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…..

Report card of life

There are “people who care” and then there are “people”. Just people. Whom we try so hard to please. As if our life depends on it. Taking for granted the other set that cares for us. Unconditionally. Irrespective of how we trample upon their feelings. Because we are too busy caring about people who don’t give a dime about you. That couldn’t be love. Just pretence. And you forget to give love back to those who gave you loads of it.

When life gives us our report card, I wonder what she will put on it.

Subject	number	grade
People whom you hurt
People whom you judged
People whom you cheated
People for  whom you nurtured hate
People you took for granted
People to whom you were unjust
People whom you loved
People whom you helped
People whom you forgave
People to whom you gave without expectations

Will I be able to secure a pass or will I get an “F” ?

The Frenchman

Roshni was glued to the TV watching her favorite program on TLC. It was a travel show that was featuring the '1000 places to see before you die'. Her three year old son was sitting in his rocking chair and staring at the television. She was admiring the beauty of the Chateaux de la Loire, the magnificent castles in Chambord, when she heard,

 “C'est tellement beau”. (that’s so beautiful)

 “Oui, ses magnifiques” (yes, it’s magnificent) she responded.

 But no sooner had she said so, she gave a shriek of fright and almost jumped out of her chair when she realized it was her little son who said that.

 ‘I must be dreaming,’ she thought, ‘this little brute cannot speak English properly! How in the world could he speak French?’

 She was in the eighth class when her father had asked her take up French as her optional third language. She had managed to score full marks in every exam and even in her boards. But her little one speaking an alien language with the finesse of a local was unthinkable. She tried to brush off the incident from her mind and continued with watching the series.

 “Maman, venez-là, me donner un verre d'eau”

 Shocked, she turned to look at her son, who had just said,

 ‘Mamma, come here, give me a glass of water'

 Was she really hearing him speak French or was she imagining? She picked him up and held him close,

 “Beta, where did you pick up this language?”

 He gave her a sweet smile and a kiss,

 “Maman, je vous aime” ( Mamma, I love you)

 She put him down and called her mom,

 “ Ma, I just heard Bittu speak French! I am shocked, I don’t know what to say…”

 “Really? Have you slept well last night, my dear? Why don’t you take a little nap?”

 “Ma, trust me he did.”

 “Were you studying French when you were carrying him? ”

 “No”

 “Maybe he was a Frenchman in his previous birth, and he must have remembered something..”

 That reason seemed plausible to her. Maybe he was born in France in his previous birth! How exciting! She had only heard about re- birth and couldn’t believe she was actually witness to such an occurrence. She couldn’t wait to share her discovery with her hubby when he came back from work.

 “Anand, guess what happened today”, she asked her husband as he walked into the house, barely able to conceal her excitement.

 “Did you win a lottery?”

 “You never take me seriously jaanu,” she rued. “Our little bittu was a Frenchman in his previous birth. He speaks French fluently.”

 Then she promptly brought Bittu to his father and asked him to say hello to his dad.

 “Bittu, Dites bonjour à votre père”

 Biitu just smiled and looked shyly at his dad.

 “Ne soyez pas timide” (don’t be shy, she coaxed)

 But Bittu would not speak a word.

 “ Anand, trust me, he did speak French… I don’t know why he won’t open his mouth now.”

 “I trust you my dear, kids are like that .You cannot force them to do anything. I’ll quickly change and join you back.”

 Then he slyly winked at his son who winked back. As he went to his room, he quietly removed a French booklet from under the pillow and hid it in his bookshelf. He was trying to teach his son a few phrases in French to surprise Roshni on Women’s day. Bittu was a fast learner indeed, he thought to himself. Just then Bittu walked in,

“Hello père, Comment était le travail aujourd'hui?” (Hello dad, how was work today?)

Anand looked at him with utter disbelief. Where did he pick THAT up?!!

The Forbidden Fruit...

Eaten I have

the forbidden fruit,

from the tree of desire...

Thinking of it ,

creates a flutter,

and sets my heart on fire!!

No grudge I hold,

no guilt engulfs,

the candle of my heart..

that melted when,

the match was lit,

and tore the soul apart!

Right or wrong,

no thought did run,

when hunger ruled the roost..

satiate was all,

in mind had I,

my spirit it did boost.

The fruit was sour,

`twas sans love,

needed to turn it sweet..

lust and greed ,

tugged at the reins,

music sans its beat.

I marched to the tune,

of an arrhythmic song,

the words so unclear..

but dent it did,

and scar did leave,

on my soul a tear...!