Friday, September 09, 2016

Just an Ordinary Story

“You must have really hated me when I was a child,” Vishakha said quietly to her mother, Kaushini.

Kaushini froze. “What kind of question is that? What are you trying to imply?” Her shock slowly twisted into a mixture of anger and hurt—a strange, familiar feeling she found herself experiencing more often these days.

Vishakha didn’t respond. Her heart was pounding, her stomach churning. She felt numb. The pain of 35 long years suddenly surged through every inch of her body. She didn’t know how to control it. She didn’t want to control it. It was time to speak her truth.

She looked up slowly, her eyes meeting her mother’s.
“Ma, there are so many moments from my childhood where your actions made it clear you couldn’t even tolerate me. You never hugged me, not as a child, not while I was growing up. You were always irritated with me. You never had a kind word to say about me. I grew up thinking I was ugly… useless. You once called me heartless. You even said a dog would have been better than me for you.”

She paused. Her voice was cracking, and she hated it—hated that her mother could still affect her like this. She didn’t want to show that these things still mattered, even after 35 years. So she fought her tears, clenched them tight in her eyes, and swallowed her cry—a trick she had mastered through childhood, when night after night she cried herself to sleep, silently, with nothing but her own pain and existence.

“Ma, do you remember I used to have terrible breathing problems when I was little? It got so bad, you had to pull me out of dance classes for a while. During those attacks… it wasn’t just a physical struggle. It was panic. I had to focus so hard just to get air into my lungs. Any noise around me would throw me off. I’d try again and again—on the sixth, or seventh, or twelfth attempt, I’d finally catch a breath.

Once, during one of those moments—when I felt like I was fighting for my life—I asked Bhai to stop talking. I was barely holding on, and the noise was making it worse. You came rushing in from the next room and shouted at me, ‘If you’re having a breathing problem, you expect everyone else to stop what they’re doing? Get real!’ Then you left.

And I blamed myself. Again. Like always. I believed I was the problem, even for trying to breathe.”

Her voice trailed off, heavy with memories of lonely, unbearable days.

Kaushini snapped, furious. “You’re making me out to be a monster! I don’t remember any of that. These are your imaginations! Now stop it.”

Vishakha smiled sadly. She had expected this. This was exactly how her mother had always responded—by denying, deflecting, turning everything around to make it Vishakha’s fault. Even now, she woke up from nightmares where her mother was yelling at her, punishing her for something she didn’t understand, her words slicing through Vishakha’s heart like knives.

“Ma, why did you leave me with your parents after I was born and not take me back until I was 18 months old? I was a sick baby, right? Underweight, because you were very ill during your pregnancy. Then how could you stay away from me? How could a mother not want to be with her newborn? Weren’t you worried? Didn’t you care?”

Kaushini was silent. Her rage had shifted into a quiet detachment, lost in old thoughts of what could have been. She was once the golden girl—radiant in school and college, a radio artist, an award-winning elocutionist, the first female leader of her college’s student political wing. Beautiful and brilliant, the world had been at her feet. Men of all kinds had tried to win her over, and she had brushed them aside with ease. She had dreams. She had fire. She could have been a famous singer. A fierce politician. A queen, even—revered and adored.

But she got married.

To the wrong man. Into the wrong family. Into the wrong life.

And everything changed.

“All I became was a cook and a maid for my husband,” she thought bitterly. “And then I got bloody pregnant.” Her face flushed with renewed anger. That pregnancy had felt like the final nail in her coffin, sealing her into a life she never wanted. “I could have been someone else if…” Her thought was interrupted by her daughter’s voice.

“Ma, do you remember that car accident? The one after which I had a miscarriage, and my marriage ended? I came home, broken… destroyed. I was sitting next to you, desperate for comfort, for someone to hold me and tell me that I’d be okay. That I still had reasons to live.

And you told me a story. You told me how terrible your own marriage was, how you and Dad fought constantly and had decided to get a divorce. And then… you found out you were pregnant. You said you were furious. You knew that once your parents found out, they’d never let you leave. Even if you did manage a divorce, having a child would ruin your chances of the life you wanted. So, you tried to induce a miscarriage—by behaving recklessly. So that no one could blame you.

But you failed.

And I was born.”

Vishakha looked at her mother, her voice steady.
“Why did you tell me that story on that day? That day, all I needed was love. An embrace. A reason to keep going. And instead, you told me I shouldn’t have existed in the first place.”

Tears were streaming down her face, and this time, she didn’t hold them back.
“Ma, now I understand why you hated me so much,” she whispered. Her tears were no longer just pain—they were release. She smiled through them.

At last, she had cut the old, rotten, suffocating umbilical cord.

It had taken her 35 years, but now she had the rest of her life ahead. Unattached. Healing. Free.


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My first try at writing a story. Hope you like it. Please send me your comments. And Thank you for reading it.:)

Sunday, July 03, 2016

Dhaka... And the Killings.

That horrible thing that happened in Dhaka, the particular way the people were killed, the mental built of the terrorists, the motives - we, the humans, are the strangest species isn't it? We kill our own kind with so much cruelty for no apparent reasons and then we say we kill for a "cause".

Gukshan is where my sister lives, where I have gone to a Durga Puja celebration last time I was in Dhaka, and dinned at a fancy Italian restaurant - a treat my brother-in-law gave for us...

When I first heard about the attack around 12 am on Saturday, first thing that came to be my was "Oh God! hope its not in Gulshan!" While that was my protective part that was thinking, the rationale part immediately made the connection that it must be Gulshan because that makes sense when targeting "foreigners".

In the morning I called up my mother. "Did you see what happened in Dhaka?" "That's what we have been following since morning", she said, and continued, "Could you call them back at Dhaka? I am scared to call them, don't know what I will hear!" I reassured her, "Yes I called them at night and had a talk. They were all at home and safe." "Thank God. But those people there, will now never go back home" she said - the exactly the same thing she had said when India was stopped for 4 days in the November of 2008... Terror goes on, and we live.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

First Date Stories: 2


A predetermined pub.
She arrives on time and doesn’t find him.
She waits.

He arrives, fashionably late by 15 min.
Usual greetings, traffic and weather discussions over. No apologies offered for late entry.

Ready to order drinks.
She orders a wine; he a single malt - mixes water to that, she observes.

He: “What are you looking for from this date?” gulps some whisky, makes a funny face and asks.
She: “I am not sure. This is my first date in a long time. I am willing to see where it can go.” She doesn’t really understand the funda of dating anyway, but she can’t say that, of course.

He: “Oh! Ok Ok” he stops, breaks into a big smile and continuous, “But don’t fall in love with me!” And winks.
She is dumbstruck. “What does that mean? We just met!” She asks completely surprised at his statement.
He: “Ha ha… I mean every time I am out on a date, the girl falls for me, you know. Now, I don’t want to hurt you too.” He leans back on the lounge sofa feeling completely relaxed that he has cleared the air.
“Oh”, she thinks to herself. “Really?” and asks out loud.
“Ah! I will tell you the stories someday, but first let me order another drink”


Another 4 drinks (for him) later, he suddenly leans towards her, sticks out his tongue and tries to kiss. Shocked, she screams! “What are you doing?”
“I think I am in love with you.” grins and falls on her smelling watered down whisky.

She squeezes out, somehow, and runs for her life.



Friday, June 10, 2016

First Date Stories: 1



He: "Hey! At last we meet"
She: "At last"
He: "You really want to sit at the bar?"
She: "Why?"
He: "We can sit at the lounge area. More comfy."
She: "Ok"

Moving to the other side:
He: "You know I was thinking, you should change your glasses."
She: "Hmm... Can we order something to drink?"
He: "oh sure sure"

Beer ordered. Cheers done. One gulp down.
He: "So you drink beer huh?"
She: "Sometimes."
He: "You know what they say in US? If the lady you are with is drinking single malt, you don't have to worry. She will take you home. Ha Ha" laughs at his 'joke'.
She: "This is India."

15 min later.
She: "So what's your story?"
He: "The usual. Work office. I just came back from the US, you know. Oh Man! I love that country. Its the greatest country in the world. And the chicks! I have dated blondes n red heads, Blacks, Hispanic n Latinos! Man they are hot! Gosh I miss America!" He day / night dreams....

She: "Can we get the bill please?"
He: "You mean check? Ok. Then I drop you home."
She: "Thank you. But my brother is coming to pick me up."
Uber booked. Pick up time 2 mins.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

The Man Who Knew Infinity - S.Ramanujan

Just watched The Man Who Knew Infinity ... A genius like him died at the age of 32. What all he could have achieved if he lived longer. What the world would have gained if he didn't die so soon. Perhaps the Black Holes would have a different understanding.

He was a great Mathematician, perhaps the greatest since Newton (as Littlewood describes). But would he have lived a little longer (at least), if he had changed his food habit and taken care of his health in the usually cold and rainy Cambridge; which is so much different from a very hot and sunny Kumbakonam.

People of cold countries eat meat for a reason. The food needs to keep them warm as well as make them full. While rice and sambar is a perfect food for hot and sultry South India, its just useless, and perhaps, harmful in the cold of Europe.

Was his food more important than being alive? Is that what dogma and superstition do to us? He was a very religious man and I wish that his religion was a little more flexible; and put more value on people's life than on some traditions and rituals which may not hold good in different circumstances.

But, is it religion which can be blamed or the people who misinterpret them without perspective?

Monday, January 04, 2016

The Pathankot Attack and Us

7 Defense personnel die trying to fish out 6 terrorists.
I am no expert, but it sounds incredible!

Why the life of our soldiers so cheap? Why are we not better equipped to handle such situations, particularly when the aerial surveillance at the base spotted the terrorists as they entered the compound? I am not even making comparisons with the US or the Brits. Not even saying how an elite group of soldiers flew to another country (another air space), reached their most hated enemy and neutralized him in a matter a few hours without a scratch. If this is what 6 terrorists can do, what happens when an army attacks? Have we not upgrade ourselves to the latest technologies available?

I could be entirely wrong, but the families who are left devastated in the beginning of a new year shall never be mended again. We may hail them as martyrs (and forget about them the next moment), post their pictures in our FB (and change our profile pic to Indian flag) and send our salutes - but for the grieving families it doesn't sum up to anything. The armed forces and their families need more than this.

As someone said, you don't win a battle by dying, but by living and killing the enemy - and this is our eternal enemy, should we not be better prepared?

I am actually furious! What the bloody hell!

Picture from Indian Express