Tag Archive | wow

The person with the scar

wpid-wowbadge1Lakshmi picked up her bag and left for her home. She hurried. Her husband Ganesh would be back soon and before he reached home, she wanted to keep lunch ready. It was not that he was demanding or would beat her if the lunch was not ready. In fact if she was late he would start rolling the rotis  himself. But today she did not want that. He had worked the afternoon shift the day before; coming home at 10.30p.m. and had left at 5 in the morning for the early shift. So today she wanted him to have lunch made by her and then take some rest.

Ganesh was a simple guy and living with him Lakshmi felt safe. Although she longed for some excitement. But there was barely any. Some day they may have a child and then their family might be complete. But beyond that there was nothing to look forward too.

She was lost in her thoughts when someone touched her waist. Taken by surprise she jumped.

The man grinned and cycled away when Ahmed the gatekeeper and generally the Man Friday of the anganwadi where she worked ran and caught him by the collar and gave him a solid whack. Lakshmi ran to where they stood and then joined Ahmed in adding her two bits. Both of them beat him nicely till he begged for mercy.

‘You go now’, Ahmed said ,’or else you will be late’.

At that time, Lakshmi noticed the tattoo. Ahmed always wore shirts with full sleeves, Today the sleeves were rolled up and she saw the mermaid tattoo. She had seen that tattoo before, if only she could remember where

It was night, After a long time they had spent some time without any tensions and any hurry. Cradled in Ganesh’s arm Lakshmi thought of the turns life had taken. She rarely thought of the past but today she did not know why her thoughts were in such a jumble.

Born of parents who worked in construction sites, Lakshmi longed to study. She knew that it was education which would make a difference to her life. To her good fortune, the builder’s wife sensed her need and sponsored her education till she finished her 10th. There was another boy whom she was sponsoring- Ratan.

Lakshmi sat up breathing heavily. She remembered everything now. Ganesh pulled her back to the bed. ‘Sleep now dear, else you will not be able to get up in the morning’, he said.

Morning she went early, Ahmed was nowhere to be seen. She came to know later that he had been sent to the head office to collect some papers. On the third day she managed to encounter him.

‘Why have you changed your name Ratan? Where had you disappeared? And what has happened to your face?’. Ahmed had a scar on his left cheek. The children who came in new, would be scared of him.

‘Ratan…what are you saying, I am Ahmed’, he replied.

‘Don’t lie, Ratan. I know that tattoo. Your father had burnt you with a hot iron rod because you were reading and had not gone to work. And to cover that mark you had got this mermaid tattoo done. I remember everything Ratan.’

Ahmed sat down with a sigh.

‘Yes, Lakshmi, I had got this tattoo made to hide the burn mark. ‘

‘Where had you disappeared Ratan suddenly after  we had passed our 7th grade?’

Ahmed started talking with a low voice as if the pain in his heart would weigh him down.

‘Yes Lakshmi, I had been so happy that day. I had topped in the whole district. I finished all the jobs and came home. My father was beating my mother in his alcoholic stupor. He saw me and pounced on me too.  I resisted him. My mom came to rescue me. He banged her head on the walls till she fell down. Then he attacked me. But by then our hut was on fire. My mother while falling down had tipped the oil lamp, the only means of light of her hut. And soon there was a raging fire. My father ran away leaving me and my mother in the fire. I tried to drag my mother out but a beam fell on me.

I awoke  the next day in the hospital. Some people had rescued me. But the scar on the left part of my body remained. My mother had not survived the fire.

I was lucky that the attendant of the burn ward took me to his home and raised me as his own son. He gave me my new name Ahmed.

When you joined this anganwadi I recognized you but thought better not to disclose myself’, he said with tears in his eyes.

Lakshmi too had tears in her eyes.. The whole of his life he had fought for an identity. And though he was such a kind, gentle and intelligent person, people would always remember him only by the scar on his face.

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This post is a part of the Write over the weekend an initiative for Indian bloggers by Blogadda. This time the post had to include, ‘He/She had seen that tattoo before! If only he/she could remember where’.

‘Missed call!!’

wpid-wowbadge1Naina sung a happy tune. She had discovered that she was in love and that was such a heady feeling. No, it was not first love. She fell in love in periodic intervals and came out of it in weeks. It was not her fault, she thought. Some men were intelligent, some were handsome but as soon as they opened their mouth or as soon as she spent some time with them; her castle in air would fall down. Some were so dumb that they couldn’t carry a conversation, some so smitten by their own good looks that they ignored her and so on. But she knew that Rohit, her current attraction was ‘the one’.

They had common interests of reading and travelling and they could spend hours just talking about the books they had read or the places they had visited too. He was intelligent too. In the company they both worked for, Rohit was thought of as a genius.  Look-wise too he was not bad either.

Naina went on singing her happy tune as she washed the dishes. Her mother always saw to it that she helped around the house. Naina may be tired and about to fall down but her mother saw to it that she did her bit even if it meant folding the laundry. ‘I am just training you Naina’, she would say, ‘when you get married, you will have to balance your career and home, isn’t it? I cannot come and do your chores for you’.

Naina did not mind washing the dishes or doing the laundry as long as no one asked her to cook. In fact she found doing the dishes quite therapeutic.

She wiped the last plate and kept it in its place. And walked to her room. On picking her mobile she found 38 missed calls in 10 mins! She wondered what was going on.

Rohit had called her. She smiled. Did it mean that he too was in love with her. He had said earlier in the day that he had something important to tell her. Was this IT. Did he want to confess his love for her? She was certain it was. Didn’t a girl knew when a boy was interested in her. With trembling fingers she dialed his number, he received her call.

‘Where were you Naina, I called you so many times’, he said.

Naina in her silken voice said, ‘Yes, 38 missed calls in 10 minutes. What is the matter Rohit’, she said with a heart that was working overtime.

‘Naina I have invested some money in xxxxx bank. And which needs me to enroll four more and I will get 75 % of  my money back instantly. Please please Naina join na, you can enroll four more and you can have your money back instantly too. I have already enrolled three, you will be the fourth one, please Naina.’

Naina sat still with her mouth wide open.

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. This time your entry must contain, ’38 missed calls in 10 mins! He/She wondered what was going on.’

It just happened

We were taught to help around the house from a  young age. While my sister was amma’s second in command, my brother used to bring the milk from the dairy farm which was a bit far away.  He would take his cycle and pedal away. Sometimes he would even get vegetables. For this contribution of theirs they would get pocket-money, yes we had to work for our pocket-money.

But when they can earn, why not me, I asked. The age difference between them and me was quite a bit but I wanted my pocket money too. And for that the parents decided that my job was to prepare the dinner table, the only meal which we all had together except the days when Papa had second shift and would return home by 10.30p.m.

My mom was particular that the plates would be washed again and wiped before keeping them on the table. Owing allegiance to my butter fingers everyday one or the other plate would fall. Papa would call out, ‘What fell now?’. I would cry out, ‘The plate. But it is not my fault, it just happened‘. It was good that we ate on  stainless steel plates. If not the regular intervals at which i dropped plates would make us bankrupt. It happened with such regularity that everyone else would come and sit on the chairs knowing that dinner was ready. The aunty living next door would send around some special dish which she had prepared just on hearing the sound of the plate crashing.

My specialty did not remain with crashing plates. I destroyed whatever I touched. Like my brother had a collection of pens which he would keep in a safe place. Once I had severe viral fever and did not go to school for some days, none of the pens survived. When he came to know he advanced toward me with flaming eyes and flaring nostrils. My excuse, ‘But it is not my fault, it just happened‘.

My husband loves glassware. Before my arrival he had beautiful vases, fruit bowl etc. None of them survived. When his favorite vase broke, he asked me almost teary eyed, ‘How did you manage to break this’. My reply, ‘But it is not my fault, it just happened‘. He never bought anything brittle from then on.

My niece is almost my copy both in looks as well as habits. The only difference being she is an extrovert, I was not. Nothing escapes her hand. Whether it is a glass or a CD. Her excuse, ‘But it is not my fault, it just happened‘.

My son is no better. While his things survive, ours do not. Pens, CDs, mobiles every thing is at risk when he is around. You guessed it right, his excuse. ‘But it is not my fault, it just happened’.

Traditions you see, in our family, are carried on. 😀

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This post is part of Write over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian bloggers by Blogadda. The theme this week being fun with repetition, My sentence, ‘But it is not my fault, it just happened‘.

Stranger in the dark

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Aditi came from her tutorials and opened the main door of the house with her keys. Her parents had gone to attend the wedding of a friend’s daughter in the next town and would be coming home very late. Her mother had told that she would be keeping food ready. She just had to pop it into the microwave.

She stepped inside, at the same time there was a thud and the power of the whole street went. ‘Maybe the transformer has burst’, she thought.

It was a moonless night. Even the stars were not twinkling tonight. Aditi felt a sudden wave of fright. The air in the room was stale, the windows being closed since afternoon but she dare not open it now. In individual houses there was always the threat of burglars and she being alone had to take care of her safety.

She heard a sound of plip plop and froze. Now what was that noise. But common sense prevailed and she remembered that the kitchen tap was leaking. She switched on the torch in her cellphone and edged forward.

But at the same time she heard a screech. The sound of a motorbike stopping when brakes are applied suddenly.. She came back to the living room and peeked out from the window.

A tall figure had got down from the bike and was speaking to another who was driving. Then both waved a bye and vroom’ the bike went out. But the figure in a dark coat stepped inside the gate.

Aditi trembled. Who could it be. The figure wore an over-sized coat.  A cap and a muffler. And he walked as if he didn’t want to be seen. She shuddered, There were enough cases heard of molestation and rape. She had to protect herself.

She dialed the number of her neighbor, Mrs. Bannerjee, ‘Aunty’, she spoke, ‘I am all alone at home, there is someone coming towards the door. What do I do now?’, she sobbed.

Aunty advised her to stay calm and that she was coming.

Thak-thak, thak-thak‘, the stranger knocked on the door. Aditi shuddered and then started reciting Hanuman chalisa.

Thak-thak, thak thak‘, the stranger knocked again a bit louder this time. And then there was a ‘plonk‘. Bannerjee aunty had come from behind and banged a fry pan on the strangers head.  He had fallen down. With a whoop of delight Aditi opened the door and focused the torch on the strangers face.

It was Manish, her classmate.

‘I came to give you some company as there is no power in the whole area and this in the reward I get’, Manish yelled on gaining consciousness.

‘You could have told your name or you could have called me on my mobile’, protested Aditi.

‘I didn’t want to attract attention by yelling names’, Manish said rubbing his head, ‘And there is no credit in my mobile to call you’, he added sheepishly.

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. The theme this week is;

This weekend your post must contain at least five sound words!

The sound words used in this post are- plip plop- the sound of water dripping

Thud- sound of a transformer bursting.

Screech- the brakes of a motorbike when applied suddenly.

Vroom of a motorbike,

Thak-thak the sound of knocking on wooden door.

Plonk, the fry pan hitting on head

Hope you enjoyed this story.

Love, tender love.

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Neha has recently joined Adani Auditors to do her Articleship. And is enjoying a lot. A sharp girl she has finished the first two levels along with her B.Com.

Along with her, four other persons have joined Adani Auditors. The other three are a bit older than Neha and Amit. It may be that they are of the same age or maybe not but they have been put in the same team. Which is helpful to Neha. I mean, isn’t it nice if someone of the same age is with you, it helps in communication, you can share your worries, isn’t it.

And so it is when half of their team is running about, Neha and Amit do not know what is happening and take refuge in each others company.

In the last two months they have been quite good friends. One day Neha gets a call from her mother to bring some things from the supermarket on her return home. Amit says he would accompany her as he too needs something.  Taking a cart each, the wander through the aisles. Neha while looking at the cornflakes bumps at Sakshi, her childhood friend. They hug each other and they start talking. When Neha asks Sakshi to check her right cheek. Sakshi touches it and says, ‘ Is it Dove‘.  Neha says, ‘yes’ and they giggle.

But Amit in the next aisle mistakes it as, ‘Is it love’ and when Neha says yes, his heart jumps with joy. Having studied in a boys only school and a college where in with his plain looks and nerdy qualities, he had been ignored by almost all the females.  Neha with her frankness and her simplicity had captured his heart right from the beginning and so when he heard her say yes, he wanted to salsa,

They came out. Neha said a bye to both Sakshi and Amit and catches a bus home. Sakshi too leaves soon after. Amit stood for a long time there itself. His mind continuously played the rewind button to ‘Is it love’ and then yes.

From then on he brought flowers and chocolates. He would take the chunk of work on himself, leaving Neha with almost no work at all. He would hold her bags and generally would follow her like a puppy. Until Neha could not tolerate it at all.

‘Why are you wasting your money on these chocolates and flower’, she said.

‘I thought women liked these’, he said.

‘I do but not how do I carry it all when I am going to the clients office’, she asked.

He sulked.

“And why do you leave me with no work, I see that you do all the major chunk yourself’, she continued.

‘I don’t want you to be burdened’, he said.

‘Burdened?’, she said. ‘How the hell will I learn if I am not ‘burdened’.

‘I am just taking care of you’, he said.

‘Why’, she said, ‘Are you my father?’

‘Boyfriend is more like it’,  he said giving a shy smile. His cheeks were a bright red.

‘Boyfriend?, she asked, ‘Who said so?’

‘Now, now don’t hide from me. Weren’t you telling Sakshi the other day that it is love’, he said.

‘Huh’, said Neha and then remembering that days happenings said, ‘Uff’. she said; ‘she asked me,is it dove, I said yes. Dove.. you know the soap with 99% moisturizer’.

Amit felt the crack in his heart, the shuddering of the earth and the blow of the wind.

Neha changed her team and till date Amit curses his ear. If his ears had not been faulty at least he could have seen Neha daily and there would have been a chance for him to be hers. Sigh, the games our sense organs play………. But then the ears listen what the heart wants to hear.

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This post is a part of Write over the weekend an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

The them this week being rhymed confusion, She said____________. He mistook it to be __________. I used the words dove and love.

I hope you enjoyed the story.

Rasam woes

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5..4..3..2..1.. she muttered and then with a deep breathe marched out with the vessel to the dining room

Lavanya belongs to the Iyengar Kannadiga clan of Mysore. Meaning that her family actually belongs to the Tamil Iyengar family who live in Mysore. And so they have their own unique language and food habits. Her husband Jagadish too belongs to the same clan but then are two families similar? And while she has adjusted well to her new family, she has failed in one aspect-making rasam the way Jagadish loved it.

‘Luv, everything you make is perfect but not this rasam. I mean it is good but not like amma makes it. Amma makes it tangy, spicy and mmmmmm’, he would say.

And Lavanya would walk crestfallen back to the kitchen. It was not that she had not asked his mother, she had but the wise old lady had refused to divulge her secret.

‘Oh that, I would just boil the tomatoes,  then grind it in the mixer add any sambar powder and then temper it afer boiling it nice and long’, she would say.

‘Any sambar powder’, Lav had asked.

‘Yes, any’, the wise old lady had said.

And now Lav’s kitchen had about 7 varieties of opened sambar powder packets and about the same amount of rasam powder packets. All opened and used once.

Everytime Jagadish had said, ‘Lav it is good but not the taste that Amma made’

The wise old lady would grin at her son and  grimace at her daughter in law. But would she come into the kitchen any day and say, ‘Lavanya  I will make the rasam today’ or that ‘come I will teach you how to make rasam’. No.

So Lavanya was morose. For the past one week they had gone rasam ‘less’ and she knew she had to make it that day or face wrath, when the phone rang.

‘Hello, Athe’, she said happily. It was her Shantu Athe, her father’s sister.

They gossiped for a while when Athe sensed something was wrong. The wise old lady was nearby, so Lav said nothing.

Afer sometime Athe called her on her mobile and asked what was wrong. Lav took the mobile went to the terrace, leaned far from the boundaries and slowly told her rasam woes.

Now Athe was a smart lady and what is more she and the old wise lady had lived in the same lane in their younger days and that is how the match between Lavanya and Jagadish had materialised. ‘Lavanya I think I have the solution to your problem, just give me an hour’, she said.

In 45 minutes the doorbell rang and Athes Man Friday was at the doorstep with a packet.

5..4..3..2..1.. she muttered and then with a deep breathe marched out with the vessel to the dining room.

The first two courses of dal with rice and sambar with rice were over. The third course of rasam with rice was about to begin.

Jagadish poured some rasam on the rice, mixed it and then put some of the mixture in his mouth and said, ‘Mmmm Lav, the same taste, the same aroma…Magic’, he said with his eyes brimming with joy and love’.

The wise old lady had meanwhile tasted the rasam and now was sitting in shock and silence

Lavanya smiled shyly and with a look at her mother in law said, ‘someone sent me the magic potion’ and thanked Athe mentally for sending the rasam powder made by her ex-neighbour.

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This post is a part of Write over the weekend, an initiative for Indian bloggers by BlogAdda. The theme being This weekend your post should begin with, ’5..4..3..2..1..’

Image courtesy The Indian Food Court