Good with hands...NOT!

I am really bad with my hands, very clumsy and not an ounce of talent to do anything with them. My handwriting is also pretty bad. I have nothing but the utmost respect for people who can work with their hands - people who paint, sculpt, play instruments with their hands and much more. While I knew that I did not possess an iota of talent in those fields, that has not stopped me from trying to make something I could be proud of if not create a masterpiece. To that end I have tried innumerable things meeting with miserable failures. But that did not deter me from trying from time to time.

I tried to take up knitting and made a pretty good looking baby blanket for my daughter, but soon realized in the midst of making a sweater for my husband, that I was not made for it. The joy of making something with my hands was soon overtaken by a feeling of boredom in repeating the same thing over and over again. Not to mention keeping track of the pattern, counting the number of knits etc. My husband's sweater never went beyond a patch about 2 inches long - a matter which to this day makes my husband's natural pout even more pronounced. My daughter discovered the remnants of the yarn and the patterns and the needles during a clean up job last month and made me promise that I'd teach her knitting. Well, promises are meant to be broken, aren't they?

Well anyways, coming back to my original topic of how bad I am with my hands. Another thing which fascinates me is pottery. I remember watching Doordarshan wherein they would once in a very long time, take a break from making us watch the cows and the fields and would actually shed light on professions other than farming. I would watch transfixed as the potters wheel turned round and round and the clay would soon morph into a work of art. I would love the way the hands would shape the finished product - a slight touch here, a gentle pull here, a small push here making a world of difference to how the pot would look in the end. I tried many a time to take some pottery classes, but somehow never panned out. I did buy a kids pottery wheel last year and enthusiastically tried to make it work, to no avail. My poor husband got us two large packets of clay which we tried very unsuccessfully to turn into something that would bear a resemblance to anything from a pot to a mug to finally a plain saucer. All we could achieve was a small structure that we claimed to be a cup, but no one was ready to believe in our make believe. Alas! with that lack of encouragement, we decided to stop all our efforts in making the next masterpiece. Needless to say, my husband still pouts whenever the offending clay comes into picture. My advise to him, should've gotten one packet yaar!

Over the years, time and again I have tried to make something with my hands that I could be proud of. When I was a kid, I had tried to embroider - while the finished product was not a complete disaster, I must've gotten the threads all messed up at least a couple of hundred times. I knew at the end of it that I would never embroider again. Even when I try to sew to fix a tear sometimes, my husband noticing my clumsiness and basic untidiness in sewing cannot stop himself from offering his services. Well I gotta hand it to him, he does a better job than I do.

A brilliant idea stuck me a few years ago after we moved into our new house. Why not try my hand at gardening? Our house had a huge basement that I used to start a small nursery. Was extremely happy when the seeds sprouted and the saplings raised their tiny leaves. I looked after them religiously, watering them, making sure they had enough light etc etc. Finally it was time to plant them outside, which I did with quite a bit of enthusiasm when I thought that Spring had finally landed in Chicagoland. Boy, was I naive then. I should've realized that Spring in Chicago might officially start in March, but snow and frost never leaves till the end of April and sometimes well into May. Needless to say, all my poor saplings died one night when the temperatures fell below freezing point. From the next year, I started to get my plants from a nursery near my work. I can still hear my husband saying - "No nursery this year?", more with relief than anything else!


Another thing that never fails to amaze me is the art of origami. I can never cease watching with wonder while a plain piece of paper transforms into something so striking. As for me and origami, well when we were young kids, my brothers would make these paper rockets that would whoosh into the space and land with aplomb. No matter how hard I tried, I could never seem to make anything that would first look like it was rocket and even if there was a slight resemblance, could stay in the air for more than a milli second before crashing into an unsightly heap. So when I found a book on making paper airplanes, I wasn't so sure it could be of any use to me. But my kids wanted me to take it, so I bought it. On the weekend we started making models from the designs and instructions in the book. Quite confusing I must add with Mountain folds, Airplane folds, Valley folds, Rabbit ear folds and what not. I gave up in a few minutes and implored my husband to make one. He did make the basic one, but I turned up my nose at him, saying I would make a better one. He just laughed, don't know why!I would show him!

Well anyways, this weekend after my son shed a few tears asking me to make something out of the book, I started out from the first page and make a pretty decent basic one. "This is too simple" I heard my son say. It was back to the book again. I decided I was going to try all the models. Well all I can say about my efforts has already been written. Basically, I sucked pretty bad at it. Also my son is not at the age where I can bluff my way out. He is able to make such comments as - This doesn't look like the one in the book - This doesn't fly at all - Seriously, Mom? blah blah. Then voila on page 32 were instructions for making the 'Greatest YZ'(whatever that means) model paper plane. I folded and read, read and folded, prayed a little bit, scratched my head a bit more, looked to see if my son had lost interest and at the end of it all, finally made something that resembled the model shown. My son was not very impressed -let's see if it works - he said with sarcasm dripping and gave it a twirl. It flew majestically up before landing even more majestically. He let a whoop of delight. I was still in shock. He picked it up again and it made a sharp turn before landing. He got even more excited. Me? I was on Cloud 9. I showed my husband my creation when he came home. He had to reluctantly agree that it was good. AlI I could say to him was - "Can you make anything close to that...can you..can you?" I showed him, didn't I?

No surprises (A short story)

I glanced up at the clock. 7.58pm. Any minute now, I would hear my mom call out to me saying that dinner was ready. It had happened for as long back as I could remember and it still happened to this day. Mom always managed to get dinner ready between the hours of 7.55 and 8.00pm.

“Dinner's ready” her sharp, shrill voice rang out as if on cue. No surprises here.

2 minutes later she would call out again, this time her tone taking that unmistakable sense of urgency. She would beckon me a couple of times more before I would head downstairs to the dining room trying to avoid her glare which would take exactly 12 seconds to morph into a look of extreme fondness.

“I cooked your favorite dish today, dear!” she would say. No surprises here too. Every single day she managed to cook a favorite dish of mine and even if she didn't she would term it one and I would go along with her.

“Thanks Mom. That looks yummy!” I would say something to that effect before,taking my assigned seat at the neatly laid but bursting at the seams dinner table. I could never stop wondering how she could cook so much food and more importantly, why she took so much trouble for just the both of us. She would hardly eat anything and I was not too fussy about what I ate. As long as it was edible and provided me with the nutrition to keep me away from starving to death, I was fine. It did not matter if it took hours to prepare or was served directly from the plant. I had tried to convey the same to my mother to no avail. Each night, it was a different spread – well thought of meals, starting off with a soup, followed by a salad and then the main course which would be at least 2-3 dishes and of course ending it with a delicious dessert. The conversation at the dinner table would be limited to her trying to get me to eat as much as possible and me trying to outmanouver her overtures and failing miserably in doing so.

“You should eat too, Mom!” I would implore her midway through the meal, more to distract her from trying to get one last kofta into my system rather than being concerned about her not eating anything.

“I am old my dear. I don't need the nutrition as much as you do!” .
“First of all Mom, you are not all that old. Second of all, as we grow older out bodies need more nutrition. You need to eat well to stay well!”
“I do eat well. I keep eating throughout the day.”
“Well, I have never seen you eat anything!”
“Oh, I do. I eat the left overs and also keep eating when I am cooking. I am so full by dinner time, that I don't need to eat much. Enough about me, you should really try to finish off the koftas. There's just 2 left!” My protests would always fall on deaf ears and by the time she had her way with me, I would be completely stuffed unable to move from my seat!

“You made me overeat. AGAIN!” I would sulk.
“Overeat, at your age? In our times, girls your age, would eat double of what you did!” she would say smiling victoriously.

I could never win an argument concerning food with her. Do not even know why I tried to do so each night.

“I am going out for a run, Mom” I would shout out before heading outdoors.
“Don't take too long. It's not safe for a girl to be running outside alone at such a late hour.”
“And it's safe for a guy I presume? And I wouldn't be, if you had not overfed me!”
“Firstly I did not overfeed you and secondly in our generation girls your age...”
“ ...would not be allowed to go outside by themselves, leave alone so late in the night!” I would finish her sentence and sprint out before she would have had a chance to say anything.

I imagined her shaking her head as she would lament at the girls of this generation and how they worried too much about being thin, too thin before she would make her way into the kitchen to take care of the dishes and everything else that went along with it. By the time I would return from my run, the house would be spic and span. My tub would be filled with hot water and all I would have to do would be to soak in it before heading to a freshly made bed with clean sheets and a neatly arranged room where everything would be in its place.

I would walk to my mother's room and peek in. There she would be, finally resting on the bed, sometimes reading a book, sometimes listening to music and sometimes just staring at the walls. I would talk to her for a few minutes before heading out with a good night and a peck on her forehead. As soon as I would step out of the room, the lights in her room would go off. I loved her so much.

There were no surprises in our lives and I did not want any. I was extremely happy with my life – happy and contented.

“You should really start thinking about getting married”.

This conversation would crop up at least once a month, wherein my mom would try to convince me that a woman's real life did not begin until she got married and that I was quickly passing the optimal age for getting married thereby ruining my chances of landing a prize catch. She has been trying to make me believe that for the past couple of years but miraculously I had come out of it unscathed. This had been one and perhaps the only area where I had consistently been able to get the better of my mother in an argument.

“In our generation, women would have had a couple of kids by your age.” she would lament.
“That doesn't neccessarily mean they were married, would it?” I would say trying to make the tone of the lecture a little lighter. She would simply glare at me and carry on.

“What will you do after I am dead and gone?” she would ask.
“The same you would do after I am dead and gone!”
“Don't talk like that.” she would say tearfully.
“I was just kidding mom!”
“You should never say such things jokingly...”
“Why not?”
“They could come true you know”
“Well you should follow your own advise then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you don't say things like that, I won't either Mom. Seriously Mom. I am more than happy with this life. I don't want to even take a small chance of ruining it for myself and I implore you to not to either. It's not like marriage is the be-all and end-all of all existence!”
“But it is...!”
“It's not Mom and I shall prove that to you”
“It's very difficult to lead your life by yourself”
“I agree it is Mom, but I am not alone, am I? I have you with me!”
“I won't be here forever...”
“Neither will I mom” I would say, our argument coming a full circle before she would realize that I was not going to give in. I would gain one month of peace and freedom from being tried to be bundled off with the next gentleman that crossed her path.

As they say, Man proposes and God disposes and that is exactly what happened one fine day when I met the most amazing man in the world and fell in love promptly with him, forgetting all my lofty ambitions of proving to mom that I could lead my life alone. Mom was the happiest person on the earth when she came to know about this new development in my life and got started on planning our wedding long before he proposed to me. No surprises, there too.

It broke my heart when I had to leave her to move in with him. I almost did not go through with it but had to give in when mom started to threaten to run away to the Himalayas if I did not do so. I left her reluctantly cursing myself for having set in motion the chain of events that had led to this. What else had I expected when I had allowed myself to fall in love ? It was my fault really, no one but myself to blame. None of it would have happened had I not met my husband. I looked at him as he pulled me close – Mom must be in bed now, surely. Oh! How she must be missing me. She must be tossing and turning around.

“I need to call her..” I whispered as I ran out without a backward glance.
“Hello..”
“Mom!”
“YOU?”
“I love you mom”
“What are you doing calling me at this hour on your wedding day? Not that it is a surprise though...”
“Were you sleeping Mom?”
“No dear. I was watching a movie...”
“But you never stay up this late Mom”
“Yes, that was because I used to be so tired looking after you that I wouldn't be able to!”
“hmmph. So are you saying that it's good to have me out of the house?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Yes!”
“MOM”
“Oh please, go and join your husband before he drives you out!”
“A part of me wishes he did”
“How many times have I warned you against talking without thinking. ”
“I miss you Mom...so much”
“I miss you too my love...”
“Why does it have to be this way?”
“Because it does. Good night.” I heard her hang up before I had a chance to say anything. I looked up to see my husband looking at me I stood there looking at him sheepishly, not knowing quite what to do.

“Mamma's little girl, aren't we still?” he said extending his hand to me. I moved away, tears flowing down my cheeks, burying my face in my hands.

“I don't believe this...” he said.

I looked up to see him laughing his head off. I could not believe it that he could actually be laughing at my misery. Such a huge mistake I had made choosing to leave mom for this insensitive brute. He was treating me like an 8-year old. How unfair! I started to say something but all I could do was to join him in his laughter. And that was quite definitely a surprise and it felt good – very, very good.

“I want to go visit Mom first thing in the morning.”
“No surprise there!” he said, as we walked back, hand in hand.
*The End*

A kiddie blog...!

Though I am not a big fan of parents just writing about their kids and their accomplishments when they blog, I think a major milestone like the one hit yesterday allows me the right to do so.

My daughter turned 10 yesterday. Somehow feels like a major, major milestone to have held a child for a decade in my care. She's growing up to be a smart young lady and I can just watch in wonder as this child who at one time seemed like just an extension of me take on her own individual personality and traits. While I am thrilled at some of what she has acquired, there are quite some more which leave me scratching my head as to where she could've gotten that particular charecteristic from. As years have passed the scratching of the head part has given away to a nodding of the head action which is deemed to convey that although I don't quite like the way you are heading, "I understand that you are your own person and cannot be a mirror of me (Thank God for that!) or your father (More Thank God for that!)".

I know I am in for a ride of my life the next decade as my little girl grows up to be a not so little lady. I can already see the issues that are going to rock us, the milestones that are going to bring more than a tear to my eye, celebrations, broken hearts on either side of the fence and then some more. One of the things I have on my list that I hope comes to fruition in the next decade is that we play a doubles Tennis Tournament as partners. Have my fingers crossed!

I want to end this by writing about what my 5-year old had to say about his mother.

"When you are nice to me, I will call you my Angel Mother...When you are bad to me, I will call you my Step Mother and when you are normal with me I will call you just Mother!" Nuff said!

Happiness is.....

This blog is inspired by one of my favorite blogger's latest blog. You can read it here. Meghana's Delightful Chasing Happiness Series

When one is young, one seems to have a clear picture of what makes them happy. I try to think back to the time when I was very young, which was quite a while ago I must add and trying to determine what it was that I yearned for to make me happy. I remember that for a while it was to get better grades than the girl who always stood first in class. After that was accomplished, I wanted to run faster than any other athelete in the school I used to attend. After that, I think my sights moved on to always getting 100% in Math. When I failed miserably in my Intermediate to achieve that, I was devastated. Also, we had moved to a bigger city and as such to a larger college. I remember, I went from being a very well-known figure in my school to being almost a non-entity in college. I yearned to be a part of the in-circle – the known girls. I might have come a little close by snatching almost all the sports medals that year. I loved going to the stage back and forth to collect my prizes, feeling on top of the world when I could hear murmurs and claps around going – this too?. But one prize I could not collect was the Ms.College title and how I coveted tha!. I was sure I would be happiest if I was crowned the beauty of the college. It took just one glance towards the winner before I realized I was living in a fool's paradise. I snapped out of it and moved on to an even bigger city for my Engineering.

Uptil that time I had studied in an all girls' environment and I remember the day I went to meet the principal of the minority engineering college I had gained admission to, trying to determine if I should continue there or go back to Vizag where I was admitted into the branch of Naval Engineering. I so wanted to do that course but was convinced by almost everyone in my family that Computers was the buzzword of the future. To them, I owe a lot but I still think I would've enjoyed being a Naval Engineer more at least at that point in time. I went to the admission's office trying to change my major to Electronics since there was something about computers that did not quite attract me. I think it had to do with the fact that I perceived it as being something not exciting, not quite hands-on, something where you had to sit on your butt all day trying to make a machine understand what you wanted it to do. (Pretty challenging in hindsight!). The Secretary of Admission's was amused. He showed me a list of students who were in the Computer Batch and another list of students in other branches who had requests to go into Computers. He advised me not to go against the tide and that computers was the next best thing. I looked at the class list. My name figured 8th. I looked at who was first – MWHK...Hmm must be quite a smart guy I thought. I grudgingly went with what everyone wanted me to do. I was not quite happy but at least I got to be in a throbbing city environment where for the first time ever I figured in the majority rather being a part of the minority. Technically, I could have crushes on almost every male specimen in the class and that in itself made me extremely happy.

I struggled with Computers that year. I was forlorn. I wanted to be no part of it. I cribbed at my family for not allowing me to take up Naval Engineering in Andhra University. Forgotten were all the boys though MWHK turned out to be the handsomest guy in the college, I did not quite have time for them. For the first time in my life I was doing badly in a subject which happened to be my Major and for me happiness meant conquering that hurdle and all my energies were focused on doing just that. Slowly but surely I gained ground and went on to love working with computers. But I had to go through major unhappiness to get there. Glad I persisted though. I cannot imagine a job in any other field that allows me to work full-time from home doing everything I want to do.

Soon studies were not the only thing to focus on. I was a part of a huge circle of friends and happiness meant being in their midst. There were our shares of crushes and heart-breaks but nothing serious. I had formed very close friendships with a few girls and boys and quite enjoyed being their confidante. There would be jocular fights sometimes as to who I was closer to and valued more and I really loved the ride to cloud 9. Yes MWHK was a part of the group too and we were very, very good friends.

One of my close friends who was in love with one of my girl friend's once told me – “She gives me happiness, you give me peace. “ When I took offense saying that I did not quite like the sound of that, he said something like you cannot really be happy without peace. I am sure he was just saying that without even thinking about what he was saying – at that stage in my life I could not quite appreciate its meaning because I did not understand it well. I will revisit this later in the blog. Happiness at that time meant going to college every day and getting to sit with the group drinking chai, eating samosas, playing antakshiri and trying to get one of us to give everyone a huge treat at the ice-cream parlor down the road. Ah! Life was simple and joyful.

As the days drew to an end, sights were set on higher education, going abroad or securing a job. After that life meant getting married to the man I loved. That was the be-all and end-all. I was sure I would be happy all my life if I could get married to him. I did, only to realize that what happened till then was just a prelude to happiness. Life after marriage was a constant challenge. Being young and naïve and inexperienced, happiness at that time meant being accepted and appreciated by the in-laws and everyone else around me. My happiness seemed directly proportional to how happy people around me were with me. I worked hard to achieve that happiness before realizing (a good many years later) that you cannot quite make everyone happy all the time and if you try to then you make yourself unhappy all the time. So I stepped back a little and instead of cooking up dinners for huge parties and trying to be there for everyone who needed or did not need me, I started working on the things that made me happy. Writing, reading, working out, watching cricket, learning new stuff like playing tennis and swimming and generally having more fun.

One thing I realized that gave me utmost happiness was being alone by myself. It's not that I don't love having people around – I adore my kids, I love my husband (MWHK!) to death, I enjoy my relationships – but the joy of just being by yourself from time to time is unparalleled. I could just sit in a corner doing nothing just staring out of the window, lost in my thoughts, watching the rain or the sunshine or the noiseless fall of the snowflakes. Nothing recharges me more. I love making myself a cup of coffee, sitting by myself and drinking it all up enjoying the warmth and taste of each sip that I take. If I have a book in hand, I would want nothing more. I could spend hours like this but alas! I don't have that luxury. There are jobs to do, things to take care of, kids clamoring for attention and grown-ups needing to be looked after. But whatever small bursts of time I get for myself, I enjoy every moment of it, yearning for more. When I hear moans from some quarters worrying about being alone by themselves, I am not sure who I want to kick more, them or myself. But then I remind myself that everyone is not the same and some people just cannot be happy with their own company. I am blessed to be that way. I love being with myself, having conversations with my thoughts, pursuing the things I consider worth pursuing, honing the meager talents I possess and most importantly not having anyone to look after but myself for a change. I think that when you learn to be happy by yourself then you remain just that most of the time. To me happiness is being at that point in life right now. I think I can relate more to my friend's comment about peace being more important than happiness finally.

Life for me has come a full circle, I think. I know exactly what makes me happy and more importantly what does not. I know what things give me satisfaction, make me feel whole and I strive to achieve them. But I am sure not to give anything so much significance that if it does not come through, I don't end up feeling like I have reached the end of the world. I give people their space, I don't expect much, I don't feel the need to control even my own kids,and I don't take up offense at minor things and in turn I get time to myself – to devote to whatever I want to devote it to. As long as my mind is at peace, I am happy. I don't need millions(though I wouldn't mind) of dollars or a huge house or exotic vacations or people I love to be constantly around me to be happy. All I need is a corner of my own where I could do whatever I want to – even eat meetha(sweet) and theeka(spicy) together which drives a lot of pople around me (pointed look at MWHK) up the wall.

Writing Exercise 2 - Creative Memoir

This was a part of another creative writing exercise wherein we were supposed to write a 1000-word or less memoir with a 6-word memoir summarizing title. This is what I came up with.

Title: Rather be deemed crazy than possessed.


“MOM! I need you to answer this questionnaire for my Class Project!” My 10-year old sped away after thrusting a writing pad in my hand, not even allowing me the chance to open my mouth.

I walked into my room going over the list of questions, thinking it would not take me more than a couple of minutes to finish. Boy, was I wrong! The topic was 'Super-Natural Experiences'. It was like opening the door to a long subdued flood of childhood memories.

1.Have you ever been in a haunted house?

I don't remember how old I was...not more than 3 I guess, but I remember the house we lived in vividly. It stood atop a hill with a huge set of wide steps leading to it, propping it up even further. A huge rose bush grew next to the steps, perfectly matching the house in its grotesqueness. The path that led to it was made of a mixture of the fertile blood red soil and gravel, flanked by huge Chinar trees on either side. From outside, the scene looked as picture perfect as one on a postcard . It was only when you entered the inside of the house, that you would feel the cold chill run down your spine - something not quite right, something you could not quite place but which permeated everything inside the house - something dark and unhappy. I don't remember laughter there, I don't remember conversations – all I remember is the darkness and the brooding sadness of a presence that seemed to have sucked us all in. No, I was not going to share that, no way.

2.Do you believe in Omen's?

I was told an Omen preceded my birth - an Omen so strong that it was the talk of the whole small village we lived in. Apparently one night as my mother who was pregnant full-term with me was sleeping, she felt compelled to wake up in the middle of the night, extremely uneasy. She looked up to see the open hood of a big Cobra sitting right atop her head, resting on the sewing machine that stood at the head of the bed. She leaped out of the bed startled and the Cobra just slithered away. Everyone who came to know suggested that it was an Omen from the Gods to name the child after a Cobra, which is considered sacred in our culture. They suggested “Naag-Mani' (Naag meaning Cobra and Mani meaning Gem in the local dialect). When my parents refused they were warned that the good omen would turn bad and anything could happen. A lot did, but I am still very glad that I was not named “Naag-Mani”!

3.Do you have any unnatural phobias?

One of the things about that period is that I can recollect things from when I was not more than a couple of years old in such detail that it's absolutely spooky. I remember being in my mom's arms as she pushed my baby brother's cradle. I would look up towards the wall to see two huge lizards staring at me. I could even make out their bulging eyes looking directly at me. I would turn away and look at another wall and there they would be staring at me from every corner of the house. I would get up screaming in the night, pointing to the walls, mumbling incoherently as my poor mom would try to make sense of what was going on. I would be scared to go to bed, I would be scared to look up the walls. To this day, I cannot stand the sight of a lizard. I'd rather face a charging lion. Phobia? Yes. Unnatural? No. Super-natural? Most definitely.

4.Did you ever meet anyone who was possessed?

Well, well, well. Did I ever? As I was going through all this, there was a hue and cry everywhere that we were being punished for not naming me after the Cobra and that I was now possessed by a ghost. My parents could not laugh it away this time around. I don't know what to think. If I think back to that period and also long after that, the nightmares, the visions, the talking in the sleep in a strange language and many such incidents do make me give some weight to the argument that I was indeed possessed.

5.Do you believe in evil spirits?

I don't believe that the entity which possessed me had any evil intentions. Far from it, I believe it saved my life twice. I strongly feel that my mother waking up in the middle of the night without any reason whatsoever had to do with this entity. There was also another incident that happened when I was only about a few months old. My parents and I were sleeping in a small room, all doors and windows tightly shut to ward away the cold of the night. Sometime after that, the fire extinguished itself, started to smoke and filled the entire room. We would have ended up dead in a few hours had it not been for a super human effort from my father to open the window atop his head. Yes, I strongly believe that it was something other than the three of us in that small room that day. Something that helped my dad reach out to the window and push it open. The ghost of a servant maid? The spirit of a girl who used to live there? I will never know....but something most definitely, something I would never want to revisit nor would I like it to revisit me! A definite no-no.

“You are taking so long...” I heard the familiar drawl as my daughter almost snatched the pad from my hands.

“Seriously? 'No'... to all the questions. How could you have led such a boring life Ma? ”

She stomped out angrily, once again not even allowing me the chance to smirk!

A writing exercise

I recently joined an online writing community which had an exercise to start a story with the sentence..."All men are slime" said the...This is my entry


"All men are slime," said the little voice in my head.
"I repeat all men are slime!" it went on and on getting louder and louder.

"No!No!NO! He is not...."

I screamed out and got up with a start. I was sweating profusely. I might have fallen asleep. Surely, it was all a bad dream. Surely, he had not said what I think I had heard him say – that he did not love me anymore. He could not. How could he? It had to be a dream. There was no way he could have said that he was leaving me. It was a dream. I was sure of it. I was wrong.

He had said all those hurtful things and more. I had kept staring at him not quite knowing what to say as word after hurtful word had tumbled out his mouth, as if he had been holding them in for a long time and could not wait to spit them out. He had kept on talking and I had kept on staring. He kept on asking me to say something but I had not idea what to say. What do you say to a man you had loved for the better part of your life when he claims that he was mistaken to think that he was ever in love with you? What do you say to a man who tells you that what had been sacred to you all your adult life was a noose around his neck? He walked out with a “I can't bear to be around you anymore!” I kept looking at his receding back - kept hoping that he would turn back, break into a smile and tell me it was all a joke – a bad one, but nevertheless a joke. He did not.

I sat there staring at the door all day, waiting for it to open, waiting for his big frame to burst through and crush me with his embrace while whispering in my ear how wrong he had been in thinking that he could live without me, asking me for forgiveness, begging me for another chance. Like he had done so many other times when he had left in a huff for such trivial things like the food being too salty or the room not being clean enough. In a minute the door would open and he would walk in. The door stayed closed.

I don't know when I fell back asleep, but the next time I got up it was to the ringing of the telephone. I lunged for it, about a 100% sure that he was calling. How stupid I had been to think that he had actually walked out of my life. Of course not! He loved me far too much to hurt me like that. Something must have possessed him to act so out of character. Something that allowed him to forget how much we had been through to be together. How I had gone against my whole family to be with him. How I had ignored their warnings, that he was after my money and nothing else. I had looked my parents straight in the eye and declared that they could neither stop me from getting married to him nor could they stop me from claiming my inheritance. I had walked out of 'their' home to 'ours', one hand in his hand and the other holding the inheritance documents. Surely he could not forget what all I had given up. He was calling to tell me just that. I picked up the receiver ready to give him another chance. "Hello" It was not him.

I found myself staring at the phone after that - willing it to ring again, willing it to be him telling me that he had made a huge mistake and that he was heading back home. A home we had made for so many years. Just him and me. He did not want any children. I aborted my first child after he told me how he did not think he could be a good father. I never broached the topic again - I did not want to pressure him into doing anything he did not want to. Yes, I loved children, but I loved him above everything else, loved my life with him. There was no way he could have ended it all with a few words. Surely, one 2-minute monologue could not end all that, could it? Of course, not. The phone would ring any time now. It did not.

I sat up bolt upright as a brilliant idea hit me. Why should I wait for his call? What was stopping me from calling him? Maybe he was feeling too ashamed to talk to me after what he had said, too embarrassed to apologize. He must be waiting for my call. Waiting for me to set things right like I always had in the past. Of course, that was it. He was just waiting for me to take the first step. How could I have been such an idiot after knowing him so well. Didn't I know that he was the kind of man who wanted his woman to take charge? Like I had taken charge of almost everything in the years we had been together. Taken charge of running the household after he had time and again failed to keep a job, taken charge of bailing him out of the innumerable brawls he would get himself into with alarming regularity, taking charge of everything when he had gone to pieces when his parents had perished in an accident, taken charge of nursing him back to health when he had taken a drug overdose and had almost died, taken charge of making sure that he felt like a king after he had driven himself into a depression...the list was endless. I called him.

"Hello?" I heard a small girl's voice at the other end.
"Who...Who's this?" I whimpered, my heartbeat almost as loud as my voice.
"Dad...I think it's for you!"
"How many times do I need to tell you not to pick my phone...!" I heard his voice as the phone switched off with a click.

Maybe I had dialed a wrong number...surely I had...but that was his voice. Maybe I am imagining things...maybe he's at a friend's place...surely he is.


*The End*

I would never hurt you, my love! (Part 1)

No coffee mug in hand, no newspaper or book lying nearby, no trace of any hot pakoras, no decade old romantic Bollywood songs playing in the background, no pen to jot down thoughts, no nothing to catch her dreams – she stood there looking out while the rain did its thing. She closed her eyes waiting for the soothing feeling one gets whilst watching or listening to the soft pitter patter of the raindrops to overwhelm her. Nothing came. Not even tears. The shock of the earlier day did not seem to have worn out yet. She wondered if it ever would. The phone was ringing. She knew who it well could be – the last person she wanted to speak with. He always called her when it rained. The ringing of the phone was persistent. She was too.

She could not wait for the phone to ring. But it did. It always did. She smiled. This is what fairy tales are made of and the best part was that she was the fairy. At least, he made her feel like one. She picked it up putting the piping hot coffee next to the pakoras. The book fell down from her lap as she reached out for the phone. She used the remote to put the volume down on her all time favorite Hindi Song – 'Suraj Hua Madhyam'. Her pen she still held in her hand as she picked the receiver up.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asked.
“Take a guess!”
“Coffee, pakoras, music, books, thoughts and dreams?”
“You guess right!”
“So what were you thinking of just now?”
“That you would call me any instant!”
“So what were you dreaming about?”
“How good it would be to have you next to me!”
“OK!”
“OK ..what?”
“Be ready to catch your dream....”

She could hear the door open. She resisted the urge to turn. She heard his footsteps. She still resisted the urge to turn. She marveled that the urge still existed. She felt his presence. Her eyes were still closed. He walked nearer. She felt like running away. He hugged her from behind. She did not run away.

“Thank you!” He murmured as he buried his head in her hair.
She felt the same response to him as she always did. It devastated her.
“You know I never meant to hurt you. You know how much I love you!'

That's when the tears started. They came in torrents. She could not breathe as the hiccups choked here. She turned to face him as he hugged her tighter. She winced from the pain.

“Where is my cup of coffee?”
“I had no idea you would be here...!”
“I asked you to be ready to catch your dream and here I am...”
“What did you do?Fly?!”
“Something like that...!”
“I don't believe this...”
“Don't believe what?”
“That you can go to these lengths...”
“Believe it my love, believe it.!”

She still could not believe it. How could everything be so normal? As if nothing had occurred. As if this was a day like any other day. Not only was he the same, she seemed to be the same too. This was not how it was supposed to be, was it? Shouldn't something be different. He was still holding her.

“Where is my cup of coffee?”. She felt the normalcy of the statement like a blow. She stepped away from his embrace. He looked at her – searching. She walked to the kitchen and started to make two cups of coffee. The slight doubt in his look gave away to relief.

“What are you doing?”
“Taking the mugs out!”
“I will do it...”
“No...let me”
“Why? You want to help me?”
“Yes! But even more so I want to be around you.”
“Don't spoil me!”
“But I want to!”

She took the mugs out. She heard 'Suraj Hua Madhyam' lyrics fill the air. He seemed to have walked over to the CD Player and put it on. He started walking towards her carrying the book she had been reading.

“How many times have you played the song today?”
“Maybe a couple...”
“Just a couple?”
“OK truth be told, I did not count!”

She breathed in deeply. She did not want to hear that song. She wished it would stop playing...just like she wished that yesterday had never happened. Both stayed their course. She used to remote to switch the song off. But what was she going to do about the day before – there was no switch to turn it off. To erase it completely.

“So you just use the remote to play and replay it over and over again?”
“Yes I do!”
“You are such a romantic!”
“Yep a hopeless one at that!”
“That's funny!”
“What's funny about it?”
“That you could be like this...”
“What do you mean!”
“Nothing my love”
“Are you making fun of me!”
“No..No...”
“You are!”
“Well if you think so...maybe I am!”
“Ouch! That hurt!”
“I am sorry my love, you know I would never hurt you. Don't you?”

Yeah right! What a bunch of baloney.
“You know I would never hurt you, my love!” he said as he handed the book to her.