a new site these days. Shaadi and Jeevansathi are a bit passé – assal Marathi site called Rohini is in!! Not much difference in terms of morons available, but the Marathi factor appealed to mom. Plus, she is getting the emails from the site. It’s a double blessing for me – mom is off my back and she is happy she is making her ‘efforts’!
So, mom noticed this really well-educated and reasonably ‘well-settled’ dude. He was a PhD in pharmacy, no less, and planning for a post-doc. She sent the mail, got the bio-data, blah blah…and then the document lands up in my inbox. The guy was average looking, and dark (my mom didn’t like that – she is a bit biased against dark guys!!). I didn’t mind the colour, it wasn’t so bad. I thought chalo, let’s give this a try. So I mailed the guy, and he sent me his number. We actually started off on the wrong foot from the emails only. In spite of mom clearly stating that the prospective bride’s name is Neena, this fellow addresses his mail to “Dearest Supriya”. Dude, stop hitting on my mom!! He definitely has a major complex about his looks and his career – he stated at least thrice that he is not photogenic and his appearance is better in real life. Got the message the first time round, dude!!
He also states in the mail that his research in pharmacology deals with medicines and their dynamics, “so don’t think that pharmacy people are downtrodden and cannot practice medicine”. This statement alone should have flashed a big red light at me. It did, actually, but I decided to give the poor fellow the benefit of the doubt. So I called him.
BIG mistake. I should have gone with mom’s instincts. Agreed, her reasons for not liking the guy were all wrong, but she is rarely off the mark when it comes to sniffing out morons. The very first conversation turned out several stinkers. The guy is a professor cum research assistant at a college in Pune. As a part of his job, he is a guide for post graduate students writing their thesis. He said “thank god this time I have only male students working under me” !!!!!!!!!! I don’t think I need to tell you what my doubts were. He then went on to say that all female students never work on time, and then use tears to get out of being punished. “You can’t even bang them properly” – God help his English, amongst other things.
There was more to come. He was a smoker, couldn’t handle stress and had had a major anxiety episode when completing his PhD. And he was a virgin – no, he DIDN’T tell me his sexual history in the first conversation!! I use the term virgin to mean someone who has never interacted with anyone on the ‘marriage market’. To add to his growing list of attributes, he was also gonna go abroad for his post-doc studies. And what the $%^& was I supposed to do for those two years? This formed our first talk.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and that is why I gave him a second call in as many days. Hope of finding some redeeming factor? Dunno. Fate had not finished with me yet. He tells me “Neena, I am a very emotional person, and I get attached to people very quickly. I could get emotionally involved with you if we speak any more on the phone”. Two phone conversations lasting 20 mins each, and the guy fancies himself “in lou” :p :p I hung up, and decided to end things ASAP. So the next morning I send him a very polite and kind sms. The exchange that followed is amazing.
Me : Hi ****, (I am blanking out his name, not a gaali!!) I think we have some points in common, but overall, it is not compatible. I think its best if we don’t take this ahead. Wish you all the best. Neena
Him: Is this because I told you about going abroad?
Me: No, its not just one factor, it’s a combination of many things.
Him: You are quick to decide. However, I had already rejected you on day one. (?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? And he says I am quick)
Not to be outdone, and wanting the last word like all women, I replied:
“Well, that makes you quicker than I am!! Goodbye and good luck!!”
Thus ended the story of the insecure virgin and the irritated girl….you are welcome to supply a better title if you can think of one.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Innocence…
One of the surest signs of increasing age is that your birthday puts you in a reflective mood instead of an excited one. :D
As another birthday approaches, I cannot help wondering where the years have vanished to. Childhood (and innocence) seems like SUCH a long time ago. There were several incidents lately that drove this point home. One of the earlier events was a couple of months ago. I have to travel to Palghar about once a fortnight as part of my job. I was in my usual 7.30 am Ferozepur Janta Express.
Makeup was mostly avoided before leaving home; the summer heat and humidity melted it right off anyway. The train was therefore the site of choice for application of necessary cosmetics. I was halfway through applying my lip gloss when I noticed the girl sitting opposite me. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. She was watching me with a fascinated expression on her plump little face, her eyes round with wonder at this very ‘grown-up’ thing that I was doing. Egged on by her interest, I then reapplied compact, swished on some eyeliner and then proceeded to brush my hair into a glossy mass (I had long hair then). After everything was done, I put my brush back into my purse and looked straight at her with an expression of “is everything ok now?” She gave me the widest grin along with a nod of approval. She then turned excitedly to her mother, who was watching our exchange with an indulgent smile.
It was then that it hit me. As a kid I had done the same – watching grown up women with their pretty dresses and their makeup, wishing that I could grow up as soon as possible and be able to do all this. My wish had come true. I was one of the ‘grownups’ now, but at a cost. Gone was the innocence and wide-eyed wonder that coated my view of the world. I wouldn’t go so far as calling me a cynic, but a jaded feeling has crept into most emotions. Getting well and truly excited about simple things doesn’t happen anymore.
One of the surest signs of increasing age is that your birthday puts you in a reflective mood instead of an excited one. :D
As another birthday approaches, I cannot help wondering where the years have vanished to. Childhood (and innocence) seems like SUCH a long time ago. There were several incidents lately that drove this point home. One of the earlier events was a couple of months ago. I have to travel to Palghar about once a fortnight as part of my job. I was in my usual 7.30 am Ferozepur Janta Express.
Makeup was mostly avoided before leaving home; the summer heat and humidity melted it right off anyway. The train was therefore the site of choice for application of necessary cosmetics. I was halfway through applying my lip gloss when I noticed the girl sitting opposite me. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. She was watching me with a fascinated expression on her plump little face, her eyes round with wonder at this very ‘grown-up’ thing that I was doing. Egged on by her interest, I then reapplied compact, swished on some eyeliner and then proceeded to brush my hair into a glossy mass (I had long hair then). After everything was done, I put my brush back into my purse and looked straight at her with an expression of “is everything ok now?” She gave me the widest grin along with a nod of approval. She then turned excitedly to her mother, who was watching our exchange with an indulgent smile.
It was then that it hit me. As a kid I had done the same – watching grown up women with their pretty dresses and their makeup, wishing that I could grow up as soon as possible and be able to do all this. My wish had come true. I was one of the ‘grownups’ now, but at a cost. Gone was the innocence and wide-eyed wonder that coated my view of the world. I wouldn’t go so far as calling me a cynic, but a jaded feeling has crept into most emotions. Getting well and truly excited about simple things doesn’t happen anymore.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Restaurant Review
To all,
This is my review for one of our favourite restaurants - Barbeque Nation
Restaurant review: Barbeque Nation
It was in the middle of the week that the urge to try out a new restaurant hit the entire family en masse. As usual, reservations were my responsibility. Thank goodness for Google and online reservations! I was surprised to see the rates – Rs. 550 per head (plus taxes) for an all-you-can-eat buffet including unlimited starters. It seemed like terrific value for money. However, an inner voice, born from the experiences of ‘inexpensive’ restaurants, cautioned against expecting too much. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, shouted the opposing voice of adventure…
We reached there well in time, thanks to my mother’s penchant for shepherding the family at least half an hour early. The waiting area was filled with the lesser mortals called impromptu Saturday night diners. Our family of four – my parents, bratty younger brother and I – glided past them, silently pitying their lack of foresight. Already our stomachs were beginning to growl, helped in good measure by the scene before us. Sizzling and popping sounds emanated from the main barbeque area in one corner. Curling tendrils of smoke wafted and tickled our nostrils with the smoky, succulent odours of roasting meat and vegetables. At every table, people were stuffing themselves with various yummy looking starters. That inner voice of caution was starting to lose strength.
The pretty hostess showed us to our table. The lighting was soft enough to set a pleasant mood, yet bright enough to be able to read the menu and see the food. The décor was pleasant, understated, with wood tables and chairs, and a family corner with low slung tables and sofas, where our table was placed. The first thing I noticed was the square depression in the middle of the table, with grooves at its edges. My over-inquisitive brother immediately ducked under the table to investigate – and reported the discovery of a heating grill under the depression. The efficient waiter had already arrived, and was doing a commendable job of controlling his amusement at my brother’s antics.
The waiter explained the raison d’être of the depression, “Ma’am, at Barbeque Nation, we have developed a unique method of serving grilled food. Normally, the grilled pieces of meat and vegetables cool down before reaching the table, which lessens their taste and our patrons’ satisfaction. At our restaurant, the starters are cooked 90 percent at the main grill and brought to your table. The heater and the metal trough complete the remaining ten percent and you can enjoy your starters absolutely hot and fresh”.
The concept delighted and intrigued us, and we told the waiter to bring it on. He did, and how!! All four of us pride ourselves on being foodies, able to pack it in at every opportunity. That day, we were floored by the sheer range and taste of the starters there. It stared with the ubiquitous Chicken Tikka, which was elevated to an objet d’art by the use of excellent spices and the freshest, most succulent meat. Grilled Tiger Prawns, so large they couldn’t fit into one mouthful, were cooked to biteable consistency without the rubberiness that threatens this food item. The Fish Amritsari Tikka’s crisped skin revealed tender, flaky, exquisitely spiced meat inside like a loved one granting an unexpected favour. We are not very big fans of mutton; it’s difficult to cook at home and even more difficult to get a well cooked version outside. The Mutton Sheesh Kababs melted in the mouth and made us drool. Wonder what their preparation involved?
Vegetarians need not despair; the herbivorous offerings matched the carnivorous ones, if not surpassing them. Huge chunks of paneer marinated in the special in-house spice mix and cooked to golden perfection. Yummy button mushrooms stuffed with heavenly Parmesan cheese and grilled to melt-the-cheese and melt-in-the-mouth status. Stuffed capsicum – with nothing less than a cashew-based filling inside. Our family of confirmed meat-eaters too rejoiced in the taste of these vegetarian delights. The piece de resistance was Dahi ke Kabab – chunks of hung curd cooked in the barbeque method. The crisp breaded crust gave way on the first bite to yield a soft heart of delicately herbed yogurt. My mother made several attempts to get the recipe for that one, including using her ‘motherly’ (read: emotional blackmail) skills on the waiter and hostess, but was unsuccessful. The extensive wine menu made for good accompaniments to the starters.
After spending a good hour on these grilled delights, there was almost no room left for the main course – the key word being almost! Actually, the main course paled in front of the sheer splendour of the starters. There were 2-3 gravy based meat dishes, the too common Hakka Noodles and Chicken Manchurian, and some Pulaos. These people knew what to promote and how! Fortunately, my brother noticed the dessert buffet table before we spent valuable stomach space on the main courses. Now this table was filled with sinful delights guaranteed to take you straight to heaven; or hell, depending on your outlook towards desserts. The four of us went straight to chocolate and cream filled heaven.
The dessert table had Indian as well as ‘foreign’ desserts. My mother freaked out on the Gulab Jamuns and combined them with vanilla ice cream (it actually tastes good). My brother and I both could easily qualify for Chocoholics Anonymous after generous helpings of the Chocolate-Coffee Mousse and the Dutch Truffle pastries. The head of the family headed straight for the deep, rich Almond Walnut Chocolate Cake, its Vanilla cream icing adding a sweet edge to its robust taste. Bites from every plate were shared and stolen, no-one counted calories and three hours of sheer unadulterated family fun passed in a flash.
At the end of it all, we were more than happy to fill in glowing praises on the customer feedback cards provided by the ever-smiling and efficient waiting staff. The chef accepted our compliments with a huge smile and a surprisingly down-to-earth attitude. It was a sated and extremely happy family that made its way back home that night. Even the sight of our favourite Naturals ice cream parlour left us unmoved.
This is my review for one of our favourite restaurants - Barbeque Nation
Restaurant review: Barbeque Nation
It was in the middle of the week that the urge to try out a new restaurant hit the entire family en masse. As usual, reservations were my responsibility. Thank goodness for Google and online reservations! I was surprised to see the rates – Rs. 550 per head (plus taxes) for an all-you-can-eat buffet including unlimited starters. It seemed like terrific value for money. However, an inner voice, born from the experiences of ‘inexpensive’ restaurants, cautioned against expecting too much. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, shouted the opposing voice of adventure…
We reached there well in time, thanks to my mother’s penchant for shepherding the family at least half an hour early. The waiting area was filled with the lesser mortals called impromptu Saturday night diners. Our family of four – my parents, bratty younger brother and I – glided past them, silently pitying their lack of foresight. Already our stomachs were beginning to growl, helped in good measure by the scene before us. Sizzling and popping sounds emanated from the main barbeque area in one corner. Curling tendrils of smoke wafted and tickled our nostrils with the smoky, succulent odours of roasting meat and vegetables. At every table, people were stuffing themselves with various yummy looking starters. That inner voice of caution was starting to lose strength.
The pretty hostess showed us to our table. The lighting was soft enough to set a pleasant mood, yet bright enough to be able to read the menu and see the food. The décor was pleasant, understated, with wood tables and chairs, and a family corner with low slung tables and sofas, where our table was placed. The first thing I noticed was the square depression in the middle of the table, with grooves at its edges. My over-inquisitive brother immediately ducked under the table to investigate – and reported the discovery of a heating grill under the depression. The efficient waiter had already arrived, and was doing a commendable job of controlling his amusement at my brother’s antics.
The waiter explained the raison d’être of the depression, “Ma’am, at Barbeque Nation, we have developed a unique method of serving grilled food. Normally, the grilled pieces of meat and vegetables cool down before reaching the table, which lessens their taste and our patrons’ satisfaction. At our restaurant, the starters are cooked 90 percent at the main grill and brought to your table. The heater and the metal trough complete the remaining ten percent and you can enjoy your starters absolutely hot and fresh”.
The concept delighted and intrigued us, and we told the waiter to bring it on. He did, and how!! All four of us pride ourselves on being foodies, able to pack it in at every opportunity. That day, we were floored by the sheer range and taste of the starters there. It stared with the ubiquitous Chicken Tikka, which was elevated to an objet d’art by the use of excellent spices and the freshest, most succulent meat. Grilled Tiger Prawns, so large they couldn’t fit into one mouthful, were cooked to biteable consistency without the rubberiness that threatens this food item. The Fish Amritsari Tikka’s crisped skin revealed tender, flaky, exquisitely spiced meat inside like a loved one granting an unexpected favour. We are not very big fans of mutton; it’s difficult to cook at home and even more difficult to get a well cooked version outside. The Mutton Sheesh Kababs melted in the mouth and made us drool. Wonder what their preparation involved?
Vegetarians need not despair; the herbivorous offerings matched the carnivorous ones, if not surpassing them. Huge chunks of paneer marinated in the special in-house spice mix and cooked to golden perfection. Yummy button mushrooms stuffed with heavenly Parmesan cheese and grilled to melt-the-cheese and melt-in-the-mouth status. Stuffed capsicum – with nothing less than a cashew-based filling inside. Our family of confirmed meat-eaters too rejoiced in the taste of these vegetarian delights. The piece de resistance was Dahi ke Kabab – chunks of hung curd cooked in the barbeque method. The crisp breaded crust gave way on the first bite to yield a soft heart of delicately herbed yogurt. My mother made several attempts to get the recipe for that one, including using her ‘motherly’ (read: emotional blackmail) skills on the waiter and hostess, but was unsuccessful. The extensive wine menu made for good accompaniments to the starters.
After spending a good hour on these grilled delights, there was almost no room left for the main course – the key word being almost! Actually, the main course paled in front of the sheer splendour of the starters. There were 2-3 gravy based meat dishes, the too common Hakka Noodles and Chicken Manchurian, and some Pulaos. These people knew what to promote and how! Fortunately, my brother noticed the dessert buffet table before we spent valuable stomach space on the main courses. Now this table was filled with sinful delights guaranteed to take you straight to heaven; or hell, depending on your outlook towards desserts. The four of us went straight to chocolate and cream filled heaven.
The dessert table had Indian as well as ‘foreign’ desserts. My mother freaked out on the Gulab Jamuns and combined them with vanilla ice cream (it actually tastes good). My brother and I both could easily qualify for Chocoholics Anonymous after generous helpings of the Chocolate-Coffee Mousse and the Dutch Truffle pastries. The head of the family headed straight for the deep, rich Almond Walnut Chocolate Cake, its Vanilla cream icing adding a sweet edge to its robust taste. Bites from every plate were shared and stolen, no-one counted calories and three hours of sheer unadulterated family fun passed in a flash.
At the end of it all, we were more than happy to fill in glowing praises on the customer feedback cards provided by the ever-smiling and efficient waiting staff. The chef accepted our compliments with a huge smile and a surprisingly down-to-earth attitude. It was a sated and extremely happy family that made its way back home that night. Even the sight of our favourite Naturals ice cream parlour left us unmoved.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Story time!!
One of my assignments for the Creative Writing workshop I did last mont
THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE
“Good morning doctor!” The on duty nurse greeted me as I walked into the Ob-Gyn clinic. The stark white walls contrasted sharply with the dark green curtains on the windows. The harsh fluorescent lights and the strong smell of disinfectant almost succeeded in stealing away every human touch from the small room, but were beaten by the warm smile on the nurse’s face.
I smiled at her “Good morning Sister, how many patients today?”
“Not too many madam, only 10.”
In this clinic run only for underprivileged mothers, at least 25 patients per day was average. 10 was child’s play. It wouldn’t take me more than half an hour to finish the preliminary screening before Dr. Gayatri, the senior gynaecologist arrived to pass her final judgements. I liked working with her. There was a lot to learn, especially when she got into the practical details while examining each patient. Books were good, but Dr. Gayatri made those words and examination findings come alive. Plus, the care and compassion with which she treated even the poorest patient was inspiring.
Learning apart, the emotions on every to-be-mother’s face were touching to watch. The happiness of the husband and in-laws on discovering the pregnancy, the wonder on the mother’s face as she listened to the foetus’s heartbeats, were all unexpected bonuses of emotion in the middle of work. There were the occasional gripes of a mother-in-law expecting us to guarantee a male child, but these had gradually decreased over time.
I was just finishing up the last patient in line when a new case paper appeared in front of me on the table. It had just a name – Laxmi. I called out, and a girl walked into the room. She looked like a teenager, with large black eyes in a thin face. Her features were sweet, but twisted with a whole range of conflicting emotions. She just sat in the chair opposite me, wordlessly wringing her hands together. My brain on auto-pilot, I started with the preliminary details.
“Yes Laxmi, how old are you?”
“Nineteen”
“And how long ago were you married?”
That question brought her to an absolute standstill. There was no sound from her for a full minute. I repeated the question, my head still down. No answer the second time round too. Finally, irritated, I raised my head. And that was when I really saw her.
She did not have sindoor in the parting of her hair. She did not have a string of black beads – a mangalsutra – around her neck. And yet, I could make out the swell of her abdomen compared to her thin frame. My eyes saw the picture, yet my brain refused to process the information.
She saw me staring at her. Her eyes suddenly glistened and her head bowed down.
I stared at her for a never-ending minute. On one hand, my medical training was telling me that she needed care. She needed tests, medicines, antenatal supervision. My middle-class Indian mind was screaming “how can she be unmarried and pregnant!?”
She squirmed in her chair, pinned there by my gaze. How many others must have subjected her to the same look? I suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for her, along with an overwhelming curiosity to know how she came to be in this unfortunate situation. Being an unwed mother would haunt her all her life.
For a long moment I just looked at her. My expression must have conveyed what I couldn’t put into words; she drew a deep breath and began telling me her story. “Madam, I fell in love with a boy from my area. He was very nice at first. I felt he really liked me and we were very happy. He even promised to marry me as soon as his college was over. My parents did not know about us. I was very happy when he spoke about marriage. He reassured me that this……these relations happened before marriage too. I….got carried away.” A tear gathered weight at the edge of her lashes.
“One day, I realised I had not got my periods for more than three months. I was scared; I couldn’t tell my parents, they would kill me! But when I spoke to him, he refused to believe me. He said this child wasn’t his, I must have……been with someone else” The words came out sounding like they had been pulled from her mouth. “I swear there was no one else madam, I loved him, and I was only with him. But his cruel words hurt me so much! Now I want to teach him a lesson.”
I finally found my voice, “so…..do you want to…..abort the child?” I had used the colloquial Hindi expression ‘bachcha giraana hai?’
Her head whipped up, her eyes huge and the pupils dilated. “NO!! I cannot do that madam!! I want to have this child! I read about tests that can be done to find out who is the father. I want to do those tests; I want to prove that he is the father of this child! He cannot accuse me of being loose and get away with it!!” Her thin shoulders shook as she spoke, but were no longer weighed down. They were squared back to face the world. The transformation had occurred right in front of my eyes in the space of a few seconds.
“But do your parents know?” I asked. “Yes madam, I told them. It was going to be obvious in a few days anyway. They cried when I told them madam, I am their only child. We are poor, but they wanted good things for me” Her head drooped down again and a tear escaped the constraints of her lids to splash down on the table. “My father has a chai stall. He was saving up money for my dowry, but that will never happen now. I want to give birth to this child and make his father accept him”
“But do you want to marry him?” I couldn’t help asking; and was suitably chastised by the glower in her eyes.
“Bilkul nahi madam, I will NOT marry him! I will look after my child on my own! I know I am only 10th pass, but I will find a job and bring up my baby with love and respect. This child is mine! I will not give him up to anyone!”
As I took Laxmi to the examination table, I realised that the horizons of my mind had widened. It was very easy to feel like a mother under normal circumstances. The happy husband, the doting in laws, the equally happy parents of the mother; all coming together in a circle of warmth around the woman. But this slip of a girl, not even out of her teens, had worked up the courage to have a child even under such trying circumstances. She knew that she had made a mistake, but was facing the consequences with her dignity intact. She wanted to be a mother to her child, and loved it even before it was born. It was in Laxmi that I saw a glimpse of the amount of strength it takes to be a mother.
THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE
“Good morning doctor!” The on duty nurse greeted me as I walked into the Ob-Gyn clinic. The stark white walls contrasted sharply with the dark green curtains on the windows. The harsh fluorescent lights and the strong smell of disinfectant almost succeeded in stealing away every human touch from the small room, but were beaten by the warm smile on the nurse’s face.
I smiled at her “Good morning Sister, how many patients today?”
“Not too many madam, only 10.”
In this clinic run only for underprivileged mothers, at least 25 patients per day was average. 10 was child’s play. It wouldn’t take me more than half an hour to finish the preliminary screening before Dr. Gayatri, the senior gynaecologist arrived to pass her final judgements. I liked working with her. There was a lot to learn, especially when she got into the practical details while examining each patient. Books were good, but Dr. Gayatri made those words and examination findings come alive. Plus, the care and compassion with which she treated even the poorest patient was inspiring.
Learning apart, the emotions on every to-be-mother’s face were touching to watch. The happiness of the husband and in-laws on discovering the pregnancy, the wonder on the mother’s face as she listened to the foetus’s heartbeats, were all unexpected bonuses of emotion in the middle of work. There were the occasional gripes of a mother-in-law expecting us to guarantee a male child, but these had gradually decreased over time.
I was just finishing up the last patient in line when a new case paper appeared in front of me on the table. It had just a name – Laxmi. I called out, and a girl walked into the room. She looked like a teenager, with large black eyes in a thin face. Her features were sweet, but twisted with a whole range of conflicting emotions. She just sat in the chair opposite me, wordlessly wringing her hands together. My brain on auto-pilot, I started with the preliminary details.
“Yes Laxmi, how old are you?”
“Nineteen”
“And how long ago were you married?”
That question brought her to an absolute standstill. There was no sound from her for a full minute. I repeated the question, my head still down. No answer the second time round too. Finally, irritated, I raised my head. And that was when I really saw her.
She did not have sindoor in the parting of her hair. She did not have a string of black beads – a mangalsutra – around her neck. And yet, I could make out the swell of her abdomen compared to her thin frame. My eyes saw the picture, yet my brain refused to process the information.
She saw me staring at her. Her eyes suddenly glistened and her head bowed down.
I stared at her for a never-ending minute. On one hand, my medical training was telling me that she needed care. She needed tests, medicines, antenatal supervision. My middle-class Indian mind was screaming “how can she be unmarried and pregnant!?”
She squirmed in her chair, pinned there by my gaze. How many others must have subjected her to the same look? I suddenly felt a surge of sympathy for her, along with an overwhelming curiosity to know how she came to be in this unfortunate situation. Being an unwed mother would haunt her all her life.
For a long moment I just looked at her. My expression must have conveyed what I couldn’t put into words; she drew a deep breath and began telling me her story. “Madam, I fell in love with a boy from my area. He was very nice at first. I felt he really liked me and we were very happy. He even promised to marry me as soon as his college was over. My parents did not know about us. I was very happy when he spoke about marriage. He reassured me that this……these relations happened before marriage too. I….got carried away.” A tear gathered weight at the edge of her lashes.
“One day, I realised I had not got my periods for more than three months. I was scared; I couldn’t tell my parents, they would kill me! But when I spoke to him, he refused to believe me. He said this child wasn’t his, I must have……been with someone else” The words came out sounding like they had been pulled from her mouth. “I swear there was no one else madam, I loved him, and I was only with him. But his cruel words hurt me so much! Now I want to teach him a lesson.”
I finally found my voice, “so…..do you want to…..abort the child?” I had used the colloquial Hindi expression ‘bachcha giraana hai?’
Her head whipped up, her eyes huge and the pupils dilated. “NO!! I cannot do that madam!! I want to have this child! I read about tests that can be done to find out who is the father. I want to do those tests; I want to prove that he is the father of this child! He cannot accuse me of being loose and get away with it!!” Her thin shoulders shook as she spoke, but were no longer weighed down. They were squared back to face the world. The transformation had occurred right in front of my eyes in the space of a few seconds.
“But do your parents know?” I asked. “Yes madam, I told them. It was going to be obvious in a few days anyway. They cried when I told them madam, I am their only child. We are poor, but they wanted good things for me” Her head drooped down again and a tear escaped the constraints of her lids to splash down on the table. “My father has a chai stall. He was saving up money for my dowry, but that will never happen now. I want to give birth to this child and make his father accept him”
“But do you want to marry him?” I couldn’t help asking; and was suitably chastised by the glower in her eyes.
“Bilkul nahi madam, I will NOT marry him! I will look after my child on my own! I know I am only 10th pass, but I will find a job and bring up my baby with love and respect. This child is mine! I will not give him up to anyone!”
As I took Laxmi to the examination table, I realised that the horizons of my mind had widened. It was very easy to feel like a mother under normal circumstances. The happy husband, the doting in laws, the equally happy parents of the mother; all coming together in a circle of warmth around the woman. But this slip of a girl, not even out of her teens, had worked up the courage to have a child even under such trying circumstances. She knew that she had made a mistake, but was facing the consequences with her dignity intact. She wanted to be a mother to her child, and loved it even before it was born. It was in Laxmi that I saw a glimpse of the amount of strength it takes to be a mother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)