A story... Part-2

Hey I am back with the Part-2 of the story...! You can read the part one here :)

Part-2 starts here:

She looked around the house. The candles were leaving shadows of all objects onto the wall. There were huge photos of Carnatic music singers, of M.S. Subbalakshmi and of another violin player whose name she could not recall. The pattern of the window grill was familiar. That was when she realized that one of her grandma's friends stayed in the same apartment complex, probably in the same floor as she was in.

May be she should get out of the house while the old lady was in the bedroom. Then what about her books? They would surely get soaked in the water! She did not want that to happen. Also the pictures in the room captivated her. She was a huge fan of M.S. Subbalakshmi. She was dying to know who was the one to hang her photo in this house. Was there another fan of MS (as M.S. Subbalakshmi was called by her fans) here?

"My son loves Carnatic music." 

The sudden sound of voice behind her shocked her. It was the old lady now wearing a cotton nightie. She better get going! Don't know how old her son is and what else were his hobbies!!! But she had the problem of not knowing how to said Goodbye and leave! She always faced the problem when she was visiting distant relatives or acquaintances. However close friends were easily manageable. She could just get up and say Goodbye and get out of their houses. But with strangers... she never knew how to take leave of them!

"It's so chill!" the old lady exclaimed, "Right time for some coffee. Let me make some for us."

"No Auntie! It's already getting late, I should head back home soon." What if, the old lady adds something to the coffee that would make her doze off or lose her consciousness? No way! She would not allow that to happen. "Could you please give me a polyethene bag for my books?" she asked. Her wet clothes were beginning to make her cold. She had to leave! 

The old lady came out with two mugs of coffee and a huge bag overflowing with polybags. Who could resist a hot coffee on cold rainy evening? But somewhere at the back of her mind, she faintly remembered something about a sleeping pill. Meanwhile her  lips sipped and she felt the hot liquid flow through her throat spreading warmth into her entire body. She looked again at the photo of MS and wondered how the old lady's son would look like. Would he be tall and handsome? Would he be lean or stout? Would he have a moustache or a beard?

"How old is your son?" she ventured to ask the old lady while she searched for the right bag for her books. Was she feeling dizzy? No! It was all her imagination. When would this power be back! Did she realize that she has been in a strangers house for more than an hour!

"Oh! He is doing his BE course. He is generally home by this time. May be he got stuck in the rain. Let him return, I will ask him to drop you home."

She calculated. He must be more than 5 years younger than her. He was not old enough for her to take any love-interest in him!!! But yes! She had found a perfect bag for her. She stuffed it with her books and wished the old lady goodbye and got out of the house.

Once out of the apartment complex, she was recollecting all her feelings and thoughts that went through while she was with the old lady. How quickly we misjudge people! And how easily someone could fool her! She was safely back home and that's what was needed! All's well that ends well! :)

A story...

No.. No... This is not a technical post. Sometimes, I just get carried away and publish posts related to the technical stuff that I learn. So, to compensate for the technical post (that was published earlier today), here is a story. I have not yet decided the name of it.

Here is begins:

She was getting back from the library when it all began. What started as a cool breeze and a mild drizzle on a hot summer afternoon, in no time, turned into a continuous downpour accompanied by lightning and thunder... The sky was dark and the visibility low due to the mist covering the windowpanes of the bus. She could hear the pitter-patter of rain drops onto the roof of the bus and see water trickling through the tiny gap between the shut windowpanes.

She wiped the water vapour on the window with her hands and noticed the condition on the roads. There was water everywhere and in some places the underground drainage manholes were overflowing. She noticed many people abandoning their bikes and other two-wheelers and rushing for the shelter of shops and roadside restaurants. The rainwater was flowing from the footpaths onto the roads steadily and in the low-lying areas, the water was knee-deep. At one such area, where they stopped for traffic signal, the water was above the level of the exhaust pipe of a car and the driver had to stop the vehicle, push it to the edge of the road and wait for the water to subside. She hoped that the rain would stop before the bus reached her stop. But no, it continued to rain when she got down the bus. She sprinted for the nearby pavement which was already full of people.

Her wet salwar-kameez stuck to body like second skin and the chiffon duppatta did little to conceive the curves of her body which were already eyebrow-raising due to the wetness making the fabric almost transparent. She cursed herself for wearing such a dress. At the same time she was a little relieved that she had indeed worn a long cotton petticoat underneath, even though she was half-mind that afternoon to wear it in the hot sultry weather.

How weather changes at the drop of a hat!!! Who would have believed that this raining day started out as a hot morning?

"What time is it?" asked the old lady standing next to her.

She checked her watch. It was getting close to 6 O' clock. She told the old lady the time and at the same time was wondering how to save her books from getting soaked in the rain water. The polythene bag that she was carrying did not have any holes. But the water dripping from her arms may seep in through the gaps in the opening of the bag. I have to somehow protect my books she thought.

"Where do you stay, my child?" enquired the same old lady who seemed to be quite interested in her. "Amba Gardens. It is around ten minutes walk from here" she replied.

"I know Amba Gardens. In fact, my home falls on the way to your home. Why don't we start walking back home?"

"But it is raining..."

"We don't know when it's going to stop. It is also getting dark, dear. The more we wait, the more difficult is will be to get back."

She realized that there was truth in what the old lady was telling. May be she should accompany her... And... May be she could stop by at the old lady's place and get another sturdy water-proof cover for my books... Her eyes brightened and a smile spread across her face... Yes! She would surely go along with the old lady.

"Please hold my hand," the old lady begged, "I tend to lose my balance while walking on slippery roads." She held the lady's hand. Muddy muddles were form here and there on the road and at some places the water was above the level of the footpath. The rain continued to lash against their bodies. She shivered in the cold.

They walked in silence. After a couple of minutes of walking, the old lady pointed to a 5-storey building and said, "That's my apartment! I live in the 3rd floor." She had a feeling that she had already been to that apartment. However much she tried, she could not exactly remember who stayed there and in which floor she had been to visit them.

"Thank you very much, my child," exclaimed the old lady, shaking hands with her. "You are welcome! Could I have a polythene bag for my books?" she asked, "They may get soaked due to rain." "Oh sure!"

She followed the old lady into the building, climbing three flight of stairs, for there was no power. The building had an eerie look, especially because of the weather. She was wondering if she had done the right thing to get into this lady's house. Looking back, she realized that the old lady was the one who seemed to take a lot of interest in her. She hoped the lady was not enticing her into the house to take advantage of her. What if the lady was a part of a kidnapping gang? Or worse, a gang that was into selling women for flesh-trade. Oh my God! How thoughts fly!

"Please do come in," offered the lady, after opening the main door of the apartment, "Please make yourself comfortable; I will get a towel for you to dry yourself." She looked around the house. It looked like a two bedroom flat with a huge kitchen and an L-shaped drawing room. She did not sit on the sofa; not wanting to spoil it with her wet clothes. She stood at one place watching the water dripping from the clothes onto the marble floor. The old lady came out of a bedroom with a towel in one hand.

"Take this and use this bathroom adjacent to the wash basin," she pointed, "I can't wait to get out of these wet clothes!"

"It's okay auntie; it's getting late; I have to leave..."

But the lady was already gone and her voice was too low to be heard!!!

She went into the bathroom and wrung the water out of her dupatta and ends of her salwar-kameez. She wiped her arms and face with the towel. She was not going to get out of this dress. No way! Every now and then, she peeked out of the bathroom, to ensure that the main door was still ajar and there was no one else around.

Will be Continued in the next post... Do give your valuable comments... :D

Getting Married Part-VI

(Continuation of "Getting Married Part-V")
“So, when are you getting married?” asks Bhavana.
“Do I have to?” I reply.
I look at the expression of disbelief and shock in her eyes.
“How can you talk like this?” she asks, “Is it a case of love-failure?”
Now it was my turn to be shocked.
“Does it have to be a love-failure, when a person decides not to marry?” I retort back.
“Well, that’s what happens in most of the cases.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“Then tell me the reason why you don’t want to get married,” she starts pulling my leg.
Instead of answering her, I ask, “Why do I need to give you an explanation?”

Before we could argue any further, I get a call on my extension and Bhavana gets back to her cubicle.
“Hello?” says a very familiar voice.
“Yes Radhika.”
Why do I not show my anger on her? She ditched me, her childhood mate, for her 6-months old fiancé; yet I don’t scream and shout at her. Why?

“Are you busy sweetheart?” she asks with a hesitation in her voice.
I am reminded of the time when she wanted to borrow my skirt for a fancy-dress competition, when we were in our primary school. There was the same hesitation, the same quivering in her voice. We were such close pals that everyone in our class would wonder why their friends were not that understanding. All my anger melts away and all that I remember is the shy smile of a sweet girl of five.
“I am in the office, Radhika,” I reply, “How are you?”
“I… I am fine,” she says and then words tumble out in a flood, “Could you… Could you do me a favour?”
“Of course dear!”
“There is absolutely no balance in my cell phone. I was wondering if you could go out and buy a re-charge card for me and sms me the 10-digit code number.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a bus traveling from my aunt’s place to home.”
“Is it that urgent?”
“Hmm… I just checked my balance; it’s just ten rupees. It’s will take me an hour to reach home. Meanwhile I thought I could talk with Siddhu…”
The mere mention of her fiancé makes me feel frustrated. I want to end the call as soon as possible.
“Why don’t you ask him to get a recharge card for you?” I ask
“No… No… How can I do that?”
“He’s after all, your fiancé.”
“I can’t do that,” she exclaims, “What will he think of me?”
“Oh come on! You are going to spend the rest of your life with him.”
“You will not understand!” she shouted and cut the connection.

I wonder what I will not understand. Radhika stopped finding time to be with me since so many days and now when I thought she had called to talk with me, all I get to hear is: Another help required! Am I a departmental store or a personal assistant to get things done for anyone? I also have feelings. Just because I don’t call her, it does not mean that I don’t have any feelings for her. It hurts not to be with her, not to share my thoughts with her, not to talk with her… But all that she is bothered about is her Siddhu!

He is going to be her husband; yet she is uncomfortable asking him for a small help. Is she mad? Why does she need to keep pretences with her closed one? She did not bat an eyelid before she called me to ask. How mean of her! Why do people take others for granted! Why do they not realize that even others need love and affection? They feel terrible when someone uses them and then forgets all about them…

A voice cuts into my thoughts.
“Back to your dreamland?” asks Bhavana giggling, “It’s lunchtime.”
“Give me a minute,” I cry, “I need to rush the restroom!”
While I hurry, she calls me back saying, “I am still eagerly waiting to know why you don’t want to marry.”

(To be continued in "Getting Married Part-VII")

Getting Married, Part-V

(Continuation of "Getting Married Part-IV")
A girl leaves her home to spend the rest of her life with a completely different/new family. She adjusts her life style, her dressing, her working hours etc. to suit her new home. Yet she is not the bakra here! Only the guy is bakra!

She has to forgo her professional career if they decide to have a baby. Yet the guy is the bakra!

After marriage is there any change in the way a man lives? Not much, in fact the change is almost negligible! He still continues to get up at seven… gets a ready cup of coffee and breakfast once he gets ready… His clothes are readily pressed for him as always… Even after he returns from office, he gets to watch his favorite TV programs…

How about the girl? She is expected to cook, wash and clean and take care of the family… She is asked to do things that she has never done before. She has to manage home and office… Yet the guy is the bakra! How mean! Why is life so partial!

******************
Bhavana and I are having our lunch together when I see the wedding card of her friends. It says: “Sanjay weds Sarika(alias Gautami)”

“What’s Sarika doing?”
“Who’s Sarika?”
“Sanjay’s fiancée.”
“Oh! You mean Gautami?” she says, “She’s a school teacher. Actually, her name is Gautami only. But according to Sanjay’s horoscope, he should marry a girl whose name starts with an S. Only then he will be wealthy.”
“So? So, she has changed her name for him?” I ask.
“Oh no! He has asked her to change it to Sarika,” she replies and adds, “In fact, she did not want to change her name at all. But her parents insisted that she will never get a better marriage proposal; so she had to change her name.”
“Bad! Very bad!” I exclaim and add, “Very sad too!”

In general the girl’s surname changes after her marriage. In fact, after her marriage, Bhavana prefers to be called as Bhavana Dubey, rather than Bhavana Sharma. One day, I asked her, “Why did you change your name after marriage?”
“That is our India tradition, dear,” she said and continued, “One day, even you will change your name.”
“Do you like being called Ms. Dubey rather than Ms. Sharma?”
“Yes, of course!””Is your husband called Mr. Sharma?”
“No,” she replied in a shock, “Why will Vinod be called a Sharma? He was born in the Dubey family.”
“But you were also born in a Varma family not a Dubey family,” I argued.
“You don’t seem to value Indian traditions.”
“It’s not like that. People do not wish to change something that has been continued for ages. They don’t want to see a change. They don’t want to be singled out and pointed out. Or sometimes, they have been brainwashed to such a extent that they accept all the norms of the society without any question. If someone goes against these general norms, he/she is called arrogant.”
I got so angry that day that I stormed out of her cubicle. But now, changing of surname seemed so small when compared to changing a person’s name. We have been called by a name since our birth, it is the same name that we see in all our school certificates and ID cards, and now all at once, it is printed differently in our wedding card. It’s so sad! Why are we forced to change for someone else? If Gautami was interested in changing her name, it would be fine, but this change has been against her wishes. I pity at the plight of most of the girls in the society.

(To be Continued in "Getting Married Part-VI")

Delightful Dosa, Part-II

(Continued from Part-I...)

Two months later:
The Mom prepared the batter for dosas and put it in the fridge. The next day was the dosa-day. They all would have dosas for breakfast. She prepared the spicy onion sambar and the sweet coconut chutney and set them on the dining table. As the daughter was busy solving a puzzle given by her Dad, there was no banging of plates and spoons and no shouting slogans. It was a calm Sunday.

The Mom wanted to start making the dosas but the Dad was missing. He had not gone out but he was not inside the house either. The Mom called out to the daughter to fetch her Dad. Just then the phone started ringing. She went to the drawing room to pick it up. It was one of her childhood friends. She chatted with her without the sense of the passage of time.

In the mean time she could smell the making of dosa. She thought she was just imagining things. But she was wrong. Soon the Dad and daughter got a tray laden with a hot, crispy dosa, bowl of sambar and a bowl of chutney to the drawing room. They dragged a side-stool and placed the tray on it. She was so much overwhelmed that she hastily ended the call and sat transfixed. The Dad cut a piece of the yummy dosa, dipped it into the tasty sambar and put it into the Mom’s mouth.

Mom’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. After almost five years, she was having a homemade dosa. After the initial hesitation, she ate and ate and ate till she could eat no more. The Dad put dosa after dosa onto her plate and she gulped it down at an equally fast pace. When she felt that her tummy would burst, she put the plate in the sink and washed her hands. She saw the Dad in the kitchen making more dosas for the daughter and for him. She simply put her arms around him from behind and gave him a warm hug.

That night after the daughter was tucked into the bed and fast asleep, the Mom and the Dad lay on a thin mattress on the terrace, gazing at the stars.
The Mom asked, “Where did you learn to make such good dosas?”
“I learnt them from your mom.”
“But when?” she asked in surprise.
“Why do you think I have been coming home late for the past two months?”
“Oh! So, you have been meeting your mother-in-law in secret?” she teased.
He laughed and said “I have always wondered why you always ordered for dosas whenever we went out to eat. But you would never eat them at home. I thought, may be you don’t like home-made dosas but then you always eat them when you are at your place. That was when I went to your mother and asked for the reason. She said that sometimes when we use a lot of oil during cooking, we would be left with a nauseating feeling. We might not even like to have anything, even if it were our favorite snack. The same would hold for vadas, puris, pakodis and bhajjis.”
He paused and took her hands in his and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me this, dear?”
“Tell you that I don’t feel like having my favorite snack anymore?”
“Not that. You should have told that you were sacrificing the food preparation that you like the most, just for the sake of us.”
“It’s not like that!” she argued, “I love it when I see you enjoy your dosa.”
“While you choke yourself in the smoke inside the kitchen?”
Mom could not say anything more.
“I could not bear to keep quiet after seeing you doing so much for us,” said Dad
“So, the person, who hates to even make tea, has now learnt to make tasty dosas,” she chuckled.
He nodded and replied, “From now on, I will be the only one making dosas…”
“...And I will be the one to eat them,” she added happily.
“But of course,” he added, “You will have to make the sambar and chutney!”
Mom snuggled closer to Dad realizing how happy and fortunate she was to get a husband like him!

(Well, that's the end of the story! :-D)

Delightful Dosa

The Dad and the daughter were sitting at the table making sounds by hitting the plates and glasses with spoons and forks. It was music to their ears. Mom came into the dining room. She has two bowls in her hand. She put that down and went back into the kitchen. Dad and daughter started sniffing at the bowls imitating dogs. The aroma of onion sambar and smell of freshly ground coconut hung in the air. This made them all the more hungry and they started singing, “We want dosa. We want dosa,” at the top of their voices. The banging of plates and tumblers gave them the required background music.

The Mom smiled at the two and hurried back to the kitchen. She had two tawas on the gas stove and started to making dosas, two at a time. She put a little oil on the tawa, then poured a ladle of thick batter onto it and spread it evenly on the tawa’s surface. She put some more oil around the edges of the dosa, flipped it on the tawa and waited till it cooked. The dosa, after completion, would go directly on the plates of Dad or daughter. The Dad helped the daughter cut a piece of the crispy dosa, dip it into a cup of spicy onion sambar or sweet coconut chutney and put it in her mouth. The Mom was reminded of her childhood days when her Dad would so the same for her. When she could eat dosas to her heart content. These days things had changed a little.

While making dosas, the entire kitchen would be filled the smell of burning oil. Even with the exhaust fan switched on, the smoke remained for sometime. While making the first few dosas, the mother’s mouth would water, but with the Dad and daughter eagerly waiting to taste them, she would want to serve them first. By the time they had finished eating, with the smell of smoke around, the mother would lose her appetite and sometimes would have a feeling of nausea. She would not make any dosas for herself. Instead, she would eat a little curd rice. She would be alone at the table as the Dad and daughter, with their tummies full, would be lying on the divan in the hall and watching some cartoon programs.

That day, also the same thing happened. She was having her curd rice with pickle when the Dad came to the dining hall to drink some water. He sat beside her and asked, “The dosas are simply delicious. You are a great cook!” She smiled back at him and continued to eat. “Why did n’t you eat some?” asked Dad. “Of course, I ate,” she lied, as always, “I had two dosas and now I am having this curd rice so that I don’t feel very thirsty.” Dad gazed at her for sometime and then patted her back and went back to the TV room.

Two months later:
(To be continued soon.. I know, you people hate to see this line at the end of almost every post of mine. I promise to end this in the next two days :-D)

Getting Married Part-IV

(Continuation of "Getting Married Part-III")
I walk and walk and walk, cover miles together. I remember those days when we could not even bear a separation of a day. We would spend our summer vacations together, half of the time at her grandparents place and the other half at mine.
Where have those days gone?

With tears streaming down my face, I wander aimlessly. I feel a surge of energy… The energy caused by the anger in me… Energy so enormous, that I am scared that it may be devastating. I have exhaust this energy before it makes me lose my temper, before it makes me shout and before it makes me lose control of myself.

I look at my surroundings. I realize that I’m just a block away from home. I walk towards home. Instead of going inside, I pull out the gardening tools from the garage and begin to pull out weeds. I continue with my work paying no heed to the scorching sun and the sultry weather. By the time my temper cools down, our backyard is free from weeds.

****

It’s been two days since I have heard from Radhika. I was too angry to meet her. I did not want to shout at her and upset her. But now, I have some good news to share and the first person who comes to my mind is, my closest friend, Radhika. I pick up the phone and dial her number.
“Hi Sweetie!” she coos into the receiver, “You will live for thousand years. I was just thinking of talking to you.”
“You know what?” I say excitedly.
“What?” she asks with enthusiasm.
“I can’t tell it over phone. Shall we go to the pantry for coffee?”
“Would have loved to!” she sighs, “but I am not in the office, dear.”
“Where are you?”
“I am in Visakhapatnam. Thought of telling you…”
The rest of the conversation goes over my head. Why has she become like this? How much time will it take for her to tell me that she’s going out of station? Things like these have never happened before. Who is responsible for all this? Siddhu… That stupid! That fool! Who is he to separate us, the best of friends? I am very angry with him. I feel like hitting him, banging his head onto the wall and say, “She is MY friend. We have known each other since childhood. You can’t separate us like this.” Instead I ask her to convey my “Hi!” to him. Life is full of irony and sarcasm!

****

During Radhika’s absence, I have been getting closer to another colleague of mine. Her name is Bhavana. She sits right next to me in office. She’s a very shy and reserved girl. She had always wanted to be friends with me, but Radhika hated her. So, even I did not pay much attention to her but now she’s the only friend I have. For the first time in my life, I am doing things without telling Radhika. Bhavana and I spend a lot of time together, having a lot of fun.

One day when I enter our floor in the office, I am welcomed by the sound of laughter. A huge group of people was sitting at Bhavana’s desk. While I am walking past them to my cubicle, Bhavana stops me to introduce me to them.
“We did our BCA together,” she says, “Tomorrow is the wedding of Sanjay, another classmate of ours. We are discussing on what to buy for him.”
“Oh! May be you could get him a ring,” I suggest.
“He already has one and will get one more soon,” replies one guy with a twinkling in his eye.
“Then may be we could buy…”
He interrupts me and continues, “He has the ‘engagement ring’ now and he will get ‘suffer-ring’ tomorrow.”

Everyone burst into laughter. The conversation flows around the same topic. These comments trigger a stream of thoughts into my mind. I start feeling uncomfortable because of them.
“Excuse me!” I say, “I need to begin my work before my boss sees me idling.”
“Hey! Sit with us for sometime,” begs Bhavana, “Our manager has not come to the office yet.”
“But I still have a lot of pending tasks,” I lie and before they can persuade me further, I rush into my cubicle. But I can still hear bits of their conversation.

“Poor thing! He will lose his freedom tomorrow.”
“Another bakra in our group!”
“I have just sent him a mail asking him to enjoy his last day!”
“From now on he has to go home early to report to his life-time boss!”

Laughter and laughter! All this makes me feel so sick from inside.
(The story seems to be endless! Thanks for your patience! It will be continued in "Getting Married Part-V")

Getting Married Part-III

(Continuation of "Getting Married Part-II")
How could I forget that! She should have been happily married to Bhaskar if it were not for…

If Bhaskar’s mother fell ill after their engagement, was that Shilpi’s mistake? If his brother met with an accident, should she be blamed for it? Well, that’s what happened and ultimately the engagement was broken.

Amma’s words brought me back to the present. She was saying something about prayers and temples.
“I was not listening to you,” I admit to Amma, “What were you talking about?”
“I was telling that we all will pray to God everyday,” said Amma, “that nothing unpleasant should happen to the groom’s family and that Radhika’s wedding should happen uneventfully.”
“Yes, ma, I will. Shall we start from today?”
“Okay then. Let’s go to the temple this evening, once you return from office.”
She needs all our best wishes, our prayers and blessings. In fact, every bride-to-be needs all these, to protect her from the harshness of the principles of the society.
Why is life so partial!



“What’s wrong with you again?” asks Amma, seeing me toss my food around the plate.
“I can’t understand this girl at all.” I say.
“Which girl?”
“Don’t pretend to be ignorant,” I shout, “you very well know whom I’m referring to.”
“What happened between you and Radhika again?” she asks.
I try my best to control my fury. How can someone’s priority’s change so abruptly, so selfishly! How can someone behave so rudely!

I put my head on Amma’s lap and cry to my heart’s content. She patiently listens to my tale of woes.

“Everybody who knows Radhika knows that she’s a huge huge fan of Abhishek Bachchan. Her room is full of her posters. She never misses watching any of his movies.”
“Yes,” Amma agrees, “Now don’t tell me that you have fallen in love with Abhishek Bachchan.”
In spite of myself, I laughed at her silly joke.
“I got her first-day, first-show tickets for the movie ‘Guru’,” I continue, “as a surprise gift for her birthday and she refused to accompany me.”
“But why?” Amma asks in a surprise.
“She said she was meeting her Siddhu in the morning and will spend the entire day with him.”
“That’s so obvious.”
“What’s so obvious? Ditching a childhood friend for a two-month old fiancé?”
I rush out of the house unable to bear the reality. Will I also behave in the same manner, if I were engaged? Will I forget the whole world? Will my whole world be him and only him?

I walk and walk and walk, cover miles together and tire myself. I remember those days when we could not even bear a separation of a day. We would spend our summer vacations together, half of the time at her grandparents place and the other half at mine.
Where have those days gone?

(Sorry for this lengthy narrative.... It will be continued in "Getting Married Part-IV")

Getting Married, Part-II

(Continuation of the post "Getting Married")

“Are you still angry with me?” asks Radhika.
“Of course not,” I reply and add, “What you did, was absolutely right?”
“Where is Siddharth working?”
“In Visakhapatnam.”
“But our company does not have a branch there.”
Radhika nods and is already lost in thought.

Why does the girl always have to be the sufferer? She is always made to adjust. Will the guy resign his job and look out for a new one in the city where the bride is working? Except in very rare cases, it is a big NO-NO.

“Radhika, in a way it is much better than going to the US,” I say, trying to cheer her up.
“Yes,” she agrees, “At least I will not be among foreigners and in a strange culture. In places like the US, I will have to do all the household work myself.”
“You will have to call and ask Auntie what has to be done during festivals…”
“And I don’t even know how to make Payasam or vadas.”
“There will be no mother-in-law with you, to teach our special delicacies to you.”
“Forget all that, most important of all, I will never be able stay that far from Mummy-Papa.”

Radhika seems relieved.
“Visakhapatnam is just a 18 hr journey from home,” I say.
“Hmm… Whenever I feel homesick, I will come and spend a week with you all and return happy.”

Home. What will be home for her? Her Husband’s place or her parents’ place?


“How is Radhika?” asks Amma, “She hardly visit us these days.”
“She must be fine,” I answer with a frown.
“Must be?” emphasizes Amma, “Have you both fought?”
“Nothing like that. She is always busy with her Siddhu.”
“Siddhu? You mean her fiancé?”
I nod.
“Don’t feel bad, dear!” says Amma trying to console me.
I feel bad, very bad for losing a nice friend like her. These days she hardly talks to me. Even in her busy schedule she can find time for her Siddhu, but none for me. Why should I not feel bad?

“When is the wedding?” asks Amma.
“In six months’ time,” I reply.
“Six months is too long a period,” ponders Amma.
“I don’t think so. It will help them understand each other better,” I retort back. I am used to supporting Radhika even when she’s wrong. I am very possessive and protective about her.

“I was not saying from that perspective.”
“Then?”
“You know what happened to Shilpi.”

How could I forget that! She should have been happily married to Bhaskar if it were not for…

(to be continued in "Getting Married, Part-III)

Getting married!

The cell phone beeped and there was an SMS. An SMS from one of my closest degree friends. It just had three words: "I got engaged." This aroused a mixture of emotions in me. Though we both parted right after our BSc., we were in touch through phone and e-mail. She would make it a point to call me every now and then. And it was through her special interest that we met at least twice a year. I hope she feels that even I have reciprocated her affection and love.

With most of my childhood friends, college friends, PG friends and colleagues getting married, a thought occurred to me. These friends have inspired me to write this story. All the characters in this narration are fictitious but some of the incidents have been influenced by the real-life experiences.



“I got engaged.”

These are the only three words in the SMS. I cannot believe my eyes. My best friend, Radhika, has got engaged and I don’t even have a clue about it. Bad! Very Bad! I give her a call immediately. But the line is busy.

An hour later, I try her number; it is still busy. I send her an SMS, asking her to call me at once. Another hour has gone by and I am yet to receive a call from her. I get irritated. I rush to get down two floors to find her.

Radhika and I have been friends since childhood. We have been residing in the same lane, studied at the same school, completed our graduation together and by sheer luck got placed in the same company.

She is busy listening to songs.
“Hey! Why didn’t you call me back?” I ask her in anger, “What’s wrong with your mobile?”

She turns around and puts a finger on her lips gesturing me to be calm. My eyes fall on the mobile on her lap. She is not listening to songs; those are the earphones of her mobile. I try grabbing the cell while she tries her best to pull it away from me. She mumbles something into the mouthpiece and ends her call.

“Why did you do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Snatched my cell?”
“I have been trying to reach you for the past two hours.”
“Oh! I am sorry,” she says and adds sheepishly, “I was talking to Siddhu.”
I try to place the name.
“Siddhu?”
“Siddharth, my fiancé.”

The word ‘fiancé’ reminds me of the real reason why I wanted to meet her.

“You get engaged,” I say and add, “and your best friend does not even get to know about it.”
“I am so sorry, dear,” she replies, “Let me explain.”


I am on my bed trying to grasp what Radhika has told me. I remember the first time when Radhika’s parents found a match for her. What was his name? Vinay. We all had a look at his photos, chatted with him through Yahoo and Gtalk and spoke with him over phone. During those days, Radhika was the sole target of our discussion. We would tease her day and night. Though initially reluctant for marriage, after getting acquainted with Vinay, she accepted the reality that she had to get married some day.

On the day of the engagement, everyone was very excited. We had invited all our close relatives and friends. Radhika had a blushing glow on her face. She looked gorgeous in her pink sari. Just before the function, Radhika’s parents were in a very serious talk with Vinay’s parents. We saw the unpleasant side of them. They were finding fault with each and everything. No one was able to understand what was in their minds. All of a sudden, Vinay intervened and declared that he did not want to marry Radhika. He said that he was going to the US for an onsite assignment and would be away from home for at least 3 years. We insisted that the engagement be done and then we would have the wedding after he returned. But he refused. Everyone was heart-broken.

I vividly remember the way Radhika had reacted to the situation. Though her life was shattered, she never lost her calm. She continued with her day-to-day activities. But the people around her never forgot the incident. She was always reminded of her broken-engagement in their pitiful and sympathetic looks.

After a couple of months, we got a wedding card from one of our common friends and colleague, Priya. We were shocked to know that the bridegroom was the same Vinay. We realized that Priya got to know of Vinay through Radhika. While Radhika and Vinay were courting, Priya started sending mails and messages to him. They started liking each other. And before Vinay could realize what was going on, he was already deeply in love with her. But his parents had fixed his wedding with Radhika. He eventually convinced his parents and they agreed as she was from a richer family. But why did they play all that drama? They could have told everything frankly. Yes, it would hurt, but at least it would have been better than the hypocrisy. Why did Vinay hide the truth from Radhika and continued to fake love?

Amidst all these thoughts, I drift into asleep.

(Continued in "Getting Married, Part-II")

A date?

I looked around me. In the dim lights, I could see only silhouettes. Why was I imagining couples glued to each other or holding hands? I looked at him, sitting beside me. How were we different from them?


It was his idea to go for a movie. He had been watching this movie every week. This was probably his 4th or 5th time. Last time we came here, it was already late for the morning show. So, we had to return disappointed. But this week, we had made it just in time.

Once we got the tickets, we stood outside the entrance of the theatre. I observed that all the people around us where college students, who had probably bunked college and come for the movie. We got in and took the stairs to the balcony section. When we waited to get inside the cinema hall, I could not help myself looking out for my friends. What if one of our colleague or college mate saw us? What would we say? Well, I had never hidden anything from my family, but none of my friends knew about him. We would probably cook up some story by saying that two of our other friends were on their way to join us for the movie.

When we entered the cinema hall, we were ushered to the very first row in the balcony. To our surprise we had been allocated sofa seats, mainly intended for couples. I looked at him. He understood me.
"I can shift to another seat," he said, "once the movie starts."

Would I feel in the same manner if I had come with any of my other friends(boys)? I would have nicely sat next to him. Then why did I feel hesitant to sit beside this person? We knew each other better than anyone else in the whole world, then why was I feeling awkward?

We sat beside each other in a very uncomfortable manner. I put my handbag between us to give us some more distance and to avoid touching.


The sudden start of the movie brought me back to the present. While the titles were shown I looked around me. To my left, there were two aunties sitting in the sofa adjacent to ours. I turned to my right. I could see his profile. He pretended to be engrossed in the movie. He sat cross-legged with his elbow perched on the arm-rest and his hand supporting the face.

Did I do the right thing by coming to this movie with him? He had commented that he liked watching movies alone and this particular movie was close to his heart. He simply adored the heroine. Would I be able to tolerate him ogling at her for three full hours?

As an answer to my unsaid question, he replied, "Don't look at me like that. I am feeling conscious of myself looking at her". He was pointing to his 'Darling' on screen. I sighed.

Soon I got so engrossed in the narrative that I forgot every one's presence, including the one with whom I had come for the movie. Some of the scenes reminded me of my childhood, the days spent with my grandparents etc. It was an emotional movie and it was quite an attempt from my side, to control my tears. At the corner of my eye, I could see him crying too.

By the time it was interval, both of us were was sniffing and trying our level best to hide our tears and behave normally.
"How's the movie?" he asked
"Great!"
"See, didn't I tell you so?"
"Yes, you did," I agreed.
"How's she in the movie? She acted well, right?"
I had to reluctantly accept the fact. Then he proceeded to explain the scenes that he liked the most, the dresses in which his 'Darling' looked awesome etc. etc.

After some moments, seeing the expression on my face, he burst out laughing.
"Why are you laughing like that?" I asked.
"If you see your face in the mirror now," he chuckled,"even you will laugh."
"What's wrong with my face?" I asked innocently, "Is there something stuck to my nose?"
"No, my stupid little brat, " he cooed, lowering his tone, "There is no need to be jealous of that heroine. She is after all a crush, but, you..."
"But I?" I asked excitedly.

Before he could reply, his mobile rang and the conversation ended abruptly.

I suddenly became aware of someone staring at me. I turned to my left to see the two aunties appraising us. They must be thinking that we were also love-birds like the others in the cinema hall. It was so embarrassing. As soon as his call ended, I told him about this.
"Shall I sit in the next row?" he offered.
Before I could answer, he continued, "If I go, everyone will think we have had a fight." There was a twinkle in his eye.
"Or worse," I added giggling, "they may feel that you misbehaved with me. That is why, I drove you away!" We both burst into laughter. All the awkwardness melted away. We sat together with ease through the rest of the movie.


It was a lot more fun to watch the movie while he commented on the scenes. Before we knew it, the curtains fell. We reluctantly left the cinema hall.

It was time for our office; hence we parted ways at the gate of the cinema theatre. He walked towards the bus stop to take a bus while I waited for an auto.

I turned back to see him leave. His left hand rotating the umbrella and the other hand running a hand through his hair. Wish I could see his face for another time before I left! As if he had heard me, he turned around to meet my gaze. I could see the longing in face. I could read his eyes; they said he too wanted to spend some more time with me.

Meanwhile an auto stopped and involuntarily I got into it. He frowned and looked so helpless.

"Bhaiyya," I told the auto driver, "Paradise hotel, but we have to pick up that person first."
As my beloved got into the auto, I felt like giving him a tight bear-hug, instead I held his hands in mine.
"Thanks, dear!" he said.
"What for?"
"I took a day's leave just to spend time with you. I wondering how I would spend the rest of the day without you." I did not even know that he took an off from office. So sweet of him!

"Work will always be there," I said, "But moments like this will never return. We will have our lunch together and then go to the Book Fair held at Basheer Bagh. What say?"
"This will be one of the best days of mine."
I was too overjoyed to talk. All I could do was to nod enthusiastically.

The Orphaned Gift

The sound of the phone ringing pierced in to the calm of the office. She had yet again forgotten to put her mobile in silent mode. She cursed herself and flipped the flap of the mobile. The call was from her special friend. She never knew what he was to her. A friend? A colleague? A boyfriend? A lover? Well, she never understood her relation with him and didn’t bother herself to find out. He was her special friend. That was what she wanted him to be!

She greeted him with a “Hi!”
“Hi Sweetheart!” he replied. The mere mention of ‘Sweetheart’ made her heart skip a beat. How could she stay away from him for a week! Unfortunately she wouldn’t even be able to call him up during her stay at her auntie’s place.

“Hello? Are you still alive?” he asked. She laughed.
“Yes,” she answered, “I will be out of town for a week.”
“Why?”
“Well, I am visiting my aunts.”
“Oh!”
“What ‘Oh!’? You know that I hate that word.”
“Cool down dear,” he cooed, “I was just wondering how can this be possible.”
“How can ‘what’ be possible?”
“Well, we both will be out of the city during the same time.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Arey buddhu! I am also leaving tonight and will be back only after a week.”
“Oh!”
“Now who is saying ‘Oh!’?”
“Sorry!”
“I thought you would say: ‘Sorry’,” he grinned, “What do you want me to get for you?”
“Nothing!”
“Shall I get a book for you?”
“No. Don’t waste money on books, dear. I already have memberships in two libraries. Moreover, I can’t maintain books and I can’t bear to see them rotting in the shelves or the attics.”
“Okay, okay. I was not asking for a lecture!”
“Now you tell me. What do you want me to get for you?”

She loved to chat with him over the phone. She loved his voice and his laughter. She always wondered how they managed to talk for hours together, though both of them knew each other’s responses.



During her journey, she sat gazing at the changing landscapes through the train’s windows. But her mind was elsewhere. She was reliving the moments with him. How could she ever live without him? But deep inside her, she knew that separation was certain to happen sometime or the other in future. She thought about what he had asked her to get for him. If it had been someone else, she wouldn’t have bought such a thing. She did not believe in purchasing gifts but this time it was different. She was buying it for her special friend. It was the first time he had asked something. Every time she had asked, “what do you want me to get for you?”; he would reply, “I hope you never return” or “just stay there and don’t come back.” These responses would hurt her feelings a lot, but she would shrug them off with a brave heart.



“Do you want this bag?” asked auntie.
She and her auntie were out shopping. They were passing by a lane full of small makeshift shops. All the wares were displayed on bandis that were pushed around or in baskets that were carried around. There was a lot of hustle and bustle with people bargaining more and buying less!

She and her auntie walked around the shops, scanning all the articles and pausing once in a while to check out an item that caught their interest. She did not like buying girlie things like rubber bands, clips, bindis etc. yet did not want to disappoint her auntie’s offers of buying hr this thing or that.

While her auntie was bargaining over the cost of a cushion cover, she was looking at the adjacent stalls. All of a sudden, something caught her attention. She could not believe her eyes. The article that her lover had asked for was right in front of her eyes. He had said that it was rare and very difficult to get. Then how could be in a bandi like this? The shopkeeper, sensing her interest in the item removed it from display, dusted it and placed it in her hands. She flipped it over. Was she dreaming?

Meanwhile, her auntie came and stood beside her. “I didn’t buy the cushion cover,” she said, “he was not willing to reduce its price and moreover…” she stopped her sentence mid-way and looked at her niece. “What happened Kanna?” she asked, “Do you buy this?” She tried to talk but could not find her voice. All that she could do was to nod her head vigorously. But her auntie disapproved of the item. “You should not buy such things on streets. I will take you to a big shop near our house.” But she was not at all listening to her auntie. She asked for the price.
“110 rupees,” replied the shopkeeper.
“Is there any discount?”
“Well, we hardly get any profit in selling these, but I can give it to you for 90.”
“I will give 75,” she said. She had learnt some of the art of bargaining from her auntie. “80. Nothing less,” retorted the shopkeeper, putting the article in a cover and thrusting it in her hands. She couldn’t get it anywhere else. Moreover, there was no time left for shopping. She was leaving on the same day. She paid the shopkeeper and put the poly-bag in her shoulder bag. Her auntie was startled. Her niece never spent money on unnecessary things. She wouldn’t buy things that were used only once and later were of no use.
“You usually don’t buy these,” her auntie remarked.
“Yes, but this is not for me but for a friend.”
“But still, one can always borrow it from someone. Why buy?”
“Absolutely right! But he is different. He likes not just to borrow but to own them.”



She was on her way back home. There was a naughty low on her face. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of the gift she had bought for him. How will she wrap it? If she wrapped it directly, he would make it out by its shape. She decided to put it in a cylindrical box and wrap it so that he would not be able to guess it until he saw it for himself. There was a problem of giving it to him. Should she call him to the office canteen and give it? Or should she place it at his desk? No, if she put it at his desk, anybody might open it; or worse, they might be wondering why she out it at his desk, without giving it to him directly. Should she write some note and put in inside? No, in that case, he will know that the gift is from her. She wanted it to be a surprise for him. Should she post it? She didn’t know his postal address. Could she make use of the internal courier service in the office? Then the gift will be delivered to his desk but how would she get an acknowledgement without specifying her name (as sender)? She might tell another colleague of hers to courier it to him. But she did not want another soul except him and her to know about the gift. Finally, she decided that she would put it in her desk and give the desk keys to him during the weekend. Now that all the things related to the gift were sorted out, she could sleep in peace!



It was her first day (after the vacation) to her office. All the while she worked, she sang and hummed. Every once in a while, she would open her desk drawer and look at the gift. All her friends observed the mysterious smile on her face and asked her if she had found a boyfriend at her auntie’s place. A smile was all that they got in reply!

“Hello!”
“Yes?”
“Busy?”
“A little. What is it?”
“Well, how was your trip?”
“Great! And yours?”
Instead of replying, she asked, “What did you get for me?”
“I came back. Don’t you think that’s a great gift for you?”
“Oh!”
He went on and on about his office work and about the tasks that were assigned to him. When she could not tolerate any longer, she interrupted him, “Will you not ask me what I have got for you?”
“What did you get for me?” he asked.
“Try guessing,” she teased.
“You returned. Is that the gift?”
“No.”
“Then you tell me. What is it?”
“Guess dear.”
“I can’t. Nothing comes to my mind.”
“Okay! Fine! Try thrice. If you still don’t get it, then I will tell you.” While he was still wondering, she added, “For your information, I haven’t been to the beach. So, it can be neither shells nor sand!” Before she could finish, he said hurriedly, “I think I have got a call from the onsite coordinator. Will talk to you later.” Then the line went dead.



“What will you have?” he asked.
“Curd rice,” she replied.
“Thought so!”
They were at a hotel having their lunch. She was biting her nails and was muttering to herself.
“Why are you looking so disappointed?” he enquired.
“I should have got your gift. How could I forget! I am a big fool!”
“Sometimes you do say the truth!” he teased but had to shield his face from her punch.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, “The gift is not going to run away. I can take it anytime.”

They chatted while they ate. Most of the time, books were the sole topic of their conversation. Both of them were avid readers. Reading was as important to them as eating or sleeping. They would take out at least half an hour in their daily routine and dedicate it for reading.

“Do you know, I bought a lot of books last week?” he said eagerly.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I have also bought the book of Agatha Christie: ‘One, two, buckle my shoe’” I never thought I would get it. It is probably out of print and…”
She tried hard to concentrate on his words but could not. How could he do this to her/ why did this happen? Whose fault was it? Was it a misunderstanding? She struggled to retain her calm.
“Why are you so silent?” he inquired with a concern in his face. She ignored the question and asked him, “I think you presented a book to your nephew for his birthday?”
“Yes. ‘Aesop’s fables’. Why do you ask?” he was wondering why she was so interested in something that happened two months back.
“Well, if he had already read it, what would you have done?”
“No, I asked him when I gave him the gift. He said that he hadn’t read the stories.”
“Suppose, he had already read, then?’ she insisted.
“Then,” he said after a pause, “I would have forced him to read it again!”
There was a twinkle in his eye. He did not notice the tears that were waiting to burst out of her eyes. She stifles a sob and asked him, “What if he already had the book?”
He was oblivious to her state of mind. He thought for a while before responding. Finally his answer was: “I would ask my nephew to preserve it and use it as an antique piece after 20 years!”


She sighed. She did not know what to do. All her dreams were shattered. Now what would she do with the book that she bought for him. She remembered how she had forced herself not to read the book in the train. She had told herself that he had to be the first one to read the book. She had hid it from her auntie lest she should read it. She did not even allow her family members to glance through the pages. It belonged to him and only he had the privilege of reading it first.

Later when she went to his house, she saw his copy of the book lying innocently on the shelf. When he caught her staring at it, he offered, “Take this book and read it. It is a very good one. You will like it.” She felt like snatching it out of his hands and throwing it onto the floor. Instead, she ran a finger on its cover. She refused to read it. “Oh! You must be reading something else. A Wilbur Smith?” “No,” she replied. How could she read anything? Whichever book she saw, reminded her of this book that she had so lovingly bought for him. The moon and stars on the cover page would flash in front of her. She would not be able to enjoy reading. She sighed deeply.



She was getting ready to go out with her friends, when he called her. Her hands were full of hairpins. She managed to balance her mobile between her neck and shoulder. There was no ‘Hi’, no ‘Hello’. He immediately started complaining.
“You haven’t given me my gift yet.”
“You will not get it,” she said firmly.
“Why? Don’t I deserve it anymore?” he frowned.
“The gift is not worthy of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t need it anymore.”
“Why not dear?”

She did not reply. A long silence followed. He was the one to talk first.
“Do I already have it?” he inquired.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Now, stop beating around the bush. What is the gift? Tell me.”
“You don’t need it, dear.”
“But still it was bought for me.”
“So?”
“So, I have a right over it.”
“In that case, it is in my desk drawer. You can see it but I know, you will not take it.”
“Is it a book?”

She kept quiet. She could not answer. When she couldn’t bear the silence, she said, “I can’t say. You find out.” He got angry and cut the call.


What would she do with the book? She didn’t want to read it. Should she give it to their office library? Then, every time she went to the library, it would catch her eye. Should she throw it away? No. Should she keep it? But it would remind her of this incident whenever she saw it.

The End :-)

Home..Sweet Home.

I am in front of the place that used to be my home but now it’s not my home any more. I still keep my head down as though I have done some shameful act. “I cannot face this place, I cannot get into this house,” I tell myself. In spite of it, I can’t help opening my eyes. I half-expect my grandpa’s head peeping out of the window. “Don’t be a fool!” I tell myself, “He is not with us anymore. He has gone so far that he no one can get him back.” I open the creaky gate and get into the compound. I look around. There are dry leaves and weeds in the garden that once used to be full of flowers. I feel like taking a broomstick and cleaning the place. But no… it’s not my home anymore!

While coming back from office, there are days when my feet take me directly to this home of mine. When I see the locked gate, I realize that I have come to the wrong place, that this is not my home anymore and that I have to go to the house that is supposed to be my home. I have to get used calling the house my new home. And this… this is not my home anymore! There is a lump in my throat.

“What are you waiting for? Get in”, says my uncle. I reluctantly get into the house. I am shocked to see cobwebs and spider webs everywhere. I shoo away the mosquitoes that are eager to suck my blood. Everything is covered with a thick layer of dirt and dust. “Is this the same place where I grew up?” I ask myself. With none around to care take, the whole place has got ruined. I can hear my heartbeat echoing through the empty rooms. Or may be its all my imagination… The house seemed to be moaning and wailing to me. It seems to be pleading, “Don’t leave me and go!” “I can’t stay!” I reply loudly. I am scared of hearing my own voice. “I don’t have a sore throat then why is my voice so croaky?” I ask myself.

I open the cupboard to see if there is anything to be taken to my new home. I see couple of old tattered letters all belonging to my grandpa. I give it to my uncle. He says, “What will I do with these? Throw them in the trash.” I can see “Dear Nagan” in my grandpa father’s handwriting. Grandpa liked his father call him by that name. A lot of memories flood my mind and continue to stare at the letter.

“Be quick! There isn’t much time,” says my uncle. Yes there isn’t much time before this entire house will get pulled down. But why? Why should this house be demolished? Because uncle does not have enough place for his family. Why not build another floor on top of this? No! He thinks that the vaasthu of this house is not good. No one knows how to convince him.

I keep the letters on the floor and continue to check the cupboard for my things. I find Grandpa’s medicines at the bottom of the rack. These were the medicines that soothe his pain and gave him relief from the fatal cancer that he suffered from. “You are of no use now!” I tell the tablet strip, “grandpa doesn’t need you anymore.”

Uncle is busy dismantling our grandpa’s cot. I wonder if the house will also be dismantled in the same way… first the fittings and fixtures…then the doors and the windows… then the probably with a couple of blows from the bulldozer, the entire thing will come down. I shudder at the thought. Grandpa, if you had been alive now, none of this would have happened.

“Shall I take this with me?” I ask my uncle pointing to Grandpa’s shaving kit. It had the old-fashioned razor, two blades and the brush.
“What will you do with it?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. But it’s thatha’s. How can I leave it here?”
“Think logically,” says uncle impatiently, “After your grandpa’s death, till now, you did not see this. That means you don’t need this. Why do you want to accumulate trash?”
“Trash? How can you call this trash?” I said, trying hard to control my temper.

Everything cannot be seen and understood in a logical manner. There are things that do not involve any logic or reason. We cannot program everything and feed it to the system and say so-and-so follows this logic and can be solved in this manner. If everything were analyzed and understood in this manner then there is no difference between a human being and a machine. Seeing my temper raise, my uncle leaves the house and goes to meet our neighbor. Once he is out of my sight and I feel much better.

Still clutching to the shaving kit, as if it were my lifesaver, I walk around the house, feeling the walls, doors and windows. I realize that there is so much of me that is attached to this house that I cannot take everything away from it… not now… not ever. I hug the walls and lovingly run my fingers through the window sill. There are so many memories, some sweet, some sour, associated with this house. I almost burst into tears but control myself. Each and every nook and corner of this house is related to some memory. “How can I ever leave you and go?” I tell the house, “But I have to.”

I get out of the house into the compound. My eyes fall on the front steps. Those were the steps were I used to sit and read my favorite novels. That was where I would study during the nights for my exams. That was where I used to sit and enjoy the sunsets, the rain, the twilight… I look around the place, which was supposed to be the garden. I remember the days when I would help grandpa pluck the weeds and tend the plants. With the gardener gone, the garden was also withering. I look back at the house. It seemed like a dying creature to me… a creature that did so much good to us… it sheltered during the hot sunny days, during the chill winter and through the rough monsoons… it was right there before I came into this world… but now it will be brutally murdered and battered to death! I sigh. What can I do? I can do nothing except wait and watch! I feel so helpless.

Oh God! Let this be a dream… a nightmare… let me get up and feel that the entire thing is a dream… Grandpa, please wake me up and take me into your arms, as you would do when I was upset… I used to feel so secure and happy when you were with us...now we have been separated by life and death… I shirk away those thoughts and tell myself again and again that this is reality… we cannot change it… we have to adjust to it. I fight back my tears yet again.

I climb up the stairs and get onto the terrace. This is the place where I played bow and arrow with my grandpa, the same place where I used to pluck jasmine flowers along with my grandma. Now the jasmine creeper is not there. Probably it preferred to die rather than to be killed by someone else. I remember the nights when I used to come up to enjoy the moonlight… the days when I would gaze at the stars… I see the tall buildings around the house, penetrating and reducing the visibility of the horizon. This place will probably be one amongst them in a year or two. I just hope that I will not be in Hyderabad to see it.

While getting down the stairs, the rusted hand-pump catches my eyes. There were days in summer when it was the only source of water to us. When we were in need of it, it was there to help us… but now I hear the hand-pump cry, “Please don’t go!” but i turn a deaf ear to it.

It’s time to leave. I lock the gate and get into the car. When we are about to turn around the corner of the street, I turn around and see the two coconut trees swaying. They seem like waving to me and wishing me goodbye!

Soon, there will be a bungalow there. Everything will change… but memories of my home will haunt me forever.