A victory?

Phat…

 The back of his hands made a clean sweep of her face and she felt her head hit the adjacent wall before she fell down limp on the floor. Warm blood trickled down her forehead where it had kissed the wall. She bit her lips trying not to scream, swallowing her pride with the pain. She tried to grab the legs of the chair in an attempt to get up, but he pushed away her source of support, kicking her abdomen with the tip of his shoe. He felt a sense of pride like a footballer who had just landed the ball in the net, surpassing the goalie. He kicked her few more times, his shoe landing on a different goal each time, till she could bear no more and let out a howl; an ear piercing scream that threatened to curdle his blood.

The scream kind of terrified him because he left soon after, leaving her alone in the room. She lay on the ground but she needed to get up quick. A wave of nausea had begun to sweep over her and she felt the muscles of her stomach loosen and transfer its contents to her mouth. Unable to get up, she puked on the ground. The blood in the vomit scared her and the putrid smell made her nauseous again. Gathering herself, she trawled to the washroom, and slowly tried to stand up holding the wash basin for support.

The face in the mirror seemed to ridicule her. A neat reddish-blue bulge had formed on her forehead, the blood had clot after having trailed down her ear. She splashed water over her face and the icy water felt like tonic on her wounds. Her lower lip looked like it had been bitten by a bug, red and swollen. She stared at the face in mirror.

She could see a young girl, the parting of her hair smeared with deep red vermilion  Her gold and red veil that had covered her head during the wedding rituals lay on the ground. A fresh cut adorned her lips from which warm blood oozed out and her cheeks looked flushed and red; not with the shyness of a new bride but with the imprints of a palm that had just landed heavily on her cheeks. She had been too shocked to react and too young and new to complain.

And today she stood here again, before this very mirror, and as on that day and every other day after that. And all she was doing was washing her face off the blood, like she always did. No wonder the face in the mirror seemed to ridicule her. Why hadn't she stopped it right then? Why hadn't she stopped it after that? Why had she silently borne his abuse through the years? Why had she been in denial?

She remembered the first time it happened. A new bride, she had coyly brought him a glass of hot milk that her mother-in-law had given her. The milk had apparently been hot and he had lost his temper when it burned his tongue. That was the first time he hit her, not even bothered that she had just stepped into his life. She had felt that she deserved it. How could she be so careless? He had been apologetic soon after and she had been more than happy letting him lust after her.

The silliest of reasons had been enough to turn him into a monster. But she had never accepted that it was actually abuse. Maybe he was just drunk, maybe he’d had a hard time at work, maybe he didn’t mean what he did, maybe some patience and love would change him. She could accept any explanation but this. And again, didn't he always come back to her at night?

Surprisingly, no one had ever asked her about her visible wounds and her mother-in-law had told her in hushed tones about how men will be men and how she has been patiently tolerating her husband since she had been married. Having children will change all that she had assured. Nothing did change after two children and she had been plain lucky not to lose her children during the nine months, when she carried them in her womb.

The face in the mirror seemed to ridicule her. She looked away and let tears flood her eyes.

Her closest friend had tried to counsel her, telling her to put an end to the abuse, and it had taken a lot of time to come out the emotions that her mind seemed to be caught in and accept that what was being done to her had to be stopped. As much as she would have liked to take her friend’s advice, she felt trapped financially. What would she do if he were to disinherit her and her children? She was dependent on him for everything. How would she survive alone?

She stumbled out of the washroom to the kitchen for a glass of water. Her eyes were blurry with tears and she did not notice her children walk in. The terrified look on their faces said it all. They were growing up and what happened to their mother had terrified them. They held her hand and wept unable to convey what their little hearts felt. She could feel them trembling with fear.

What years of abuse and months of counseling could not do, the look on her children’s faces seemed to achieve. What example was she setting for them, she asked herself? Her son would eventually learn that it is his right to abuse women and her daughter would learn that it was OK to be abused. She couldn't let that happen. They needed to know that a woman has to be respected, and if she is abused, then she would not tolerate it. If as a mother, she couldn't teach them that, no book on earth ever could.

She heard her husband calling out her name, demanding a cup of tea, as if nothing had happened. She put the kettle on boil and poured out the tea in a cup. As he stretched out his hand to pick up the cup, she snatched it and splashed the contents across his face. ‘Did it pain? Are you hurt?’ She asked, as he screamed in agony, trying to grab her arm. ‘Know that it pains when you hurt me, don’t ever dare to do it again’ she said as she led her children away even as he hurled expletives at her. She wished she had done that with the first glass of hot milk she had brought him as a bride. Better late than never, she thought as she saw her children let out a feeble smile. Though in pain, she walked up straight, shoulders pulled back, as if she had just come back from battle. 

She didn't know what this action of hers would lead to, but it was a day of victory for her, however small that might be. 

A victory over her own fears.

She....

A pretty bloom in myriad hue,

Delicate, colourful, fragrant and sweet,

She's nourished many a mind, and heart, 

And little tummies of bees and flies,

Paying the price for all her love,

Crushed and forsaken today she lies,

The nectar dry, the colour all gone,

The fragrance in jaded memories still,

On a picture frame on the wall. 

Who is to be blamed?

 The Godmen, the bureaucrats, the politicians, and all those self styled moral protectors of the society have strained their voices hoarse over who is to be blamed for the growing crimes against women and have given every possible atrocious solutions to the issue, ranging from covering up the women from head to toe, to keeping her indoors, restricting her to house hold work, from blaming her for not calling her tormentors as brother, to asking her not to step out with any other person other than her own relatives. The conclusion being that the victim is to be blamed for the crime than the perpetrator!

Let us for an instant nod our heads tamely and accept the blame. But how on earth would the so-called moral guardians explain similar assaults on children as young as 2 or 3 and women as old as 60 or 65? When will they accept that, what is lacking is a moral value, what is driving the crime is perhaps frustration or an unsound mind, and what will help is not victimizing the victim but taking steps to ensure that such things do not happen. Isn't it a shame that we are more focused in telling the woman how she should behave, what she should wear or where she can go, rather than pulling up the criminal?

Sacrificing the girl child

Something as simple as letting the girl child live, could save thousands of other girls. Aren’t the two connected? Ironical? Paradoxical? Yet they seem to be connected. It has been discussed on a number of platforms how the decreasing number of girls, has led to a pathetic situation for the men. We have seen how some states are “buying” women for their boys from other states, how men are sharing brides in a blatant repeat of the Mahabharata, and how assaults are the order of the day where neither a bride could be brought nor shared.

So why not let the girl child live and create a healthy ratio of men and women so that such situations do not arise at all? 

Lack of moral Education

By education I do not just mean basic schooling, yes where there is none, the need is for a basic education as well. But the education has to extend beyond the books, beyond mathematics and science and English. Moral education and sex education has to be taught in schools, whether in a rural area or urban. Education is more than a luxury; it is a responsibility that society owes to itself.

Children are more exposed than ever to uncensored content on the internet, newspapers and television. The curiosity to know about the other sex and to experiment is on the rise. With no information from parents at home and teachers in school, they are left at the mercy of information from unreliable sources. Children are not getting enough information about the biological and emotional aspects of sex. 

Talking to the children at home in a open atmosphere, responding to their doubts, teaching them to respect not only women but everyone else and treating others with dignity, from a very young age will inculcate good values that will stay on with them throughout life .

Troubled youngsters should be identified at the school level and counseled at the early stage so that  any  wrong notions are nipped in the bud. An education isn`t how much you have committed to memory, or even how much you know. It`s being able to differentiate between what you know and what you don`t and between whether you know right from wrong.

 Frustration 

Frustration at not having a job, at being treated unjustly, at being ridiculed can manifest itself in a toxic way.  A depressed or frustrated individual wants to still feel in control, feel powerful and will do anything to feel so, even if it means resorting to the wrong methods. It is hardly possible to build anything if frustration, bitterness and a mood of helplessness prevail.

While the politicians are busy exercising their power, the rich are becoming wealthier thus adding to their power , we, the middle class, are struggling to keep up with life, even as there is a class below us which is starved of the basics.  They are the most exploited, by politicians and by the business class. And when they turn to crime, we suffer.

Unless there is a direction to their lives and they get to eat well and live well, their frustrations will continue to be directed at us, as the other two are too powerful to be harmed.

These three points may be inter-related or separate. They have to be dealt in terms of how and where they exist. But the clean up has to happen at all levels, the cobwebs have to be removed from every corner . The approach has to go beyond the routine blame game. 

When the roots are rotting, there cannot be healthy fruits and flowers, can there be? 

This post is part of the contest Who is to be blamed? on WriteUpCafe.com

Better safe than sorry!

In my previous post I talked about how fear psychosis was getting the better of women around me and how I have resolved not to let fear get into my already frazzled nerves. So I thought I’d share some views on how to keep you safe rather than fearful. 

1. Look around you as you take a walk in the park, on the streets, anywhere for that matter. 8/10 people are busy talking on their mobiles or listening to songs, with their ears and hence their minds completely sealed out from their surroundings.

 

Always be aware of your surroundings. 

This applies whether you are traveling alone or in groups. Don’t just focus inwardly on your thoughts, or keep your self busy with your phone if you are alone. Even if your friends are together, don’t get lost amidst the chatter. 

If you are used to listening to your walkman while outside, drop this habit, especially in isolated areas. With your walkman on, you cannot hear the approach of a possible attacker.

Keep one eye out for your environment, looking out for suspicious characters, possible danger, etc.

Also, don’t assume that because your area has been “safe” thus far, that it will continue to be so.  If you see people loitering on the streets near your house, call the police on a non emergency number and report it.

2. Remember that criminals look out for easy targets. Slouched walk or panicky walk makes you look like an easy victim. 

       Walk with a straight posture and your arms swinging by your sides. 

Look up and look confident. Look an attacker in the eye. It usually scares the attacker now that you've seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up; you lose appeal as a target. Carry something like an umbrella or anything you can use as a weapon.

3. Change routes/mode of travel

We often stick to the same routes and mode of travel everyday seldom bothering to change it. By changing your route/ mode of travel often you can avoid being attacked or harassed from those who know your schedule, method and route of travel. 

Avoid taking the road less traveled, even if it means you take a little longer. Avoid unfamiliar areas, or unsafe areas. 

If you are riding by bus or train, do not sit on the window seat as you may be "blocked in" by a potential assailant. Always select the seat next to the aisle so that you can quickly leave if necessary.

If you are taking public transportation alone after peak hours, sit as close to the driver as possible and/or choose the section of the bus/train that is most crowded. Try to get a seat near the exit as well. Your safety is more important.

4. Tell others about your whereabouts

Parents, spouses or friends should know where you are going and when you will be back, so that your absence will be noticed.

5. Trust your instincts.

The ‘gut’ feeling is more often right than wrong. 

If you are walking somewhere and feel strange or scared, don’t ignore this feeling. Take extra precautions by walking a little faster to get to a more populated or well-lit area or change the route you’ve been driving on.

If you think you are being followed, change your route and activity.

You can cross the street, change directions, or enter a populated building or store. Do whatever is necessary to avoid being alone with the person who is following you. Inform a police officer or security official about the follower.

Mentally note houses at intervals on each route you take that can be used as "safe houses" if you are attacked, such as shops or houses that you know to be occupied by a friend or acquaintance.

Attract attention if you are in a dangerous situation.

Get others to pay attention to what's happening to you if you are under attack or being harassed. You can alert others by honking a car horn or loudly describing what is happening. Shout “fire” instead of “help” to attract attention. Attackers are known to leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back

Danger can lurk anywhere, in elevators, staircases, parking lots, public transport, college campuses, on streets and even closer home. You cannot control the mind of the attacker, but you can keep yourself safe by being alert and confident. Whether or not they are punished is beyond our realm, but being safe is within.

Better to be safe than sorry!

From Nirbhaya to Bhaya.....

The past few weeks have caused a national uproar over the way a fellow human being has been tormented. I chose to use “fellow human being” instead of “woman” because; she was first another human and then a woman. The sheer inhuman nature of the crime makes me wonder how the hands did not tremble and heart did not bleed as they treated another human being with so much cruelty as to put the worst enemy tormenter camps to shame.

There has been an unending debate by various sections, some demanding harsher punishment/capital punishment , some criticizing women for the clothes they wear, some asking women to learn self defense, some advocating teaching men how to behave with women…etc. But I am not even getting there. It is not about what should be done, what could have been done, who is to blame, or how tough laws should be. I am still closer home, on how the women around me have been reacting to the crime. How fear has started impacting their psychosis.

The horrific nature of the crime and the heartless gut wrenching manner in which a woman has been abused has left an indelible fear in the minds of scores of women across the country especially the women around me. A friend reported how giddy she has been feeling ever since the news broke out and every time she talks about it she feels stressed out and jumpy. Another friend didn’t want to talk about the episode because she felt nauseated every time anyone even spoke about the issue.

My mother didn’t want me to hire a driver to drop them off to the railway station because I would have to come back alone in my car with an unknown driver, even though he would be from a known source. A friend, who commutes to work by auto everyday as she could not drive due to a back problem, brought a vehicle last week, so that she may drive to work. She reasoned her life was more important than the back pain.

And today as I picked up a friend to go to the market, she came down in a lovely sleeveless dress and even before I could comment on how nice she looked, she ran upstairs. “Just a moment, I’ll be back” she said. I saw her grabbing a shawl and draping it around her. “Why take the risk”, she said as I looked quizzically at her.

The fear of suffering, they say, is worse than the suffering itself.

It does not mean that I have ceased being fearful, but I have ceased to let fear control me. I want to accept fear as a part of life -specifically the fear of the unknown; and I want to go ahead despite the pounding in my heart that says: turn back, turn back, and don’t venture too far for you know not what lies beyond. I want to be a butterfly that spreads its wings out in the sun. I want to be the heroine of my life, not the victim and I hope all the women out there want to be the same.

                                                    ******************

Raavana

There was once a big guy with a lot of heads. On a particular day when the combined grey matter of all his heads were in resting stage, he unceremoniously kidnapped a married woman and whisked her off to his exotic land. He regretted his decision pretty soon. For he paid for it with all his heads rolled off his proud and arrogant neck.

The once mighty Raavana is paying for it every year since. As thousands of years later, people still find it entertaining to see his head blasted off with crackers. Amidst festivities and distribution of sweets.

In the very same place as the festivities, thousands of women are being whisked off unceremoniously every day. Putting even the mighty Raavava to shame! But the modern Raavana walks tall with his proud and arrogant head still intact on his head. The wails of the outraged women notwithstanding. 

Wonder when these Raavanas will pay for their sins? Wonder why this lopsided justice? Wonder…?

When life must go on.....

“Hello…”

“Sarika, it’s me, Deepa.” It was her neighbor and best friend from 312.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good,  I just called to invite your daughter to Ananya’s birthday party today at 6 in the evening.”

“Sure , I’ll send her. If you need any help with the decorations or cooking, just let me know, ok?”, she offered.

“Thanks, but I plan to keep it low key this year. Celebrating, just so that I keep my daughter happy and at the same time, don’t let the tongues wag. I took her to the temple before dropping her off to school, just like her dad always did on her birthday.”

“I understand.”

                                                

                                                                 **********

Sarika was amazed at this woman’s courage and perseverance to go on in the face of her tragedy. She remembered the day, about a couple of months back, when she had just woken up and had been jolted from her sleep. She had unlocked her door to get the milk and newspaper when she heard loud wailings and a lot of hustle in the corridor. She saw her neighbor next door look grim.

“Deepa’s husband passed away after a massive stroke today morning” she had said.

As Sarika went to pay her respects, she saw Deepa sitting stone faced, not a tear in her eye, not a trace of emotion on her face. And as she held Deepa’s hand in hers thinking of what she should say, tears welled up in her own eyes. Deepa’s body shuddered uncontrollably as she tried to hide the volcano erupting inside her. Yet, no emotion.

“It’s ok to cry, love. There’s no need to hold yourself back.”

Deepa had looked blankly at her 10 yr old son and 5 year old daughter who sat nearby, oblivious to the happenings around. She shook her head and bit her lips hard, trying to suppress her emotions.

Within earshot, Meghana Kumar, from 110, was speaking to Rashmi Kulkarni from 107. “Isn’t she aggrieved by the loss of her husband? See how she sits stone faced!”

 “Kaliyug, Meghana, Kaliyug” Rashmi had retorted and both woman had animated looks on their faces.

 Sarika rose determined to give them an earful but she felt Deepa’s hand on hers and sat down.

“It would have been our 13 anniversary next week”, Deepa said, still no visible emotion on her face.

                                       *****************

A couple of weeks later, Sarika visited her friend. She saw Deepa’s swollen red eyes as she opened the door.

” The kids are in school”, she said.” I have the luxury of crying for some time.”

It sounded more like a paradox of emotions to her. She held Deepa tenderly till she was drained. Deepa recounted her happier days with her husband and the sudden attack in the morning and her children looking upto her for support. She explained why she had held back her tears.

“Just for the children, Sarika, had I broken down, the kids would have no one to turn to for support. It was very essential that I look calm to them. I make sure they never see me crying.”

Sarika had kept Deepa company, after that, lending her a shoulder to cry on whenever she wanted to unburden her grief.

                                          **********************

Later that week, Deepa knocked at her door.

“I have an appointment with the psychiatrist; will you look after Anu for an hour?”

“Sure, is everything ok?”

“No, Amol has turned very violent, anyone mentions his father and he flies into a rage. He needs to be counseled. Do you know the first thing that he asked me after we had bid goodbye to his father? He asked, mom, will I still be able to go to school? Who will pay my school fees?”

“He is just 10 and he is already plagued by this fear” said Sarika empathetically.

“It took me a while to convince him that we are ok for the moment. I had to show him his dad’s bank account statement to make him believe that his dad had provided for us sufficiently.”

Sarika marveled at this young girl, widowed at 34, with two little children to provide for. She had the reasoning to take her son for counseling rather than ignoring his fears.

A few sessions later Amol looked fine and had learnt to cope with the loss of his father.

                                                    *******************

Sarika met Deepa in the parking one morning. Deepa was readying to go somewhere.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Good. Saru, wish me luck. I am going to meet a client. I have a degree and a short job experience in dress designing. I worked for some time before I got married. I never imagined myself working after marriage! I have prepared my presentation and I hope I get the offer.”

“Good luck my dear. Don’t worry about the children, I’ll be there.”

“You are an angel, Saru. Thanks.”

As Sarika walked to the lift, her heart full of respect for this woman who kept fighting inspite of the odds, she heard Manjula from 302 talking to her relative in a not-so-hushed tone.

“She is the one”, she said pointing to Deepa as she rode away on her scooty. “See she still has the bindi on her forehead. Wonder where she’s off to wearing a nice saree and bangles.”

“Oh, this new generation has no values, I tell you”, the other woman remarked nodding her head as if in disgust. “In our village, a widow would have to shave her head and wear white. Wearing a bindi or bangles would be unthinkable!”

‘And live her life in utter misery at the hands of her disgusting relatives. With no future for her children or herself!’ thought Sarika boiling inside at the apathy of these so called moral crusaders of the world.

                                                                ****************

As Sarika readied her daughter for the party, the intercom rang. “Mrs. Malhotra, its me, Devaki.”

“Yes Devaki..”

“Has Deepa lost it? It is not even two months since she lost her husband, why is she celebrating? She seems to have no regard for her husband whatsoever.”

Sarika thought she had had enough. She sent her daughter off to the party and called up all the ladies in her apartment to the office room for an urgent meeting. Everyone was surprised at being called urgently, but all turned up nevertheless.

“Ladies”, she addressed the crowd,” let me come straight to the point. There is a lot of talk about our friend Deepa and the way she is carrying on with her life. Why the stone face, why no display of emotion, why the bindi, why the celebrations….there are a lot of questions being asked.

But you must understand one basic thing. Grief is as individual as you are. Some will heal fast , some will be stuck for some time. But you must respect the person who is undergoing this difficult phase in life. There is a time when she needs to cry and there will be a time when she is compelled to have a new life.

Should we make life difficult for her by our mindless taunts and comments? Does she have to wear a mask of widowhood on her face to show she is grieving? Trust me, she is in much more grief than you could possibly imagine, but she has the guts to carry on in spite of the odds. She wants to give her children a normal childhood and do everything her husband would have done to ensure her kids are growing up fine.

Being alone in an empty house is not easy. There is no one to greet you, and the chair opposite yours at the dinner table is empty. The house seems to echo from the silence and you shed a tear as you remember that you are now alone. So many years together, so many memories you two created together are all you have left.

Losing a loved one changes your entire life, especially when the loved one was also your husband and best friend. You feel completely lost and totally uncomfortable making even minor decisions. The bed feels big and you hug the pillows for comfort.

But something inside you tells you that you can survive!

Let her survive.“ Sarika finished her speech and sat down looking at the crowd in disgust. She waited for questions to be raised and the moral crusaders to go up in arms against her.

To her surprise she could see most eyes filled with tears. Almost all of them left without saying a word. She knew from the look in their eyes that tomorrow morning would be different…..and her friend would finally be allowed to live in peace.

                                                                  **********

Letting go!

It is that time of my life when I am learning yet another lesson in letting go. I wonder how my little one has grown up so soon! It feels just like yesterday when he had taken his first baby steps. He had faltered and fallen and stood up with determination again. I had beamed with pride and fussed over him at his effort! He had treated me to umpteen such moments, and had given me ample opportunity to marvel at his little efforts; smiling, rolling over, crawling, walking, teething, blabbering, incoherent baby talk and many more. All the while he had been hinting how he was quietly growing up, but none of these prepared me for his next major step. Going To School!

From the day we completed his admission formalities (which was 6 months in ago, yes, 6 months! Haven’t admission procedures become ridiculous? ) I have been fretting and complaining that his age is not quite right, he is too young to go to school and maybe we should have waited one year more. But the school authorities and hubby dearest had managed to convince me how the kid’s age was ideal and how he would be too old for Pre-KG next year.

Since then I have been religiously coaching my son about every aspect of school, the fun he will have there, the friends he will make, the things he will learn, the new things we will buy for him and so on and so forth! My little one has never left me for a minute and I was very worried whether he would leave me and go to school. Hubby dearest has looked on with amusement at my non- stop chatter about his schooling and has more than once remarked that he wondered if I was preparing the child or myself for the separation! Maybe he was partly or even wholly right! I was perhaps preparing myself for the separation. Because as much as it was true that he had never left me for a minute, it was true the other way round too.

As we went through every step of the preparation, buying of new uniforms, shoes, bag, books, etc, my heart grew restless with worrying continually over him. And as for the man of the hour, my little hero, he would nod his head and say “No!” when anyone asked him if he would go to school. Fears multiplied manifold, I could not sleep the whole week before school opened for pre-KG!

My dad recounted how defiant I had been going to school initially, actually for 5 whole months and had kicked the life out of the ayah with my shiny black shoes, when my dad passed me on to her at the school gates! Brace yourself, he warned me.

The D-day finally arrived and I thought my little one looked rather cute in his new school uniform and shoes. He was all smiles posing for the camera and we tried to capture his first steps in school. But the minute we handed him over to his teacher he was screaming his lungs out trying to break free. My heart went out to the little child, who was stretching his little arms out and calling out to me. I could have cried myself, had hubby dearest not taken me away from the place. We were told to collect him back in an hour’s time and to me that hour seemed like eternity!

I had been continually worrying how he would be faring and hubby dearest got sick of my incessant chatter.

‘For God’s sake, calm down, your child is not the first one to go to school and we have not left him in the jungle with a bunch of lions, so stop worrying, he will be fine’, he said, his voice soaked in sarcasm.

But a mother’s heart does not understand that, does it? And it continues to worry, about the well-being of her child, knowing at all times, that she cannot hold her child with herself forever. Neither in her womb nor at home. He will eventually break free from her. And she will have to let go.


Image: courtesy google

Celebrating Women!!

“Kamala Bai Happy woman’s day” I greeted cheerfully as the maid entered our house.

Kamala Bai looked at me like I had said something stupid,

“Memsaab, today is not my happy birthday. Actually, I don’t even know when my happy birthday is.”, she smiled.

“No, no, Bai, I mean woman’s day. A day for celebrating women.”

“Is there such a day? So what do we women do? Cut cakes and party?” she asked wide eyed.

“Well..” I was not too sure what to say to her and was suddenly regretting my decision to wish her. How do I explain to her that it was a general celebration of respect, appreciation and love towards women, a celebration for women's economic, political and social achievements. Nevertheless, I tried,

“…no bai, we don’t cut cakes, but it is a day to show respect and love towards women for all that they do.”

“Who? I mean, who shows respect and love?” she asked

“People who know us…” I was getting lost in my own words.

“How? What do they do?” she went on.

“Errr.. ummm… my husband wished me today morning and brought me flowers. He may take me out to dinner; to thank me for all that I do for him and our family. Maybe he’ll buy me a little gift.”

“My husband didn’t come home in the morning”, she said as a matter of fact. “He must be lying on some footpath, drunk and unconscious. The lousy b*****d!  If he comes home, he will skin me to death. I have hidden my salary so that he cannot find it. The children’s fees need to be paid. I cannot let him drink with my hard earned money.”

I was already regretting I had treaded on such a sensitive issue. This was such a common problem with these maids. Irresponsible husbands, financial difficulties, struggle to make both ends meet. And here I was talking of celebration. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Last month, she had been absent for a week and when she had joined back she looked badly bruised. It took a lot of coaxing for her to tell me it was her husband who had beaten her up. Not that I couldn’t guess it, as it was a routine affair. She chose not to do anything about it, and wouldn’t let me interfere.

So much for economic achievements! So much for love and respect! So much for celebrating women!! As a woman, I hadn’t done anything to lessen her plight, not that I could have. Women’s day or not, Kamala Bai was carrying on with life. Irrespective of whether or not, her contributions even qualified as an achievement.

I saw that she was still standing and ruminating on my words.

 “Memsaab,” she said,”people who know us, show us love and respect on woman’s day…so what if my husband did not do it for me. You do. I am so happy you wished me.”

I let out a feeble smile. Happy that she thought I cared. As if on cue, she continued,

“Memsaab, please increase my salary, at least a little.. That would be a wonderful gift for me on this woman’s day.”

Smart woman!

Boss would have been incredibly pleased about her acute business sense, I thought. That’s how you make your sales pitch waiting for the right opportunity; he would have said.

Could I refuse?

(Don't) Worry!!

Worries. That eats into my existence. I can worry about almost anything and everything. My son just dropped my alarm clock and now my worry is if I set the alarm on my mobile will it wake me up on time tomorrow morning? What will I make for breakfast? A few mental calculations, 1. who doesn’t eat what, 2. what was on menu for the past week and 3. what will be agreeable to all. Voila! I zero in on the best option.

 That is just the beginning of my woes. Because now I have to worry about if I have the required ingredients for the menu. I do a quick mental scan of the kitchen and realize that few things are indeed not available. It’s too late to go out now and buy anything, so I think of few other options and settle on something 1. that is agreeable to all, 2. which was not on the menu in the past week and 3. all ingredients for cooking it are available. That doesn’t settle my worries, because I didn’t estimate the cooking time. I’ll never be able to make it in time before the school van arrives. Darn! I have to repeat the process again.

 The mind flits from one idea to another and finally cooks up something 1. that is agreeable to all, 2. which was not on the menu in the past week, 3. all ingredients for cooking it are available, and 4. the cooking time is the least. Oh! I will need my oven to execute the task. But what if there is no power in the morning, as it happens on so many summer days? Re-think.. After a lot of hemming and hawing with myself, I now conjure up something that is blah, blah, blah, blah plus 5. doesn’t need my oven. Satisfied, I think I can bid my worries goodbye and sleep peacefully.

 As I toss in bed, I try to think if I have missed out on something. The school uniforms! Let me have a check. Just as I had thought! I have to iron them and I better do it now. Can’t trust the electricity, remember? Phew! Finally done. I can go back to my bed.

 As soon as I fall asleep, I see a huge ocean of worries, and I am swimming with all my strength, against the currents, just managing to keep my head above water. I pass wave after wave, small ones and big ones. Clean-the-house wave, vaccum-the-upholstery wave, bathe-the-kids wave, do-the-laundry wave, iron-the-clothes wave, fix-breakfast-lunch-dinner wave, drop-off-and-pick-the-kids wave, pay-bills wave, change-linen wave, shop-for-groceries-and-stuff wave…. As I bob in and out of the waters being hit by the waves, I see a whirlpool of worries, the “please-all” whirlpool! And then I hear a loud beep.

 I am as tired as hell. I open my eyes to see smiling faces. My kids and hubby are towering over me. The AC’s still running. So the power supply has not been cut off yet. I see a tray on my bedside. There are two cups of coffee and breakfast. There’s a card that reads, Happy Birthday mom. Then there’s a black forest cake waiting to be cut. It brings a smile to my face. Then I suddenly worry why the kids aren’t still ready for school. ‘Chill mom’, says my elder one. ‘It’s Sunday’. Oh! Thank God! I feel energetic again. I wonder if I should go back to sleep again. But then, I have to…..

Trouble in paradise- part 2

“Dad…wake up Dad…Dad..”

Anuj opened his eyes to find his boys standing next to him.

“Hey Champs, Good  morning ! Up early....huh?”

“Dad, it’s 8 O’clock. The school bus has left without us. We will never be able to reach school on time!”

  “And anyway, there’s no fresh set of uniforms for us. Remember, you forgot to send us change over clothes to Mrs. D`Souza`s yesterday? So it’s all muddy. There’s a heap of unwashed uniforms in the laundry bag.”

(‘What? The alarm didn`t ring at 6am or did I sleep it over? Whatever!  Now what do I do? No uniforms,so school is ruled out. Shall I send them to the crèche in the morning? No, Mrs. D`Souza has strictly said not before 12 noon.What a way to start the day! Stinking morning, stinking clothes, stinking kitchen , stinking life!  I think I have an idea. I think I’ll spend some time with the kids today. Let me call up boss first.’)

He asked his boss for leave and then announced to his boys,

“Champs, dad is on leave today as well...what do you want to do?”

“Hurray, Dad !! Lets go to ‘Chinese Checkers’ for lunch.

“Lets watch ‘Alvin and the chipmunks’ and then lets play cricket.”

Amid all the excitement, Anuj realized how little time he had spent with his little ones and how much the boys had missed his involvement in their daily lives. He hardly knew what they ate, what they liked to do, what their routine was like. Anjali had taken care of everything perfectly.

The kitchen was a mess and he didn’t have the heart to cook anything, not that he could. Heading out was a better option, he thought. They watched the morning show of ‘Alvin and the chipmunks’ at PVR cinemas. After a fun filled morning at the movies and a hearty Chinese lunch, he put the boys to bed for a small afternoon nap while reading out stories from the ‘Arabian Nights’. Just then Shashi called and invited him and the boys over to dinner at his house. After the boys woke up, he played cricket with them for an hour and then the three of them drove to Shashi`s house for dinner.He was happy to have the boys off his hands for sometime and watched as they played with Shashi`s children after dinner.

“Bhaisaab, Its high time now, why don`t you ask Anjali to come back home. The boys must be missing her for sure. You must be missing her too.”

Shashi`s wife Avantika was Anjali`s closest friend.

“Bhabhi, I didn`t ask her to leave home, she will come back when she wants to. I don`t think she`s bothered about the kids or me. She knows very well I cannot cook. Is she even worried what the kids might be eating? I have been having a hellish time since she left. I have to wake up early, get the boys ready for school, pack four lunch boxes...yes , you heard it right...two each for the boys...I didn’t even know there were two lunch breaks! And you know what, the kids have their own choices, but poor boys, all I could pack for them were a couple of slices of bread and jam! You have to remember to get the kids homework done, remember to pack clothes and food for the crèche, remember to pick them up at the right time, remember to do the laundry and  ironing, cooking, cleaning...the kitchen’s a mess, I don’t know who is supposed to wash all the vessels! I am fed up bhabhi !  I can either work or manage home, and there’s no guarantee that I can do the latter ever. How in the world does Anj....”

“Well Mr. Newton, now that the apple has finally landed on your head and you have discovered your own law of gravity, what`s the plan?” Shashi and Avantika were smiling.

 “Anuj, how do you think Anjali manages all this? She leaves for office at the same time as you, doesn’t she? She does every bit of work that you have been complaining of and she does it with élan and without fretting about it. Just because work goes on, it doesn’t mean she isn’t stressed out? And you expect her to...”

“Don’t embarrass me further guys, I just realized what a fool I have been. I`ll call up Anjali right now, but before that let me call up boss…”

“…Sir, I need to take tomorrow off too…yes sir, there`s an emergency…well, its called family crisis…thank you, sir…yes, I`ll see you on Monday.”

“Thank you Shashi and thank you too Bhabhi, I think I`ll take the kids and Anjali to Ooty for the weekend, and tell her how sorry I am for driving her nuts when she was already doing her best for us. I think I`ll drive down and pick her up from her Mom`s house right now.”

“There`s no need to do that...”

He turned around and saw Anjali with tears in her eyes.

“I am sorry, Anuj….”

“Shhh…don’t say anything…”  

Trouble in paradise.....chapter 1.

“Oh my God, what’s wrong with you, Anuj ? Who do think I am? A machine? A computer? I am sick of running around like this. I am sick of trying to balance my work and home. I am sick of getting up early cooking for you guys, getting kids ready for school, rushing to office and handling all the stress there, helping kids with their studies , cooking and serving you guys again… oh, the list is endless, and forget about appreciating what I do, you have the heart to keep nitpicking?”

Throwing the bundle of clothes in her hand on the bed, Anjali stormed out of the room. Anuj was still trying to fathom what just hit him, when he heard her bang the main door and walk outside.

‘What is with these women nowadays? Why do they have to make a big deal out of everything? I only asked her why my clothes are still not ironed. What’s wrong with that?’

He walked out wearily like an injured soldier who has had no chance of defending himself at the enemy camp. As he walked into the kitchen to have a sip of water, his eyes popped out of their sockets as he read what she had written in bold words on the kitchen door,

DIY

(p.s. everything)

(p.s. I am on a holiday, don’t call me for anything)

‘Is that woman crazy? How can she just go away somewhere? Let me guess…where could she go? Office? Hmmm.. I’ll check out on my way to office.’

“Hello Mr. Anuj, you need not have come to inform personally, Anjali called me and told me she is sick and will be on leave for a week. Take care of her. And tell to get well soon because we’ll miss her here.”

“Thanks Mr. Bhattacharya. I’ll tell her .

‘Creepy boss, why is he going to miss my wife? I’ll have to tell Anjali to be wary of this guy.’

As soon he reached office, he walked to the cafeteria, and ordered some breakfast.

“Hey, fought with your wife old buddy?”

He saw Shashank his closest friend since college looking down at him and giving him an ‘I know it all’ look.

“Is it on the front page of the newspaper today? Or did Anju call you too? Has she put a notice on my cabin door?” said Anuj with sarcasm spilt over his words.

“Whoa, someone’s in a pretty foul mood today. What happened?”

Nothing really Shashi. Just the regular stuff that marriages are made of. Fights, fights and more fights. Your Bhabhi got angry because I asked her why my clothes are not ironed and she left home and went to ‘god knows where’.

“What? So go find her buddy ,check on her workplace.”

“ I did, madam had the decency to tell her boss she is on leave for a week.”

“Check out her Mom’s  place.”

“There’s no need to do that. She’ll regret her decision and come back by evening. I know Anjali and her silly ideas.”

“Oh, man, how could you not be bothered? What if she did something stupid, you know, like hurt herself…?”

“I know she won’t, she’s too gutsy for that.”

Anuj was busy preparing the minutes for the client meeting the next day, when he received a call from the crèche.

“Mr. Anuj, can you please come and pick up your kids, it’s already past closing time. We called your wife but her phone’s switched off.”

“Oh I see. I’ll be there in 30 min. Sorry for the inconvenience”

Anuj decided to complete his work at home and rushed to pick up his 7 year old twin boys Adiyta and Arjun.

“Dad where’s Mom? Why didn’t she come to pick us up?”

“Dad, I am hungreeeeeee.”

“Aditya, Arjun, Mom will be back soon and as soon as we get home, I’ll get you guys something to eat, ok?”

Anuj prepared noodles, the only thing he knew how to cook and called out to the kids.

“Noodle time champs….come on and raid the table…”

“Dad can we go out and play?”

Anuj was happy to have the kids out of his space so that he could concentrate on his work.

“Sure. Be careful, ok?”

It was almost 8 pm and there was no sign of Anjali. Now he began to feel a little worried. He decided to call her parents.

“Hello Ma, is Anju there?”

“Yes, beta, What’s up between you guys, She won’t tell me anything and she doesn’t want to go back.” (‘ah, the rat has its usual hiding place…!’ he smiled)

“Can I talk to her?”

“Anjali, Anuj`s on line, talk to him beta.” he could hear her mom calling out to her. And then after a few seconds, he heard the click of the phone.

“Dad I am hungry.”  H e looked up and saw Aditya and Arjun covered in mud and looking like they had just wrestled with a bunch of pigs in a swamp.

“Holy god, where have you two been?”

He had completely forgotten about the kids!

(‘hungry again? I just gave them some noodles! What do I make for dinner now ?’ )

“Champs, let`s go out for some pizza….what say?”

“Hurray!!! Dad you are the best.”

He gave them a quick shower and took them out for dinner.By the time they returned, the kids were fast asleep in the car.

 (‘peace at last. Let me complete my work.’)

Anuj got up at 7 in the morning and realized, the kids were still in bed. He woke them up and by the time he could get them ready for school, the school van arrived and honked crazily. He told the driver off and decided to drop the kids to school himself.

“Dad, breakfast, I am hungry. What did you pack for lunch? Dad, remember you have to pack two lunch boxes…for each of us. I want sandwiches for short break and aalu ka paratha for the long break. ” Aditya was dictating.

‘oh, there they go again. Why are these kids perennially hungry?’

“Dad, I want poori and sabji for the long break and….where’s mom?”

“Kids, Mom is over at Granny`s place. There`s no time to prepare anything now, You`ll have to make do with bread and jam for both your lunches. What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Milk, Chocos and egg.”  

While the kids had their breakfast, Anuj finished packing the lunch and hurried to get ready for office. By the time they reached school, they were late and he had to send a letter for late attendance. He was late to office too and he had just a few minutes before his client meet. He had just finished his meeting, when he got a call from his kids school.

“Mr. Anuj, please pick up your kids from school. They will be waiting near gate no.3 .”

He had completely forgotten to call up the van driver and tell him to pick them up after school. It was 3pm, too early to leave office. He asked his boss for a break and rushed to pick the kids and drop them at the crèche. The class teacher was waiting for him and complained that the kids had not done their homework the previous day. As this was the first instance she had chosen not to punish the kids. He apologized and ferried the kids to the crèche. There he realized he had forgotten to pack the change over clothes for the kids and they would have to remain wearing the school uniform till he came to pick them up again at 6pm.

“Mrs. D`souza, please buy some proper lunch for the kids, they have eaten only bread and jam all day” , he requested the caretaker giving her a Rs.100 note.

“Don’t be late today, Mr. Anuj.”  Mrs. D`souza shouted out as he was running back to his car.

When they reached home, Anuj decided to help the kids out with their homework first and then try to cook something.

“Dad, can we go out to play”

“ No, homework first.”

(‘why is dad becoming like mom?’)

“Aditya, did you say something?”

“No Dad.”

All Anuj could manage to cook was some soggy rice and the kids reluctantly ate it with curds.

After the kids went to bed he sat down to complete his work that was pending as he had left office early. He picked up the phone to call Anjali, but his ego came in the way and he dropped the thought. He kept a 6 am alarm just before he dozed off to a sound sleep.

( to be cont..)

The irony of fate....

The air of sadness around me is terrifying.Happiness is so short lived that I feel scared to be happy anymore.    I met my best friend of several years after a long hiatus.The joy of meeting was insurmountable. As the day of the meeting approached,I wondered if that old connect would still be there or would we feel awkward to even talk to each other.Nevertheless, I had a hundred things to say to her,tell her about all the happenings in these years of being away and listen to her story in turn.

Surprisingly,when we met,it felt like we had just met yesterday.As if these long years had never existed. As if we had never really been that far away! The feeling of giving her a tight hug was so reassuring,so comforting and so nostalgic,that it brought a lump to my throat.

We settled in an ambient restaurent for a small bite and a long session of soul talk.I narrated how I had been doing all these years,how I had married the person of my liking and had now settled down at home looking after my children.I knew she had got married,so I inquired about how she was doing.What she narrated,jolted me out of my seat and made me numb with pain.She had lost her husband to cancer a few years after her marriage and was living all by herself.Listening to the trauma she had undergone all these years made my heart ache and looking at how bravely she had faced a calamity of this nature and was living life so courageously and maturely brought tears to my eyes.I felt sad at the very thought of not being there for her when she would have needed my support.She spoke about how life had come to a grinding halt for her,whereas it was moving on for all others she knew.The difficulties she faced everyday,the emptiness surrounding her,the void she felt back home after a long day at work.I had a terrible feeling of helplessness.I wanted to say something to make her feel better,but did not know what to say.It was so difficult to even fathom the loss,the loneliness,the grief that she was feeling,that nothing I said would seem enough or even appropriate.

Later when my mind ran through her words,I realised how tough it must be for her each day. I was amazed at how much she had, to teach me ,in terms of her experience,how she was taking life in the right spirit,and how  mature she had become.

(Pic courtesy: Google images)