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She lived to tell her tale

“This is the final boarding call for passenger Mrs.Cooper booked on flight AIXXX to India”, she was startled from what seemed like an eternity. Celine Cooper had ultimately made up her mind to board that flight. She rose from her seat and hurriedly walked to Gate 3. She had been nothing but thinking and rethinking for the past two hours that she had spent at the airport if the decision she was making was the right one. She had questioned herself a hundred times and she was sure she wanted to do this. She had to take this flight, to India.

She checked her seat number, pushed her bags in the upper cabinet above her seat and soon got lost in thoughts as she settled down on her window seat. She mentally clicked the list of things she had to take care of before leaving. Her kids, she hoped would cope with the new findings. She did not seem to care much about her husband though. Last night they had another big fight, one of the unbroken rituals that continued for half a decade now. They could fight over the smallest things and grunt over it until the next fight. But, her children, their pictures flashed in and out, what did they do to face this. It’s just a matter of a couple of days, she convinced herself.

It felt like a lifetime, going through the clouds, now her thoughts slowly switching to him, the anticipation of seeing him in person. She met Arnab on a social networking app. Her plans were to make friends in the virtual world that she could seldom make in reality due to various boundaries she had built around herself, but she got so carried away with the boundless love that he showered upon her that she could hardly find a way back. Days and nights of endless chatting with the guy who was for that matter unknown but dearer than anyone she ever dated. Precious than her own husband, after all her marriage, had a big dent to the verge of breaking anytime. But she had never expected all this. Never foreseen what she was doing. No, it wasn’t a decision taken in the spur of a moment. She had reflected and retrospected on all of this and more before leaping into the unknown.

After a long journey of the dilemma, she landed at the Mumbai Airport. She gathered all her belongings and her pacing heart while she walked towards the exit. And she spotted the man from the pictures live on the airport doors waving at her. He might be in his late twenties, she thought to herself. She was far older than him, she shied a bit in approaching him but they had discussed this earlier. Age was not a bar he had stated. Arnab moved forward with obvious enthusiasm and hugged her, a prolonged hug for all his anticipations stood right in front of him. He looked like his feet found no ground.

After the initial minutes of alien uneasiness, even when they were not really strangers, they started speaking of random things; Things they had already spoken of. Things about the weather and food and all unnecessary details.
They knew instantly that they could speak forever and not get tired of each other. For the next few days to come, there were more talks and roaming around new places, hand in hand. They backpacked to the mountains and jungles and long road trips together. It was like a never-ending holiday.

Soon they grew inseparable, wanting more and more of each other. Their love knew no bounds, no boundaries. She was glad her decision was not wrong, this man she held hands with, with whom she could live and die with was indeed a genuine person. He loved her wholeheartedly and promised never to leave her side. But things went topsy-turvy when they discovered the worst.

Her Visa was to expire soon. Only a day to go and she will have to head back to her life which she had left behind. The monotonous, unloved life. But for her kids, she will have to go. But all the strength in the world could not bring her to the resolve to leave though. She wanted more of her life, more of him. She wanted to be with him until her last breath. He wanted her too in his life and in his afterlife. And that is what they decided.

To live together or to die together. She packed her bags with parting notes to her family. He had no family to write to but still, he wrote a note to tell the world that it was a mutual decision. And that no one is responsible for their death. Next, they lay on the railway tracks, close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats. Far enough from the world, not to hear the train’s rumbling and beating underneath the iron lines spread on both ends.

Just a thud is what she could last remember. She was in the hospital bed when the local Police sent his body to the mortuary. He went without her to the other world.

And, She lived to tell her tale.

Amma – My mother (Part 2)

Mom was walking away with him, the man who held on her hand with an unsaid authority. Jay wanted to stop her. He cried his lungs out, “Amma, please stop. Take me with you”, his little voice deafening under the loud music. Someone was holding him back, dragging him away from her.

He felt the ground slip away from his feet. She was the only one for him. Bring her back, she’s mine. He put all the strength he could gather to pull apart, to reach her. He was too frail to fight with an empty stomach since morning.

He had no appetite when all the invitees sat in a row on the tables that were laid at the backyard. Fresh banana leaves were placed before each hungry eye. Not too many but a decent count of delicacies were served. Rice and Sambhar and Aviyal and Kalan and Olan and Toran of different types. Payasam and banana chips and curd. Too many to name. Few to digest.

People ate and were replaced with another set with fresh leaves laid again. But Jay had no appetite. The only thing he could think of was his mother.

The day ended and so did the celebrations. People were busy wrapping up now. Wrapping the show which took his mother away. His Ammumma tried to feed him but no food could taste good to him. His hunger went out the door with his mother.

He waited, empty stomach, empty heart until all were asleep. He knew which trails to reach his mother. And he set on the path to seek her, to bring her back.

He walked with the darkness in the night, following the crickets noise that kept him company.

He walked barefoot on the wet white sands that covered their coastal land. He walked through the narrow lanes, crossing the sidewalks on the small pond, careful not to be bitten by a snake hiding somewhere. But God did it bother him?

He was on a mission. He walked past the junction when he saw the house with lightings and knew he had reached. It was the same picture as his own house, all were fast asleep. He knocked at the only door, slowly first and then frantically.

The big moustached man which the bad grin, opened the door. He stood there covering the entire frame of the door. Jay could hardly spot his mother when she walked in and stood behind the giant guy.

She still had the same demeanour, head down lost in thoughts. She did not utter a word. She stood shedding tears when her new mate pushed Jay away. ‘Go away, how dare you walk here at this hour?’, his harsh words did not weaken Jay’s love for his mother. ‘Amma, please come with me’, he cried. All she could do was nod her head in a ‘NO’.

Jay knew more than to stay there any further after hearing a muted NO from his mother. He traced back the paths that he had taken to reach her. His little heart longing for a hug from her. To hear from her, “I am there for you boy”.

He didn’t get any of it.

He had matured in his heart in just one night. He knew where he belonged now, as he marched across the deserted tracks. When he finally reached home he ran to his Ammumma who waited patiently at the doorstep for him. She hugged him and he cried for one last time.

Amma – My mother (Part 1)

He stood there, staring at all the decors. There was some celebration for sure. People had poured in, dressed in their best outfits. Kanjipuram sarees and Jeri bordered mundus(dhoti) all around him, endorsed the occasion with chatters and waves of laughter.

He had no clue why his mother was all decked up and who was that man sitting beside her he wondered. He wanted to run to her and ask her what was going on but he was kept away from the mandapam (stage). Kids ran hither tither in her happy strides but he stood transfixed looked straight into his mother’s eyes. Why isn’t she looking towards me?

Oh, she looked beautiful in that maroon kanjipuram saree, her hair braided and adorned with beautiful strands of mogra. A gold earring only a bit bigger than the one she usually wears and a necklace and bangles in gold. She wore a big red bindi. She looked like a Goddess. He gazed in awe!!

‘Amma’, he whispered, how much he loved her and wanted her, no one could decipher. She was the only one he needed. To lie in her lap and dream to the tales she told was all he desired. She was the only one for him apart from his Ammumma (maternal grandmother).

Theirs was a small family. Amma, Ammumma and little Jay. He always hung to the loose end of her saree, like her shadow he walked with her, dawn till dusk, observing her while she did her household chores. She loved him equally. No one ever saw her yelling at him, or beating him like the neighbour Manu’s mother beat Manu. She bathed him, cooked and fed him, walked him to the primary school and waited under the shades of the coconut trees until he came out. He also never left his mother out of sight. They were like a kangaroo and its baby, always clinging together.

But today he felt like things were changing. Why isn’t she looking towards me? Her eyes were lowered, she seemed to be weeping. All but the two of them were looking happy. Someone muttered into his ears, “Your mom is getting married. Be happy for her”.

Married? To that man there? He didn’t look a bit appealing to Jay’s hopeful tender eyes. He had that big toothed grin which Jay was instantly scared of. He although was not still aware of what was in store for him.

…to be continued………….. in (Part 2)

Her story – The Indian married girl

‘They have said no before, how shall I ask again’, she wondered. She had no answers to the thousand thoughts that circled her head, making it want to burst out. All she asked for was to meet her parents once a year.

All was good when she got married to the good-looking young man from the city of dreams – Mumbai. Her happiness knew no bounds. When she got engaged, her friends teased her, ‘Ooh how lucky you can meet SRK and Bacchans now’. She had no desires to meet the celebrities though. All she desired was to be with him, her love for life.

It was an arranged marriage. Arranged marriages were still not out of fashion when she got betrothed. Many women from were married off to different cities, different countries after one or maximum meeting with the groom to be. Decisions were made by just looking at the family background and if the girl looked suitable enough to be taken into the family.

But she was in love with his sophisticated, army men like appearance. He had a job overseas and had to travel abroad frequently in intervals but she was ready to adjust with the intermediate separations for the sake of being with him.

How beautiful she looked on her wedding day, her eyes twinkling with joy. She hardly could foresee that the ritual of ‘Bidai’ meant actually going away from parents in her case. She will have to travel miles by flight to reach them, to meet them now. That thought made her eyes well. She cried like every other bride, knowing deep within that the separation was meant to be.

indianbride

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked up from the internet. Will be replaced by original pictures from the author soon.

She quickly adjusted with the new family. They were as loving as her own parents. She missed her parents but she loved her new family equally. Her mother in law did never show the tantrums of a typical mother in law and she was relieved to have her too. She soon took care of all the households and her mother in law was happy to share her burden.

When her husband travelled with his work, she stayed home waiting for his return. She also started working in the city soon. It was for her relief that she got engaged in work now. Weekdays well spent at work and weekends being at home, with the household things to keep her even busy. She thought of him often but never complained, she had chosen this lifestyle.

Six months past their wedding she had the urge to see her parents. Her sister in law was visiting from abroad. ‘She’ wanted to meet her parents too. Her husband was home for a vacation. She shared her desire to meet her parents. He was more than happy to be travelling with her. Although her in-laws did not seem to receive the suggestion well, they did not stop her though, this time.

She was thrilled to visit her parents after a long six months gap. She brought them goodies and gifts. Three days with her family who she spent her childhood with. Three days for the love they showered upon her. Three days for the lifetime of sufferings they took in getting her married. Three days with her parents.

And then, while returning she hugged her mother for the years to come, her heart swelled with pain. Her father’s eyes questioned, when will you come back? For which, she had no answer.

Even today, after four years of marriage, she has no answer on why she can’t visit her own parents at least once a year. Every time she seeks her in-law’s and her husband’s permission to go, she is faced with offended looks. ‘You are a married woman now, you belong to this family. Forget about the family you left behind’.

She is unable to explain what she feels. How much grief she has in her chest hidden, so much so that often it pains bad, she is unable to express. Unable to tell them that she needs the comfort of her mother’s lap to forget all the sorrows that day to day life brings; that she needs to see the smile on her fathers face before its too late.

She still has no answer, ‘Why can’t I see my own parents?’

Author: A girl leaves her family and respects the tradition of living with her in-laws. All she has is love in her heart. Men are too lucky to be in their comfort zone, being with their family for life. If he takes a decision to live separately with her, he is not a good guy in this society. But if she wants to be with her family even if only for once, she is going beyond limits. This is nothing but hypocrisy. Live and let live is all I can say.

Liar Liar

As a child, she was too naughty and too fearful at the same time. She rejoiced in all sorts of mischief and when it was time to get caught she could even go to the extent of peeing in her pants.

Playtime would be like gathering all the chawl( a type of residential building found in Northern part of India) kids and running around with them through the lanes between chawls, behind chawls jumping over the drainage pipes.
Playing in the mud was a past time she absolutely enjoyed, muddy nails and dirty frock left for her mother to scrub on later.

Boys, she loved playing marbles with them, ‘Kanche’ they called it. She had learnt the skills by observing them closely. Make a small round hole in the mud and a bigger circle around it. Put all the marbles in the big circle from a distance. The ones that fill into the circle were yours to keep. Another game would be to hit one of the marbles that the opponent pointed at. If you hit it, all the marbles were yours. She never won, but she would collect as many marbles as she could and play with them anyways. She was content with the feeling of being included. Her heart filled with joy that poured out through her proud grin.

She often walked to school which was quite close to her house, just a 7-minute walk or a 4-minute run when she was getting late. Point to note is that there were no child pickers (kidnappers) at that time to worry. Every kid used to walk to school, all alone. Only the overly protective parents accompanied their kids. School time was fun-time for her. Free periods were the chance to play in the school playground, getting all drenched in the dirt. A lone woman, with her hand-pulled card full of edible items that she loved savouring on, usually stood across the school ground. Tamarind lollypops, dried gooseberries, oooh, how children loved to munch on them with their teeth gripping on the sour taste. She often got a 25paise coin to buy something from that woman.

Once back from school, she loved playing with the kids across the street. Mom didn’t like her playing with the street kids and often complained to dad, nothing bothered her though. One day when she was still playing with them, she saw her dad coming home from work, from a distance.

There she escaped, full speed so that she touched home before him. She did. But in the spree she missed him noticing her. He called out to her as soon as he stepped in. She was still all dirty and damp with the hot air oozing out of her body. Her face, a black version of her. He asked, “Did you go out to play with the street kids again”. “Sorry, Papa”, was all she said. He never hurt her. But she was too scared that day.

Her little mind kept neglecting the scoldings she would get if she repeated what was not permitted. One such day she came back from school and saw that dad was still home. At once, he noticed, her shoes were torn, the sole almost ripped to the extent that it would fall out any moment.

His expressions spoke, “How could a new shoe, barely one-month-old, tear so badly in a day?”. She read the lines on his forehead and quickly mumbled before he demanded an explanation, “Pappa I was walking back home, and, and I slipped”. “What, this badly, u don’t seem to be hurt”, exclaimed her father all furious. He knew she was lying. She rubbed her nose often when she did so, looked away from him.

“I was walking on the steps down at the junction, I fell, and the shoe ripped”, she lied again. She didn’t seem convincing, he pulled onto her hands dragging her through the lanes not even bothering to wear his shirt. His demeanour meant he had made a resolve.

She was literally running behind his fast-paced steps which stopped only when they had reached the junction with steps leading up. He took her to the top of the steps, “Now show me how you fell and how the shoe tear”. She stood there, her whole body shivering, head down. He knew it. She was lying.

However, he did not know what she knew. Her eyes all blurred when she pictured her friend from the lanes who was too poor to afford a shoe. Her shoes were ripped just like the one she wore now. Her friend, she couldn’t buy another pair. She did not have enough money to get it mended either.

Smiling_little_angel

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked from the internet. WIll be replaced soon by the author.

She still stood there head down, her eyes all blurred with her friend’s image grinning back at her. Her friend -she wore a new pair of shoes, just like the shoe her dad brought for her. She was no more crying or shivering with shame. She had a secret pride she showed none. She never mentioned it to anyone. But that day, she had determined one thing, Never to lie again and she still holds to the promise she made to herself. She is as helpful still. She is still very naughty. But she does not fear anyone, anymore. Cause what she has with her now is Truth.

Diary of a depressed soul

Sometimes it’s very difficult to focus, to concentrate on the work in hand. You have a lot of it, piled up, seeking your immediate attention but all you can think of is the fight you had with your hubby or the maid who is being too weird these days. A hundred things heaped up in your mind making it a huge bin of trash. I wonder again, why does my mind wander away so easily, concentrate girl, concentrate. And for a while, I behave as if I am all tidied; like I have control over me, my emotions, my feelings but alas it doesn’t last for long. All the relentless thoughts slap me back to the unknown, uncanny world. I want to get away from this, I push myself hard enough to be just at the rim of getting all broken. Nothing is working.

I want to shut down all the voices that are now controlling me. I struggle without any results. I see them now, there they are almost approaching me, one, two, three, in multiples now, they do not have any face, are they some aliens, I cry. Help, help. No one can hear me, my voice choked within, I am almost tongue-tied. No word spell out of my dry mouth. Water, I want some water. I am too scared to get up. They are approaching me too quickly. Blurred, smoky faces, clawed fingers, they will kill me. I startle with a bang on the door. Who’s that? Somebody, please come soon.

My head is throbbing. My back aches too. I can hear my heartbeats, loud and clear. My heart, it’s going to burst out. I feel the pain resonate all over my body. Aaah, get away from me you filthy creatures. No, no, no one hears my plea. The world around me dances in unison, moving quickly, revolving swiftly, round and round, round and round. I bite hard on my teeth, clenching hard pulling my jaws together. Shhhh, be quiet, the air, it does not sound good. Get away, I don’t like the touch of you. Hush, Hush…

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked up from the internet. Will be replaced soon by the author.

Yes, I know what to do, I quickly curl up inside the bed sheet, hot tears rolling down my cheeks from one corner of my eye. Why is only one eye all welled up? Why doesn’t the other eye care? I confide inside the darkness of my white bed sheet, find solace. Soon I am no more scared. I am drifting away, not into sleep for sure. Lights everywhere, bright lights. My eyes are shut. I can feel the warmth of the lights on the inner side of my eyelids. A red and yellow mesh of light.

I hear him approach, he calls out to me, “Motu, kya hua, are you ok?”. I can’t move, can’t reply. I want to but I cannot move my lips to talk. He sounds hysterical, “Get up motu, what happened?”. I put all my energy to just move my head a bit. He takes my head on his lap. Brushes my hair with his fingers. He knows what to do. He sprinkles some water on my face. I switch to reality. He is there. He cares. That is all I need to know. No forces can force me into the dark now. He soon hugs me and gives a peck on my cheeks, “You are ok. You will be fine”

From the author: Sometimes, all you need is to be there for the disturbed hearts. Your presence will bring them back to reality. Be there, for a friend, for a loved one. Talk to them frequently. A thousand souls go into depression without knowing a way back, ending up in worst conditions or leading to suicide. A caring touch, a gesture of love, two words of solace, will bring them back to life. Let us be there, for them.

And if you are the one suffering, talk to someone. Talk your heart out, talk of your fears, your problems, one at a time. Just remember that your friends, your family cares for you. Love be with you.

A race for ‘seats’ – strictly unpolitical

Half of the young population in Mumbai can be spotted at one place in common on weekends, no prizes for guessing – the malls of course. We are no exception. If you take your wife or girlfriend along, then the easiest but not very pocket-friendly weekend getaway remains, of course, a mall. Lots of shopping and then dinner at the food court to end it all well.

Mall being a picnic spot is also not very uncommon. You will see kids running erratically as if in a garden. Mommies losing their breath running after them, some even don’t care. Another common scene would be some old aunties or some immigrants new to the city trying to get on the escalators? To go or not to go is the question that they are faced with. Then like a hero, a bold teenager helping them out, ‘Arey Chalo auntyji’. Quite hilarious, equally dangerous situation.

Nowadays malls have this huge decorative hangings and mannequins with what not decorations to lure the wide-eyed customers. Be Diwali or Christmas, malls are the ones to get decked up first. Festivities start at least a week prior. Sale boards on each branded showrooms keep waving at you. How can one resist? How can one sit at home missing all this fun, one would think. So get set and go to our very own nearby or faraway malls whichever pleases our taste.

Speaking of malls, ‘Pet Pooja'(Hindi term for filling your tummy with food) is the must. And where would you find an endless list of cuisines at your will? Of course the food court. The first thing one does when he enters the food court is looking for a place to rest his aching legs. Malls are exhaustive in that sense. You spend at least 2-3 hours shopping or window shopping and then you need to rest. Either you go to the proper restaurants or settle at the food court. Most people will club at the food court. Be it on holidays or weekends, you will find no space to move around lest finding a space to sit. Have you ever tried looking at these faces with the expressions of a warrior at his business or that of an accomplished achiever?

I have had a variety of experience at the Inorbit mall in Vashi. We go there as a family, taking our little girl to the game zone ‘Timezone’ at the mall to play. And once she has done with her games she wants to savour her favourite McD fries and Pasta from whichever food stall it is. So we gallop into the food court, all eyes to find someplace. One such day, with my girl all over me I wait for a seat which was almost going to be cleared by the look of the people sitting there. ( You know, you even learn to identify who will leave their seats and when. It’s an art only mall goers possess.)

After a while another couple came, a stood near the same seat to be emptied soon, ignoring our presence. Shortly the girl pushed away looking for other option. The boy kept guard. The three-member family on the table had already poured in the last bit of their milkshake into their tummies by now and still remained seated, perhaps for their food to get digested. I looked around for any chance of finding another seat. It was all in the blink of an eye, they stood up and the boy quickly grabbed the seat. He must be somewhere in his twenties and probably with a thought process of how do I care who came first, what I need is a seat. I turned back to find him spread his legs straight and give a relaxed sigh of relief. My hands were in pain by now with my little one still not willing to get down and all the grocery shopping bags in the other hand. I desperately wanted to sit.

This guy who had an achievement to declare called up his girlfriend, who had found another seat somewhere better maybe a sofa seat. He quickly jumped up and walked away and another gang who were just in time climbed on the seats. I was lost aghast, why would he knowingly do that? Weren’t we there before him? And then the happy realization struck me, what all of us were thinking in unison were to find a place. Nobody cares who is standing, no priorities, no courtesies but would I be doing the same ever? I doubt.

Soon to my relief, we found three seats with a round table in the centre. My husband seated us and went to get some food. My daughter and I took one seat each and the other seat for my husband was reserved with the shopping bags on top, while he was away. A few minutes later a family came by, they didn’t seem to notice or ask for the lone empty chair. My daughter was not eating her pasta with a broad smile affixed on her face. My husband was away again. I kept looking at the family. A family of 6, a woman and a man, might be couples, their children looked like they were in their teens and an old couple, a very old couple. The old uncle should be around his seventies and little younger was the old aunt, seemingly. Uncle had his hand over his waist. They had found a round-table as ours but no chairs yet. The man in the family was looking for chairs and asking people if they were reserved.

Another family just at the adjacent table were also gathering chairs. the woman from the old man’s family requested for a seat. The lady in her forties, all decked up from head to toe, gave a rigid look and blankly refused sitting one leg over other, held onto the chairs they had reserved for themselves.

I couldn’t wait any longer thinking about the poor uncle. As a got up to offer the chair, another guy came to me asking for the chair. I politely refused and asked the uncle to be seated. He sat and gave a sigh of relief. I had almost gotten up to give my chair to the old lady when their son who was still looking for seats found a table with few chairs to accommodate his family. While moving to that table, they took the chair I had offered to the old uncle. The younger ones dint think of returning the favour 🙂

Disclaimer: Image randomly picked from the internet. Will be replaced by original pictures from the author soon.

My husband came back to see that there was no seat for him. He gave me an all-knowing smile 🙂 It had always been my habit. I quickly pulled my daughter on my lap and gave him her seat. Happy we, happy all.

My only intention in writing this story is to make the readers aware than while we are still fighting for our livelihood if we find people on the way who are more deserving and more distressed that we are, we should stop and give them a helping hand. It will only bring more joy in our journey. Let the race for seats be kept aside for a while. Let us all have the attitude of sharing the seats 🙂

Rich Lady, poor lady

‘Hey Auto’, I called out as loud as I could. I believed he heard me scream my lungs out when he gave a steep U-turn to his auto. He appeared to head my way, that’s when I saw that a lady dressed in Rajasthani avatar was making some kind of gestures to the rickshaw-walla. I saw that the rickshaw-walla looked into his rear mirror and ignored her, purposely. At that wee-hour, it was very difficult for a rickshaw to get going in the way you desired let alone finding one but I was more than willing to let go of the lone rick on the road for that woman in tired attire. I requested the auto driver to take the woman’s ride instead. He was adamant,”Arey madam, yeh sab farzi log hai. Unko kahi jaana waana nahi hai. Aap chalo” (that these people are not reliable and not looking for a ride either, You get in).

Thwarted with his comment I got into the rickshaw while I turned to take a glance at her one last time, out of concern. She was sitting in the middle of the road now muttering something to herself. Was she mentally sick? My heart went to her. “How do we know what people really need? How can we help unless we know?”, my thoughts were loud enough for my Sarathi to respond, “Madam aap chodo. Aapko nahi pata kaise kaise log hote hai. Ab haal hi ka kissa lelo” (Leave it madam. You are not aware of the people around. Take for instance this incident.) He was quite an enthusiast in storytelling. Without waiting for any approval from me, he continued, “Ek Aurat thi…”

There was a woman, an old woman in her sixties. She was a beggar. You know that junction near Thane railway station? She used to beg right there at the crossroad signal. She used to earn with her looks, very filthy, very disastrous. Her shredded saree just enough to cover her bosom and bottom had witnessed all the trials of time. She paired it with an equally torn blouse. Her hair bun messier than any messy buns that woman flaunt these days. Her front-line broken teeth revealed the yellow and brown stains of all the gutka she stuffed in her mouth every now and then. Her eyes as hollow as the hidden universe were lined with dark circles giving her a very dreadful look. Everyone who laid an eye on her took pity in her and threw some coins instinctively into her begging bowl, with a thousand dents of ageing.

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked from the Internet. Will be replaced soon with original pics from the author.

She hardly ate anything other than the daily dose of Vada paav that she brought from the lone Vada paav walla across the street. She was his regular customer. He offered her meal – one vada paav wrapped in newspaper, and a cutting tea in a tiny disposable plastic cup and charged her Rs.10 which she paid with all Chillars (change). That used to be his ‘Boni’ (earning from the first customer) for the day which he looked forward to. She brought fortune to him, he said, bringing a chain of customers once she did the ‘Boni’. She often took that from him and crossed the road to sit beneath the divider, resting her back on the divider wall.

That day, he kept waiting for her to come and buy his first vada paav. She did not turn up. He had gradually started liking her. An unknown bond building between them, of a customer and a seller. He waited for long and then started his business, there was a big queue already. It was already mid-afternoon. He thought of checking out on the old woman. He crossed the street and walked toward the signal. He did not find her anywhere until he spotted a figure lying beside the Sarvajanic Shauchalay (Public toilet), yes it was her. He walked hurriedly. She had been there for long enough for the flies to make a bed of her. He shooed away the flies and looked at her pale face. She was long dead.

The Police came in quickly, made some inquiries. Who she is, where she lived. No one knew much. While searching her bag, one of the constables found a bundle and for their astonishment, it was a bundle of 100 and 50 rupees notes. Should be around a few thousands. She had that sort of money with her? Everyone around looked perplexed. After inquiries, it was revealed that it was not all. She even had a bank account with a few lakhs deposited. Had a house which she had rented out. Really? Someone like us would think. With so much to live a decent life, why was she still begging? Why was she living such a ruinous, dreadful life? Her body was loaded in a municipal truck. What happened next, no one knows. Was she buried, burnt or kept in the mortuary for someone to come and claim. Or she remained forever a poor lady with all the riches and no one to claim for.

Tears welled the corner of my eyes and she grinned before my eyes with her yellow broken teeth. I was startled to reality when someone touched my hand. We were at the signal. She stood there, an old woman, “Mai, Kuch to dedo” (please give me something)…

Ketchup Story

‘How come you don’t like tomato sauce’, many have asked me on various occasions. Very few know the story behind me not liking the packaged kinds of ketchup. Would you like to know?

It was long-long back when I used to LOVE eating my chapatis dipped in the red-hot tomato ketchup that was served at one corner of the plate as a special side dish while hating every bit of eating the vegetables that my mother served with them. My eating habits were poor from the very beginning anyways. My mom still says that I never ate a bite of cooked rice meal until the age of seven. She always had to prepare some interesting snack for me. Luckily we had Idli, Dosas and Appams in our daily diet, substituting my rice intake. Ketchup had made me turn towards Chapatis at least and my mom made it a point to stock it to just keep me fed.

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked from the Internet. Will be replaced soon with original pics from the author.

Although the worst of my nightmares was yet to unveil. One fine morning when I was hogging over my tomato sauce with whatever main dish it was my father brought up this topic out of nowhere in particular. He told in a very serious tone, ‘Aruna mole, you should stop eating this Ketchup. It’s not good.’ I gave him a look like he is taking out the very life out of me. ‘No seriously mole’, he continued, ‘I’ ll tell you why’, he paused and begun.

‘It was when I used to work at Ghatkopar, there was a ketchup factory just next to my office. I don’t remember which one but how does that even matter. It was a ketchup factory after all. One day while I was returning quite late after office I saw the local vegetable-walla with a huge sack on his head. I had to go back to get the lunch box that I had forgotten and when I came back, I was caught by anxiety that he had emptied the sack at the factory door. Tomatoes of all kinds piled up at the dirty entrance. Ripened, smashed, cracked, even rotten ones fell on the bear floor. Some rodents were by now having their feast for the night. Cockroaches were no bargain either. Flying across, sitting on the tomatoes, crawling above them while eating tits and bits in between.

Suddenly the factory doors opened and a man in khaki emerged from within with a big rubber sheet. With a shovel, he pushed all the tomatoes onto the sheet. His companion soon came out and helped him take the tomatoes into the factory. Now u can guess where these tomatoes will end up. Not it the garbage after all. After this day, it was a routine to me, staying late and witnessing the rotten tomatoes being taken into the factory. Even if you argue that they might wash the tomatoes inside or separate out the good ones from the bad, are you sure? You may also argue that the product you buy is the best of its kind, hygienic and all that, can you ever guarantee what kind of tomatoes they might have used? Have they chosen only the best ones for you? Did they make the effort to throw away the rotten ones or just let it go to the mixture? Who will know, after all, ripen or rotten the final product is going to be a paste.’

By the time he was talking of all the rats dancing on the tomatoes, my appetite had died. I had already pushed my plate aside. I don’t remember of having I drop of ketchup from the stores after that. I am sure to the core that my dad will never tell me a story just to stop my addiction. I heard him repeating the story to my little one recently when she was pulling on the ketchup packet that she got along with her french fries from McD, again in a serious tone.

Now now, my intentions are not to deprive you of the juicy, tangy, red-hot friend of your meals but its good to be aware of what we are eating. Why don’t we switch to the homemade versions of the sweet saviour, just in case? I know in today’s age its difficult for moms who are juggling between work and home to do the extra bits but healthy food habits will only come in as a boon than a curse in the long run. So, eat healthy, be healthy 🙂

Help from the Heavens

It was almost a decade and a half back. My Papa and I used to travel daily every fortnightly from Gateway Of India to Airoli, Navi Mumbai where we used to stay back then after my Bharatanatyam performance at The Taj Tanjore. It used to be midnight by the time we reached Thane and took a bus back. There was no train service from Thane to the Vashi/Panvel then.

Today, as usual, we were on the train when we heard whispers of a band in Thane, Mulund area. Followed by the death of a politician, his followers had got on the roads, smashing buses and other vehicles creating a curfew-like situation in Thane. It was a quick decision that Papa took to get down at Mulund instead of Thane. If there were no buses running then it would be better to walk down the Airoli-Mulund link road which was a quick walk from Mulund station than being stranded in Thane.

It was late at night but as you know Mumbai hardly sleeps, but today the situation was different. There was only a countable number on the roads. We saw some men sitting under a banyan tree almost half an hour away from the station where we had disembarked. My heartbeat increased as we approached the men sitting aimlessly looking into the dark. My dad inquired if we could find any auto rickshaws towards Airoli. It was quite a disappointment that even Rickshaws were not plying that day (or rather night).

Just beyond the banyan tree, was a small Sai Baba temple which I am pretty sure the rickshaw-wallas had raised. We find such small temples all across the rickshaw stands in Navi Mumbai. Sometimes these temples grow into bigger temples and then one fine day they are crushed to ashes by some new Municipal officer who takes charge. No questions asked!!

My dad stood by the temple for a quick prayer and then we walked again, only not to be alone now. Someone was following us; when we waited he would wait too, and when we walked he walked with us or in front of us and looked back every now and then, waiting for us to take the pace. Initially, we were fearful (at least I was) but then his gesture seemed to soothe us more than scare us. He was trying to accompany us in the lonely night.

Disclaimer: Picture randomly picked from the Internet. Will be replaced soon with original pics from the author.

By now we had reached the Airoli bridge. Suddenly a lone biker rode past us and stopped a few steps ahead. He turned back and spoke to Papa, “Uncle, aa jao bike pe. Aapko koi Gadi nahi milega abhi” (Please get on the bike, you’ll not find any vehicle at this time).I don’t know how but my father did not doubt him for a bit and asked me to follow tour as he embarked the so-called stranger’s bike.

But our companion till now did not like this much. He scrutinized the biker with his canine eyes, circled the bike thrice and went back on the way we came, seemingly satisfied. The biker had started the bike now. As the wind took my dupatta along I turned behind to see that the guide of ours waited at a distance and vanished into the dark as we drove away.

Our new companion cum guide was no evil either. He took us almost near our destination and bid adieu. We couldn’t thank him enough for his kindness. As we walked back home, I couldn’t help but think of the two new companions who came from nowhere and went away somewhere as in a fairy tale, the fairy Godmother helping Cinderella. In reality, though there was no magic, no carriage, no midnight strikes at 12:00. Just a dog and a man with identical intentions to solely help.

Who might have sent these two beings to us tonight, I keep thinking. Some questions are unanswered. The gratitude, the love for fellow beings, the helping attitude though still remains in our hearts.