Alone?

‘I want to see what all happens, it is an once in a lifetime experience’ , said my mother on the phone. I sighed. My mother was hesitant to go alone. The temple in their community was going to have a Garuda dhwaja installed amidst a  lot of rituals. And my mother was hesitant to witness it, alone. I look at myself . The Arabian Sea seperates the husband and me. Everything from finances to education to day to day wars I am managing alone. In far off Mumbai my sister wages a war against cancer alone. Is there anyone really with us, I think.

‘Amma, if you want to attend, you go; don’t worry that you are alone. Just do it’, I say.

I know it is not easy for her. For 56 years she and my father have been together. Never had she taken any decision alone.  Will it ever be easy for her taking these decisions alone, I wonder.

My father had passed away last April after being bedridden for 15 months. I had gone to meet him in March end. He was frail. I had trouble identifying my father who had terrorised us with his persona and voice. Somewhete there was a grudge in me. Growing up I was his pet but as years advanced he was relying more on my brother. That irritated me. And then when I was there he had an upset stomach and started vomitting incessantly. One day I went and sat with him. He looked disturbed . I asked, ”what happened Papa?’ After some minutes he replied,’ I am afraid’. And then I underrstood that the man who had tirelessly answered my questions was today seeking answers from me.

” Don’t worry papa you will not be alone, the Lord is waiting for you,’ I said. He still looked dissatisfied. I said again, your mother must be waiitng for you papa, your sisters,  your brother….

You wont be alone,  I said.

He sighed

‘Keep chanting papa. Krishna says whoever remembers Him in the last moment goes back to Him’ , I said.

He turned his face the other way. Obviously angry that I wished him to leave his body. I continued, ‘ Papa everyone has to leave the body some day. When the body becones useless.’

He didn’t soeak to me after that. When we were about to leave, I touched his feet.  Amma told him that I was going to be with my husband. He blessed me.

Two weeks later, we got the message that he passed away. Just before leaving the body he had chanted Ramdhun.

For many months I felt guilty. But then I reconciled, someone had to do it.

But somehow I believe even at that moment I was not alone. He had guided me.

Chimera

Reblogging an old story

Searching Self

Amu and Sakhi were tidying up the house and having a nice time too. Sakhi is Amu’s sister in law; that is her brother’s wife. But an outsider will probable take them to be sisters. So nice is their camaraderie. Ever since Amu lost her family in a road accident she has lived with her brother and his family. Her  mother too stays with them. It is Amu who notices her mother nodding her hand and waving her finger, and she says, ‘Bhabhi, ask Maa to do some work?’ Sakhi understandingly calls our,’Ammaji, can you cut some palak for me’

‘No, I won’t, why should I? It is your home, you do it”

In a far of land Nimmi and Vimmo are having a nice time. Nimmi sings a song accompanied with the harmonium; Vimmi dances. The song ends, the dance ends and both of them start giggling.

‘Maa, why…

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Fame and its baggage’s #FFFAW

Benoy sat impatiently as Arosi tried the nth shoe.

‘Don’t you have anything good here.? These are all so….common’, said Arosi to the salesman. ‘Common….Huh,’ Benoy thought, ‘as if she was born in royalty. She was a common girl from Khargulli when I had picked her up, trained her and made into a star and look at her histrionics now’, he thought.

The star stuck salesman had meanwhile run away to get another pair of stilettos. For him Arosi was the ideal. From a lowly background she had stuck gold, she was the hope of millions like him.

‘Stupid boy, this is what I wanted,’ holding the red stilettos,’Why did you show me the cheap ones earlier’.

The salesman though, didn’t like the way she spoke and thought , ‘Even If I became rich and powerful I will never lose my humility’ while Benoy was thinking, ‘Fame and money destroys the best of people’.

(155 words)

This story is written for the 176th Flash fiction for Aspiring writers. The challenge is to write a story on the picture prompt for 100-150 words (+- 25 words). Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting the challenge. Thanks also to Yinglan who provided this weeks picture.

Pakhi has a new classmate

This is one of my earliest post. Reblogging it today

Searching Self

It was the first day of Standard 6 and Section B, Pakhi’s section was buzzing. Pakhi sat content and smiling happy to be with her classmates again when there was a sudden hush and the Principal arrived along with their class teacher, Mrs Fernandes and a boy- a lanky boy with a lopsided grin.

“Good morning,class”, she said.

“Good morning Madam”, they chorused.

“Well we have with us Aditya a new entrant to our school. He is a special child of God so be nice and kind to him. Wish you the very best for this school term” she said and was gone

Special child, aren’t we all special to God wondered Pakhi.

“Abhishek will you please move to the next bench and Aditya will sit with Pakhi”, said Mrs Fernandes. Ugh thought Pakhi, she hated changes. Abhishek and she gelled well and now he was being moved.

When school…

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Amma o amma

Searching Self

Amma was fiddling with the pallu of her sari. Appa came in and asked,’What happened, no coffee, no breakfast and you are sitting here fiddling with your sari?’

‘Visakha has not called since so many days…’

‘Come on, she is a married woman now, she has responsibilities. She can’t keep calling you every now and then. Now go and make some coffee, you know I don’t function well without your coffee’

‘And what will you do if I die tomorrow,’ she said in anger but still got up and went into the kitchen.

‘Then I will search another like you and get married again,’ Appa said and guffawed.

Amma banged a steel tumbler on the kitchen counter.

Visakha had been born after a complicated pregnancy and an even more complicated delivery. The umbilical cord had been entangled around her neck and had the C-section not been in time, she would…

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Finding roots

The flowers beckon me. It’s a new place….everything is new but the tree makes me feel at home. Growing up in a small town with lots of greenery all around, my mind had always yearned for a place where I could stretch out of  my balcony or window and touch a leaf.

past month has been hectic. I have left the place I called home for the past 15 years and moved back to  my motherland. A land which has transformed drastically and now has little resemblance to my memories. But still is a place which is my own.

As I take my son along familiar routes and explain to him. He looks at me and says, ‘You love India a lot don’t you’. And though I pride on that; I know how he feels. He has left the only place which he called his home and is struggling now to find his roots. My heart aches for him but i know that one day he too will feel the same love that I feel for this country which is ours.

Bidding adieu

Yesterday someone asked me for the name of some book….I tried hard to remember it but could not. Maybe age is catching up but then I remembered that I had mentioned it in my blog and so came down here and started browsing. And then memories came flooding by. How active I used to be. I remember there used to be at least a 100 posts a year.

Yes, priorities change. when Searching self was born, I was doing just that…’Searching self’. But then when I found my true calling the writing reduced or rather it moved to other avenues. But when I read through my old posts I was inspired. Am I a narcissist….who knows; maybe.

But then there are people who have been writing blogs for quite a long time. I really admire them. Consistently writing for a long time is really an art. Some of them have evolved into professional writers; maybe that helps.

2016 is about to end and a New Year beckons. Personally there will be a lot of changes. I just hope that everything happens smoothly.

So here is wishing you all a Very Happy New Year and hopefully lots of writing in 2017

Right or not

‘Now sit here quietly, thinking of nothing, till you become normal’, said my mother, making me sit in a corner of the kitchen. The kitchen had a ‘courtyard’. It had a big guava tree. One which my brother and father climbed. Yes, we sisters never tried climbing it. Before you jump to conclusions about our patriarchal society and how girls are not on par with boys, let me inform you that no one stopped us from climbing that guava tree. We were just interested in the juicy fruits, the climbing part was left to the boys.

I sat in the corner fuming and fuming, till all the steam sizzled out. No one came to pacify me. No one bothered to ask anything. Like a pressure cooker automatically cools down, I did too.

‘I am hungry’, I said. ‘lunch is ready’, she said. And that was it. No mention of the incidence to anyone, no violence, no drama.

In case you wonder, what had happened……I had just learned about ‘rights’ the previous day at school. About how we all have rights, how to exercise them and how to demand your rights. My teacher Mrs. Choudary was a wonderful person. Each point she made would be etched on our minds. I still remember her teachings some 30  years later.

And so my experiments with ‘rights’ had started. I demanded that food was prepared according to my liking because having nutritious food was my right. I demanded that I get a good book to read because getting a good education was my right. And so on. All was fine until I demanded a hair cut. Mother said no. In her opinion it had to grow a little more so that it could be cut evenly. That was it, ‘ I started my monologue on how my hair was my property and it was my right to get it cut. My mother had had enough of the nonsense and thats when she dragged me to the corner of the kitchen and made me sit.

I tell you sitting alone without thinking or doing anything can be therapeutic. It calms you down and lets you think.

Moms know best they know how to handle their child. My mother knew how to take care of me. She had various ways to handle me. If I cried too much for petty things, she would wait till it was dusk and then lock me out in the courtyard. No shouting, no beating. 5 minutes and I would be normal. She stopped teaching me when I was in second standard. She just said, ‘It is your life. If you want you study or you can always become like me’. I looked at her routine. She got  up at 6 not sleeping till 11 in the night. She was our cook, washerwoman, data bank, cleaner everything and decided that studying and getting a job that paid was better. She sure knew how to deal with us.

So the rights issue was withdrawn. I had a good meal and a good nap and peace reigned.

Next day, Mrs. Choudhary began the class with a ‘so we learnt in the last class, what are rights, today we will learn about our duties. For there are no rights without any duties.’ And she again gave a wonderful class about duties, what are they, why we should do out duties and how without doing our duties, we cannot demand our rights. And I was filled with remorse.

Over the long weekend, I had demanded my rights but had I done my duties. Had I helped around the house? No, Had I studied? No. I asked many questions to myself and the answers were mostly No. Then did I have the right to demand my right?

 

Today when I see various people demanding their rights, I feel pity for them. for they don’t have a mother like mine or a teacher like Mrs. Choudhary. No demanding rights is alright but how many of us have done our duties?

We all demand but what do we give back. Apart from taxes that is. Do we throw that wrapper in the dustbin. Did we answer a question by our fellow traveller politely?  Did we say sorry with a smile when we occidentally stamped someone? Society is not just by others but we are also a part of it. Be the change to demand the change.

 

 

Viewpoints

Somedays back a boy confided to me that what he was studying was not his choice and had been forced by his mother because it fetched a good salary. it devastated me. I mean the boy is laidback and I am sure if his mother doesn’t force him, he will not do anything in life. He is one guy who wants to have fun without any responsibility. So does his mother have any option but to force him? On the other hand, what he is studying presently is not his cup of tea He does not have an aptitude for it. Tough situation rght? How do you show a path to someone who does not want to do anything? How do you stop a mother from being bossy to such a son?
I remembered then this post written some five years back about perceptions of different people of the same family. Do have a read.
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Searching Self

Anuj– Anuj sat in a foul mood. He and his father had had an argument early in the morning which had left both of them in a rotten mood.

He was starting his Tenth Board exams the next day and the first paper was Maths, a subject which he loathed. It was such a pleasant morning that he wanted to go out and sing. But his father was always after him to do well in studies especially maths because it was scoring. And said that music was alright as a hobby but not as a career.

But being an engineer would maybe earn him money but not satisfacion, but would his father understand that?

Mr. Mishra– Mr. Mishra understood what Anuj was going through. In his youth he too loved to write, he had even joined a weekly but the pay was so pathetic that he was not…

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‘Open the can’

No, you can’t have that’, I said snatching the packet from the son’s hand.

But I want it’, said he.

NO, I said

‘Who said I have one kid’, mumbled the better half who proceeded to go down on his knees and explain to the brat why one more Super  Lego was not allowed to him.

I never remember the Man ever going on his knees for me ever but that’s another story.  But then He never proposed to me.

The brat agreed. The man gave me a ‘look’

I shrugged and carried on with my shopping.

A lady passed by, her trolley piled up high. I just stared at her. The Man nudged me and I came back, ‘Must be her monthly provision’, I said.

‘Must be her weekly,’ he remarked, ‘that’s dependence on processed foods’, He said.

I nodded and carried on. My mind conjured up images of how free I would be if I just opened up cans. How much time I would have to sit on my laptop and publish posts after posts…..

‘Why are you smiling like that’, the man said.

‘From today we too will live the open can way’, I said and began popping cans into my cart.

**********

I was busy typing when my friend Trisha popped in. ‘What are you doing’, she drawled.

‘Oh writing’, I said happily.

‘I am hungry, what do you have …..’, she began

‘Would you like some pizza, I will just defrost some’……

‘Pizza? You didn’t make any breakfast’, she said.

The hubby had some baked beans in tomato sauce, the son had some toast, we could have some pizza’, I said

She made a face, ‘I was hoping for some idlis in hot sambar or some rice noodles….’

‘I have a life too…who has tome to cook’, I said

‘oh yes ….you have to type out posts which nobody reads any ways.’, she said rolling her eyes.

‘Excuse me’, I screamed,’ You can look at my stats….it is booming’, I said.

‘Alright. I am going to have some breakfast at Sangeetha’s. Care to come?’, she asked

Visions of Sangeetha’s mini tiffin loomed in front of my eyes, those mini idlis and masala dosa, the sheera , the sambar…….

‘Are you’, she asked loudly.

My pride, ah my foolish pride…’No’, I said.

I felt hungry and so I took out a pizza. I defrosted it in the microwave but it felt lumpy. Processed refined flour is no competition to hot sambar is it? As I stuffed it inside my mouth I felt morose.

I checked my stats. It was not much of a change. In five days I had posted five posts and the comments received were…five….in total.

Visions of Sangeetha’s mini tiffin still loomed in front of my eyes.

 

 

It was almost two pm when the brat and the hubby arrived. The brat sniffed and said, ‘Hmmmm something nice…..what ma, what have you cooked’.

‘methi malai mattar and some paratha’, the MAN replied. I tell you he must have been a police dog in his previous life.

I beamed.

‘Yay’, the boy yelled, ‘finally some good food after eating out of cans for a week’.

‘just five days’, I corrected.

‘Come lets tuck in’, the man said, ‘before another season of ‘opening the can’ begins’, he said.

And we sat down to eat.

Well I am a writer but we need food to eat, don’t we. And for us at least we need proper cooked food, no can for us, none at all.

* fiction