tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12292542777670535342024-03-05T12:32:54.149+05:30One Such Storywe are all stories in the end...
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.comBlogger202125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-76654038901951152812018-04-14T22:50:00.001+05:302018-04-14T23:12:07.183+05:30The curse of beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wiping her tears from her damp face. The summer heat was unbearable, her clothes stuck to her skin even as she was gasping for breath between sobs. Once again, she fought the urge to hit her head on the glass and ruin the face that had caused her so much agony. While she was still struggling with her thoughts, he came back to her. She did not even have a moment to cry in despair. He begged her to stay back, his moist eyes pleading her to understand his love. Like always, she gave in to his unreasonable demands after some time. He would not leave her alone until she did as he wished. It was the same story repeating every time, but it was not how this story began.<br />
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He belonged to an affluent family of their times. Their family had acres of lands cultivating rice and a variety of vegetables enough to sustain the whole village. The transport in the village was their monopoly as they owned all the vehicles that connected to the town. He was the youngest and most pampered son. Even though he could have chosen to manage their farms or transport business, he chose to move away from it and make his mark in the city. At a young age, he moved to the city and decided to set up a textile shop in the heart of the city. It was easy to start with the support of his father who sold a few vehicles in their village. When he had established himself well, it was time for his family to look for a suitable bride for him. He was the most eligible bachelor and proposals from nearby villages were flooding, but his parents had other plans. They wanted a bride who was from a poor family and would always be submissive to her husband.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw4azbiCnTPEZ755F_AA1oC6CEU_dZ0LqbvLbeXUhbrcWl1-xX-VTdGUQ5iPNdFZVbMeZ6XbnHEhMQahnVb60hRek9URT8oxkwV_1oSfmwEsOsW57KTWDpWsPPIJ-3pJI6KAdyCl5KNo/s1600/beauty.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="1024" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw4azbiCnTPEZ755F_AA1oC6CEU_dZ0LqbvLbeXUhbrcWl1-xX-VTdGUQ5iPNdFZVbMeZ6XbnHEhMQahnVb60hRek9URT8oxkwV_1oSfmwEsOsW57KTWDpWsPPIJ-3pJI6KAdyCl5KNo/s320/beauty.webp" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.theluxebeautyco.com/">Image credit</a><div>
<br /> She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on. Her fair, flawless skin glowed in the plain, cotton pink saree that she had draped. When she looked at him with her dark brown eyes, his heart skipped a beat. It did not take much for his parents to know that their son was enchanted by this girl. They became skeptic that the girl would have their son hen pecked and were not too keen on the match now. But, he had fallen head over heels in love with her and rebelled to the extent that he refused to marry anyone else. Giving in to his wish, the parents agreed and within a month she became his bride.<br />
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It was the happiest day of their lives. She was blissfully unaware of what a vision she was on her wedding day. Relatives from far away places had heard of her and had come to attend the wedding. Beaming with pride next to her, her husband had the most victorious smile. For him, she was the trophy wife. He had never felt as accomplished as that before. She hardly knew the man she had married, but she knew he adored her already.<br />
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The first night that they spent together, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked so delicate, so pure that he was scared of hurting her. She looked terrified on her part. He sat beside her, talking to her about her likes, her dislikes and everything he could think of. Slowly she began to relax in his presence and opened up to him. Before they knew, it was the crack of the dawn and relatives started hustling about for the feast to follow. They had spent the night sleepless, talking.<br />
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As per rituals, the girl had to leave for her parent's house following the feast. When the time had come for her to go with her parents, her husband was teary eyed much to the embarrassment of his family. It was something that people laughed about for years to come. But for her, it would remain a memory she would revisit fondly. It was then that she had wholeheartedly given herself to him for a lifetime.<br />
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When she returned back, they move to their house in the city. Those were the blissful days of their wedded life. She set up the house beautifully, cooked for him during the day. He started coming home earlier than usual, accompanying her to temples. They had numerous invites for lunch and dinner after marriage at their relatives' houses. Everytime someone commented on the beauty of his wife, his chest swelled with pride. The initial days rolled by with ease. Though his absence was affecting the business, he kept leaving early to spend time with his wife.<br />
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<a href="https://steemit.com/health/@evdokimovaipati/couple-in-love">image credit</a><br />
In the third month of their marriage, she became pregnant with his child. Their joy knew no bounds. Since it was her first pregnancy, it was assumed she would stay with her parents till the child was a few months old as per customs. The thought of parting from his wife for months was unbearable for him. He refused to let her go to her parents. Instead, he came home earlier to take care of her. He missed work when she was unwell. His negligence to the business was now turning to losses. The numbers started dwindling, the cash inflow reduced. He was hanging on to the business on his finger nails but his priority remained his wife. In the final month of her pregnancy, her parents joined them to help with the delivery. Even then he hardly left her side. He was terrified of losing her in childbirth.<br />
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She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She couldn't have been happier in her life. Even though he wished for a baby boy secretly, he was happy to see his baby girl. He started becoming more regular with his business as a new sense of responsibility arose in him. She spent all her time with the baby. When he returned in the evening, she was exhausted with all the work. Many nights she stayed awake as the baby cried in the cradle and then slept with the baby between them. He had lost his wife, all he could see was the mother of his child. He even started resenting the child sometimes. She could feel his aloofness. She tried to be cheerful around him but she herself was dealing with gloominess that she couldn't explain. With no one to share her thoughts with, she was increasingly getting depressed.<br />
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It was a confusing phase of her life. She was grappling with the new motherhood, but she was also failing as a wife. Every time he came close to her, she moved away. As the child started growing, her interaction with the outside world also grew. She talked to the neighboring women who came to see the baby, went to the doctor for the vaccination, started shopping for baby on her own. Her social circle was slowly increasing. It was during this time that he started becoming increasingly insecure. Each time someone said they had met her in the market, or commented on how she hadn't changed one bit after pregnancy, he felt uneasy. He would go home and make love to her passionately. If she was exhausted and tried to deny him, he would be furious and blame her of not loving him anymore. She would give in out of guilt. She could not identify when his insecurity became his obsession. He would drop in home at unexpected hours. Some days he would go to his shop and return within an hour to simply be at home with her. By now, the business couldn't be sustained and he had taken heavy loans in the market. He made his father sell all of their vehicles to get some more cash inflow. His family started resenting her and blamed her for keeping her husband home all the time. For them, she was the one who was tempting her husband to stay with her, while she was herself struggling with his excessive love.<br />
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At last he had to close his business. The loses were so huge that he had to sell his house in the city to pay for it. They moved back to his village. They had become talk of the village. She had got used to the taunts of bringing about downfall of his business. Being the same village as his relatives also meant more family functions to attend. Wherever she went, he accompanied her. Her mother-in-law was fed up of her son not working and asked her to stay at home. She was socially isolated but at home she was not spared of the taunts. When he saw her crying, he too broke down. He fought with his father and asked for his share in the inheritance. Nobody had ever asked for inheritance while the head of the family was still alive. They cursed her for separating their son. He sold his part of the lands and with the money built a new house away from his family home. She thought this would be their new start. How wrong she had been..<br />
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Once again she was alone in the house and he would be worried about who would come to visit. She had long stopped going to any function or visiting any relatives but a friend or relative would sometimes drop to their place. She wasn't sure if he had doubts on her loyalty or was petrified of someone winning over her, but the presence of another human being near her would make him anxious. After trying his hand at textile business, he was giving agriculture business a shot. A few months it had actually run into profits, but soon he returned to his old ways and started coming home early. If someone happened to join them for tea, he would tell her to stay inside and himself serve tea and snacks. Soon, they again became a subject for ridicule. People started avoiding their house. She was pushed deeper into isolation. He started running into debts again and went to his father again to ask for more money. This time, his family refused to give him a single penny. He broke off all ties with them and again sold the house to pay for the loans.<br />
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With no other alternative, they moved into a remote village closer to her parents's house. It was a place where she had many friends and relatives. Familiarity and her own people made her happy. She began to be cheerful again. Her daughter too was growing up to be a replica of her mother. He was overjoyed to see his wife just like he had married her. But he discouraged her from leaving the house for any purpose. She was ready to do that as well as long as he regularly worked and made life easier for them. But she knew it would only last for sometime. But this time he had a plan. He bought a piece of land in the interiors of the village which was difficult to access. They were practically the only humans in that stretch of land. The house was literally atop a plateaued land and had coconut trees all around it. They had a walk a bit to go to the main road. No one ever visited them there.<br />
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It had been 6 months since she had seen another human apart from her daughter and husband. She was craving for normal human company. Once in a while he took her to see her parents but even there she hardly had time to talk to them alone. For those who saw them, she was lucky to have a husband who showered her with so much love. He practically did everything possible to make her life comfortable except let her be on her own! Every time she fought with him, he would be devastated and plead for forgiveness. It was frustrating to hate a man who loved her so much. She no longer knew if she loved him or pitied him. He was scared that another human being would influence her to leave him or love another. He confessed this during one of his break downs. In his thoughts, she was the perfect human ever and at no cost did he want anyone to take her away from him. That is what his nightmares were made of. She wondered what she had done wrong to give such impression. She had always loved him and kept his needs above anything else. Why did he feel that she would think of leaving him and behaved in a way that would actually make her want to? She couldn't have imagined her palace of happiness would turn to a prison with no escape.<br />
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She was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on. Her beauty had killed every happiness in their life. She wished she was just an ordinary looking girl. She hated to see the mirror that reminded her of her fate. While those who knew her still admired her beauty, her dark brown eyes had a sad story that only she knew..<br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-81867837816692095952018-03-03T17:22:00.000+05:302018-03-03T18:18:18.916+05:30I am not a feminist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n a casual discussion that turned into a stupid argument, one of my female colleagues took sides with another female colleague. To justify her action she quickly said, "I am not a feminist, but I will stand by what she said." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In another woman's group that I was once a part of, we discussed ideas of what we planned for the year ahead and someone said, "I would like women to lead. I am not a feminist but I feel that women have a lot of potential to lead"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> It's a pattern. "I AM NOT A FEMINIST" is a disclaimer before any woman asserts herself. Women add it to make it clear that they are talking generally and not in support of the sisterhood that has established a society where they can freely voice their opinion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Over the years, the term has been twisted and perceived in ways that women now think that being a feminist is a bad thing! Almost every strong woman that I know is scared to admit she's a feminist. And yet, all of them are feminists. What they do not know is, what is feminism!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> What exactly is feminism? To quote Wikipedia "<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Feminism</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> is a range of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_movement" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Political movement">political movements</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, </span><a class="mw-redirect" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ideologies" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Ideologies">ideologies</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, and </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Social_movement" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Social movement">social movements</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> that share a common goal: to define, establish, and achieve political, economic, personal, and social equality of sexes"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In short, believing that women are as good as men is feminism. Believing that women are better than men is not! If you get the meaning right, even men can be feminist! No one needs estrogen to be a feminist.</span></span></div>
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Image courtesy: <a href="https://www.google.co.in/search?biw=1366&bih=662&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=1X-aWoKJKYfB0gTGkqLABQ&q=feminism+vs+man+hating&oq=feminism+vs+man+&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i24k1.2713.8324.0.11646.16.16.0.0.0.0.328.1798.0j6j2j1.9.0....0...1c.1.64.psy-ab..7.9.1796...0j0i67k1j0i10k1.0.tFRU_culhKk#imgrc=j67PB7P34XMTLM:">Credit</a></div>
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"What do you need feminism for? Reservation for women, free education for women, lesser loan rates for women, there is everything under the sun for women. Women are abusing the power they now have. Did you hear Deepika Padukone talking about "her choice". She says its her choice if she wants to cheat outside marriage. If a guy said that he would receive so many flacks from the society. But she is a woman. Shes free to do whatever she wants!" This was a discussion among some men I knew.</div>
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I find it funny how some people take one example from an elite group of women and generalize it for the whole women population. These same people cannot digest the fact that majority of the women still do not even have human rights, let alone equal rights. It is not just men who belong to the category, I know women too who feel threatened by feminism.There exactly lies the biggest problem women face. </div>
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Most of these women have a low self esteem and look for validation in the family they have kept together, at the cost of their crushed dreams. When another woman dares to challenge the structure, they feel intimidated and try to make her surrender instead. They find pleasure in seeing another free bird caged, wings clipped when they couldn't dare to fly themselves. It is a vicious cycle. One broken dream after another.</div>
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I find submissive women repulsive. They suffer their whole lives and bring up men who grow up believing they can dominate any woman. It is also the reason I have no tolerance for women who put up with violence or disrespect from their family. I speak about the women who belong to the same income group or background where they can stand up for themselves and lead a respectful life. I do not have any idea about the hardships that other women might have in doing so, but I have seen brilliant examples of courage from people who have the least! We need feminism so that we stand a chance at a better tomorrow.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"> It is a long talk. One that has multiple dimensions. Bigger problems and smaller solutions. This is a topic that cannot be handled in a single post and hence I have decided to start writing every second Monday about it inspired by </span><b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.lifeofleo.in/2018/02/feministmondays-where-are-pad-women.html#more">Soumya's</a> </span></b><span style="color: #222222;">feminist Monday posts.</span></div>
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I find hope in the fact that ours is at least a generation of covert feminists. Most women don't call themselves feminists but are fighting the exact same battles as that of feminism. I think we could start with just saying "<b>I AM A FEMINIST"</b> </div>
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-12313606100983177992018-02-22T17:46:00.000+05:302018-02-22T18:00:05.408+05:30Girl Next Door<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was barely a month since we had moved into our new apartment. It was a newly built place in an area that was yet to see the real estate boom and since the place was a little away from the main road, it did not garner much attention. It was just the kind of peaceful location where you would like to come home after a tiring day. Since I and my husband stayed away for work long hours, we hardly knew anyone by their names.<br />
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It was just one of the regular evenings; I was sitting in my balcony having a cup of tea when I saw a tempo enter the building. Since our balcony faced the main entrance of the building, I could make out someone was shifting into the building, but did not pay much attention to who it was.<br />
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Later that night, when my husband went downstairs to take out the trash, the night watchman was full of news about the new occupants. A couple had moved into our next door flat as tenants. As per the watchman, the wife was heavily pregnant. We wondered why someone would move and take up the task of setting up a house at this stage. From experience, I knew that watchmen were pools of unfiltered news and gave out information that even they were not sure of and did not give the couple another thought.<br />
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Our flat entrance was just opposite the common lift whereas the neighboring flat had its entrance towards the left which faced a wall. We could not directly see who came and went into their house even if we stood at our door. The purpose of mentioning this blind spot will become clearer in the events that unfolded later.<br />
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A few days later, I saw a man get into the lift and an older lady rushing out from the neighboring flat with a tiffin box in hand. I gathered this must be the pregnant lady's mother who must have come to help her out during pregnancy. When there are only 2 houses occupied in the building apart from your own, normal humans you see in the building tend to pique your interests, even for someone like me who keeps to herself most times. The older lady smiled at me but the man was stiff in the lift as the door closed after him.<br />
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The same evening, my husband told me that the man next door was a cab driver! I just couldn't believe it. I told him not to listen to the watchman. A cab driver moving into a building like ours seemed too far fetched, even though uber success stories were everywhere. But, the husband had proof. He had seen the man driving a yellow plated car a couple of times and informed me only after he was sure. He reasoned that since the building was away from the main road, rents were affordable and not more than 10-12 K and drivers could easily afford that much. He also told me that the older lady was the man's mother and not the pregnant lady's. Till this point, I had not seen the pregnant lady to comment anything about it.<br />
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A month rolled by and more people started shifting into the building. When we came back from work, we could see kids playing in the corridor, running on the stairs and making the kind of noises only kids can make. One such evening, there was a new shriek added to that. A new born baby crying next door. I thought of visiting but for some reason never did.<br />
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<br />
The next Saturday, someone rang my door bell. Opening the door, I saw a girl in three fourth track pants, loose t-shirt and hair roughly held back with a long clip. A little wheatish in complexion and on the thicker side. She had come with a box of sweets and told me that she just had a baby girl. I stood there, dumb-founded and meekly uttered "congratulations". I don't know what had shocked me more. The fact that this girl was the girl next door who delivered the baby or that she was the wife of a cab driver. I admit that I expected someone who would be dressed in a salwar or saree and not someone who would talk in English. But the next surprise came with the sweet that she gave. It was then that I first started doubting something fishy. It was a sweet with generous amounts of dry fruits and something that I had rarely had myself and would think twice before buying to distribute. This couldn't be the choice of sweet for a middle class family to distribute to whole building.<br />
<br />
<br />
After that one visit, I hardly saw her again. Of course, she stayed next door but she never came out of the house on weekends or occasions. Some evenings I heard the baby cry and her playing with the baby but never heard a sound from her husband. It could not be said if they had visitors as it later occured to me that not just me, but no one in the whole building could see the entrance of their house. It was a long corridor and one could not say who went to which flat unless you actually saw anyone enter.<br />
<br />
<br />
One afternoon, I got a call on my phone while I was at office. A courier on my name had arrived via India post and the postman did not agree to leave it at the security cabin. He instead knocked on the door of the next door girl. The postman handed over the phone to her. This was the first and only time I talked to her.<br />
"Hi, I am Kruthika, I stay in the flat next to you"<br />
"Hi, Kruthika, if it won't be much trouble, can you please keep the courier with you. I will collect it once I am back from office."<br />
"No problem. I will take it."<br />
"Thanks."<br />
<br />
This was exactly what we had talked. I once again noticed how fluent she was in English, almost like a convent educated girl. I am ashamed to admit that all these months I did not even know her name. Kruthika.<br />
<br />
That evening when I rang her door bell, I could hear her feet fast approaching the door. She had the parcel in hand. I could hear the baby crying.<br />
<br />
"Thank you so much. I hope I didn't wake the baby"<br />
"Oh no no, she was already crying."<br />
<br />
She seemed in a hurry. She handed me the courier and quickly closed the door. I found it odd. When I walked back to my door and was putting in the key, I saw the lift open and her husband come out. Oh so this was the reason! I thought. Was she scared of her husband finding her talk to me? He looked at me in without expression and quickly hurried to his flat.<br />
<br />
Later when I repeated the entire story to my husband, he thought I was reading too much into it. I was getting too influenced by all the crime patrol I was watching! Perhaps I was, but my instinct told me that there was story that I had to dig. It was none of my business but still it was a thought that nibbled my insides.<br />
<br />
<br />
Almost a month later, when I was simply going through Facebook for the random time wasting things, I saw a girl in the "people you may know" row. Someone told me once, that if you find people in this row with whom you have no common friends then this person had been stalking you on Facebook. I don't know how true this is, but it does seem so. Because the girl in this picture was none other than Kruthika with a name of "Shweta". We had no mutual friends. The profile picture looked a little old. She was thinner and little more dusky back then. She had studied in one of the premier institutes of Bangalore in the heart of the city. There were only a few photos that I could see on her timeline as I was not her friend but from what I saw, she did look from an affluent family. My suspicions proved right. This girl was from well to do background, convent educated but had somehow landed here and mostly under a fake name. I went through her profile some more, searching her friends to see if her husband was there. But, no clue. So was Kruthika actually someone called Shweta or did she change her name post marriage? Why did she marry a driver? Were her parents against the marriage or had they fallen on hard times? Was her husband keeping her happy or was she being a victim of domestic abuse?<br />
<br />
<br />
Months rolled by and slowly I stopped thinking of her.<br />
<br />
<br />
On a cold winter evening, I returned home late after sitting in the cab for 4 gruelling hours in the traffic. I just wanted to sleep and could think of nothing else. There was a commotion in the building when I entered. The kids were not playing outside and people crowded our wing. The stairs were eerily silent but I could hear hushed voices, cries and screaming. When I reached my floor, my heart skipped a beat. There were people standing in front of my door. My house door was open and people were scanning my face like I was some alien. Color flushed back into my face when I saw my husband among the people. He quickly pulled me inside and whispered<br />
"There has been a murder in the next flat. You stay inside"<br />
<br />
It felt like time had stopped. My brain registered this, one word at a time. Murder.in.the.next.flat. Kruthika.Shweta.Her husband.His mother.The baby. Who?<br />
<br />
Before I could ask, he had rushed out again. The police jeep arrived at the location talking in a language I failed to understand. Hours passed in the confusion. No one knew whom to contact. The house owner was abroad. No one in the building knew anything personal about Kruthika or her husband. Kruthika and her husband were found murdered in the house. The baby was nowhere to be seen. The police ransacked the house for any clue about them. By midnight they had found documents hidden in the loft and contacted dozens of people. Most people they called from Kruthika's husband's phone were customers who had hired his cab. Kruthika's call records showed only a couple of calls which were unanswered. Call records were asked from phone companies. From the documents, cops found their name as Shweta Gowda and Gopal Shekhar. Whole night the neighbors stood guard. It was like a vigil for the dead people whom we all saw but never knew. Someone suggested searching the name on facebook. Oh Facebook! Why did it not strike me before. I had seen people with her on facebook. Anyway the cops did explore her profile and found what they were looking for.<br />
<br />
By next morning, we all knew their story when Gopal's friend was identified.<br />
<br />
Shweta and Gopal were both from affluent families but different caste and community. Gopal was an adopted son of wealthy businessman whereas Shweta was the eldest daughter of landowner and politician. Both had fallen in love and invited the wrath of their families. Shweta had been locked in the house for months before she had secretly eloped with Gopal. Shweta's father had resolved to kill Gopal for the dishonour he had brought into their family while Gopal's father had disowned him from his house and property. Having no financial support and fearing for their life, Gopal and Shweta stayed in a Tumkur village for 6 months. But cash was running short and Shweta had gotten pregnant. Gopal had a nanny who was very close to him and considered him her son. She came to help Shweta with her delivery. With the help of the friend, Gopal had taken the risk of setting up home in our area till Shweta delivered since it was quite far from the city centre. Since Gopal had not been very bright with studies, he could not get a job very quickly and again his friend managed for the cab which he drove to sustain. He only took rides near our area or outside the city limits. Never did he venture into his old neighborhood. He worked night shifts and also helped his friend with hotel business. Slowly their life was looking up.<br />
<br />
Gopal was cautious still of the fury of his father in law. He was powerful and did not mind twisting the law. Gopal did not like Shweta talking to people and nor did he talk to anyone apart from his trusted friend. He was scared of betrayal. Her father was a well connected man and Gopal worried he might get wind of their whereabouts and make true of his promise to get them separated.<br />
<br />
Gopal and his friend had taken a heavy loan for setting up a new hotel business in Mysore. Gopal and Shweta were all set to start a new life in Mysore and had even started looking for a new place to live in the new city. Perhaps the new found happiness had made them a little reckless. Someone must have spotted them and informed her father. That was all that was known. No one ever saw who exactly came to their house. No one heard a sound. Gopal and Shweta were shot with what is assumed to be a silent gun. Their bodies were found in the hall and was discovered by the watchman when he went to put on the lights in the corridor and found their door wide open.<br />
<br />
The CCTV was scanned multiple times, everyone in the building questioned endlessly, the watchmen grilled day in and day out but there was no hint. The money lender who gave loan for Gopal's business was also questions but Shweta's father remains to be prime suspect but there has been nothing to put him behind the bars.<br />
<br />
Gopal's nanny and Shweta's baby were not traced by the police. There are rumours that the nanny escaped with the baby. I hope that is true.<br />
<br />
I still hear the cries of the baby when I am home alone. It rings in my ear and I wonder where the baby is and how she is managing without Shweta. Or Kruthika as I knew her. The girl next door.<br />
<br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-71234179117899939072017-12-16T15:21:00.002+05:302017-12-16T16:10:20.440+05:30Twilight years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Read the previous part <a href="http://maithilibhatnagar.blogspot.in/2017/08/twilight-years.html">HERE</a> <br />
<br />
It was their first child. Rajeev left no stone unturned to make Meera comfortable. They even hired a maid to look after the house, much to the annoyance of his parents. Meera had a rough first trimester, staying in bed most days as she felt weak with the frequent bouts of nausea and vomiting. The thought of her child and Rajeev's tender care kept her going through the difficult days. They had so many dreams for their child and often kept talking about their new family.<br />
She had hardly been into her second trimester when she had to be rushed to the hospital. She had gone pale, her body shivering and holding her abdomen as the sharp pain rose. Rajeev was heartbroken when he was told that Meera had miscarried. He could not even bare to look at her. She was inconsolable. She refused to talk or eat. Rajeev's parents found fault with all that she had done in four months that could have led to this. Rajeev thought it best to send her to her parent's house for some days.<br />
There were speculations that Rajeev had left her. Meera's parents were worried for their daughter, who had become uninterested in life. She stood in her balcony all day, looking at nothing in particular. She blamed herself for the loss, of her child and Rajeev. Her thoughts killed her everyday, what could she have done better?<br />
<br />
It took time for Rajeev to come to terms with the harsh truth. He had not yet revealed to Meera that they might never be able to have a child of their own. The doctor had told that her chances of conceiving again were slim and even if she did, it could endanger both her and the child. Before he could bring Meera back, he had to make his parents understand the situation. When he told them of Meera's medical condition, they straight away asked him to separate and marry another. What was the point of staying with her if she couldn't bear him a child. His mother tried to reason with him but he would not listen to any of their logic. As a last resort, he stopped talking to them and threatened to separate from them if they ever asked him to separate from Meera or taunt Meera. At last they relented and Rajeev could go to bring Meera back.<br />
<br />
For months, Meera couldn't smile without feeling guilty. She worked extra hard at the house to occupy herself. Her in-laws hardly spoke to her. Even though she did her best to care for them, within the same year both her in-laws passed away. Her father-in-law passed away in sleep and shortly her mother-in-law had a massive heart attack while she was praying. Rajeev was a broken person. Within a year, he lost his unborn child and both his parents. It was now Meera's turn to care and make him happy again.<br />
<br />
After a year of mourning, life was back on track for both of them. Rajeev soon got promoted and transferred to another city. They both moved to Assam for his posting. It was then that they discovered the joy of travelling. Once wanderlust bit them, there was no turning back. They saved up all year and went travelling during the summer. Meera started to write about her experiences. Rajeev encouraged her to perceive her hobbies now that she had lot of time on her hand. She taught kids in their locality to read. It brought her immense satisfaction to contribute into the lives of these kids. Taking her interests a little further, she asked Rajeev if she could teach underprivileged children for free. Rajeev was more than happy to let her do that. They saved up more to help in the education of children who belonged to poor families.<br />
<br />
Meera had known it all along, when she lost her first child, that she wouldn't be able to have a child of her own again. It was maternal instinct for her. When Rajeev told her three years after that incident, she was prepared mentally. Maybe her purpose in life had always been to touch more lives. For years, they travelled in distant villages of India, discovering new people and traditions and always giving back to the betterment of the people. When they could afford, they took an international holiday, once in five years. It was rare in those day for middle class people to travel abroad, but they could manage it with their savings and investments. Her albums were full of photographs from their travelling. The next few decades of their life went about the same, with lots of adventures and new experiences. With time, both her parents passed away. The circle of relatives she was close to became smaller. It was just the two of them now. Rajeev had grown in his designation, and with every raise in the salary they had increased the money they kept aside to help the children Meera taught. Some children often turned to them for monetary help for higher education, and Meera would invest in their education, always keeping a check on their grades and counselling them if they needed any guidance.<br />
<br />
When Rajeev retired, they decided to slow down, keeping in mind their deteriorating physical fitness. They now had all the time together. Since then, every morning she would snuggle close to him to wake him up and then get to the kitchen to get the tea ready. Then they would go for a stroll in the nearby park, meeting people and then going to their laughing club. Once back, she would set to make their breakfast and lunch. They would watch movies, keep talking about their life. On some days, students that she had once taught would come to meet her. She would feel proud of what they had become and insist that they stay for lunch or dinner. They were living a content life. And then one day, Rajeev too left for his heavenly abode.<br />
<br />
It was just like any other day. They had their dinner early and lay in bed talking until they fell asleep. She was just not prepared to deal with her life alone the next day. Sometimes she wondered if it would have been any different had she had children. Would her house be filled with more laughter? Would she by now had grandchildren coming to meet her? Then she thought of the numerous friends in laughing club who had children who never came to visit and lived a life similar to hers, only they still worried about their children and felt sad.<br />
<br />
She realised that in the twilight years, the only true company that we have is that of the spouse. With Rajeev's demise, that was taken away from her. A lone tear trickled down her eyes as she thought of him. Just then, the door bell rang. She opened the door to find one of her student. It has been long since someone had visited her. This student was a girl she had taught during her early years in Assam. She had got a job in Mumbai and had tracked Meera. Now in her forties, Meera could hardly recognize the girl until she called her Meera Mai. In her life, there was only one girl who had called her that, Ishita. Ishita was shocked to learn about Rajeev's death. She had corresponded with him over facebook some months back. Rajeev had known about her intention to move to Mumbai and meet them. Rajeev had kept it a secret from her.<br />
<br />
Ishita had worked her way up the corporate and was now a businesswoman. She had lived for some years in the US where she had met another man who was once taught by Meera. It was then that she had the idea of setting up a trust for kids who were deprived of education because of financial condition. From Rajeev she had taken details of several students benefited by Meera and him. One of them had a plot in an area not more than a few kilometers from the main city. Another one offered to build make-shift classrooms. The idea kept increasing and soon they had the blue print of a school with residential facility. Many of the students Meera had taught, could make it to higher education or were themselves into teaching and volunteered to help in the trust. All they needed now was a principal. When she had told this to Rajeev, he had suggested that Meera would take it up. It was all to be kept under wraps until Meera's birthday that year, which happened to be the same day.<br />
<br />
Meera had forgotten all about her birthday. Ishita asked Meera to check her postbox. It was something Rajeev had planned long back. They hardly got any letters and Meera never checked it. It was Rajeev who would clear it. When she opened the mailbox, she saw an envelope. It had a letter in Rajeev's writing.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"> "To the headmistress,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: purple;"> Life is not about how many children you bring into the world, it is about about many children in the world you bring to life. Today, the children whose life you touched have come together to keep your work alive. Who said our names continued with our progeny? It continues with the deeds we do. Here's to the second innings! I know you will do a great job as a headmistress, bringing light to even more lives. I will always be with you in whatever you do.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"> Love,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"> Rajeev</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
Meera could make out Rajeev had written this before he left her, but somehow he knew that she needed something to continue living. How right he was! He was always there with her, giving her hope when she lost all, making her smile when she did not see a reason to and now giving a purpose to her life when she had no will to live. She realised that in twilight years, all that you have is the love that you shared.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image result for old age love" src="https://i.startsatsixty.com.au/wp-content/uploads/20150711164518/060715_couple_bench_sunset.jpg" /><br />
<a href="https://startsat60.com/lifestyle/21-rules-for-a-good-old-age"> Image courtesy</a><br />
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-60833105214201532312017-08-12T23:22:00.004+05:302017-12-16T15:33:00.508+05:30Twilight years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Can anyone die of a heart break? Can you feel your soul leaving
your body, the pain that you harbour in your heart turning into a physical one
until it strangles your very being? Perhaps, the greatest test in life is not
living but dying. As she went from one day to another, Meera waited for nothing
but death. The burden of living was no longer bearable, not since she was left
all alone.</span><br />
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She woke up each morning at 6, as she had
done for 50 years of her life. Every morning, she opened her eyes, straining to
adjust herself to the darkness around her. Involuntarily she reached to the
other side of the bed, the one that was no longer warm with the person she
loved. She hugged the pillow and curled for a few minutes, taking strength to
live another day. Her knee ached as she climbed out of bed, another reminder of
her age. She opened the drapes to let the sunlight in, set the tea for boiling
on a slow flame and went to freshen herself. Once the tea was ready, she poured
it into the single cup that was left from the porcelain set that had been her
anniversary gift. The rest from the set had been broken by the man who insisted
on washing the cups every morning. For some reason, after he was gone, Meera
thought that this lone cup represented her. She was the last one left from the
set of people who had once formed her family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <a href="https://favim.com/image/88787/">Image credit</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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She had all the time in the world now. Time
stopped being a factor for anything in her life. As always, she made the
breakfast and ate in silence. She put on her glasses and read the newspaper
from page to page, folded it neatly back in place, went about getting her meal
ready. By 9 am her chores for the day were done and all she did was waiting.
Sometimes she sat in the balcony and dreamed of gone days. Some days when it
was too sunny, she reread some of her favourite books. Some afternoons she
opened the huge suitcase of albums that was now kept below her bed and spent
all day reliving those moments. Once it was dark, she closed the windows, had
an early supper and retired for the day, hoping that the next day she would be
somewhere with her husband.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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It had been 3 months since Rajeev died peacefully
in his sleep, with his beloved wife at his side. His wife, Meera, was
blissfully unaware of the departure of her dear husband until the next morning
when she snuggled close to him to wake him up and found his body cold. He sure
was one lucky man to have died such a death. For her part, Meera had nothing
against her life as well. Meera had lived a full life with her husband.
Sometimes she thought she had nothing to blame except for being alive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
Their life had been nothing but an endless love
story that began with an arranged marriage. Meera was married off to Rajeev
when she was all of 20 which, according to the times then, was quite late.
Girls in her times were married by 16 and had a couple of kids by the time they
hit 20. Meera had been quite fierce and put up a fight to complete her
graduation. To her advantage, her father respected her wishes and let his only
daughter do as she wished. When she finally completed her graduation, her
father brought an alliance which she could not deny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> There was nothing wrong
with the guy. He was employed in a bank, which was a rarity and had a stable
family. Meera, who read voraciously, had other ideas about the man of her
dreams. She expected sparks to fly when she first met her husband, her heart to
beat wildly at his smile and to fall head over heels in love with him at first
sight. But alas! Nothing of that sort happened when he first came to see
her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Dressed in a white shirt and
black trousers, his hair parted neatly in the centre, Rajeev looked more like
he was having a job interview! Meera was dressed in a white sari having a
design of red roses, a long red blouse of her mother fitted to her size for the
occasion and her hair done in a bun with a red rose tucked at the side. Her
wheatish complexion was lightened with powder and her big, expressive eyes
lined with kajal at the insistence of her over enthusiastic aunts. She looked
nothing short of a diva, but Rajeev was not a fan of made up ladies. He
wondered if he could spend a lifetime with a woman like that. Meera saw her
dreams shatter when she glanced at Rajeev. Their horoscopes were matched and
wedding dates were being discussed when Rajeev insisted on talking to Meera. It
was unheard of in any marriage of that time; a man asking to talk to his to-be
wife was seen as a sign of trouble. Once again, Meera's father took it upon him
to break the norm and let the two of them talk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
Sitting in the veranda of Meera's house, Rajeev
waited patiently as they were served a second cup of tea that was a pretext of
the relatives to eavesdrop into the conversation. Once all of them were out of
sight, Rajeev asked Meera directly if she was happy with the match. Meera was
taken by surprise. She did not expect him to be so straight forward and ask
about her wishes. It was for the elders to decide. Women had no say in these
matters. No matter how liberally she was brought up, it was still thought that
parents knew and did the best for their children when it came to matrimony.
Because Rajeev had considered her wishes, he won her respect if not love. She
had kept her gaze lowered all the while, unaccustomed to deal with such
situation, but when he asked she looked into his eyes. In his eyes, she saw
nothing but honest concern. A gentleness that she did not see while he was with
others. Maybe this man was more than he let on. The thought made her feel
better about her future. And what a day it had been! From despair to hope, she
smiled and nodded. Rajeev, who was preoccupied with the layers on her skin, was
dazzled by her smile. In her smile he found what he was looking for-genuineness.
Maybe she was not all that she was letting on!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
They had a short courtship of 15 days from the time their wedding
date was fixed. Unknown to their parents, they met every day. Every evening,
after his bank closed, Rajeev would take the train to her stop and they would
spend time together. There were no roses or love letters nor chocolates when he
met her. But he would charm her with the little things that he remembered about
her. Like he would know what kind of tea she preferred at her favourite shop,
that she liked peanuts plain and not salted and her favourite colour was purple
and not pink (although he found it all the same). She did not know how love
felt, but she knew it was one of the things that made a man travel the other
way after a hard day at work just to spend half an hour with someone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
Once they were married, she found herself struggling to
adjust with the domestic responsibilities. Her in-laws were old and demanding.
Her day started at 6 and she toiled all day with the household work. Making
breakfast, getting Rajeev's tiffin ready, attending to her in laws who expected
her to hand them whatever they wanted at their beck and call, getting lunch and
dinner ready and making sure that the house was always spic and span was
stressful. But with Rajeev's support she did it all. In the morning, before his
parents woke up, Rajeev helped her clean the house. They quickly stole kisses
when he left for work. During the day, the thought of him coming back to her
would keep her happy. Every evening when he returned from work, he would take
her out for a walk. They would stroll the neighbourhood garden talking about
their day, sometimes having chaat at the nearby stall, or go for an ice cream
when it was hot. She would feel refreshed when with him. Every Sunday he took her
out. Sometimes it would be a matinee show, sometimes a dance program, some days
he would take her to the bookstore and indulge her as she would be confused on
what to buy and some rainy afternoons they would just laze in their room
watching the rain. Rajeev's parents never disturbed them on Sundays and it was
the best day of the week for Meera.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
<a href="https://ilovemydarling.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/holdinghands.jpg">Image
credit</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
They were sailing the boat of marriage smoothly, until Meera got
pregnant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">To be continued...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Read the next part <a href="http://maithilibhatnagar.blogspot.in/2017/12/twilight-years.html">HERE</a></span></div>
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-40889703960884597892017-06-05T19:20:00.000+05:302017-06-05T19:36:26.230+05:30All the time in this world<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The child that stopped you on the stairs,<br />
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wanting to play catch with you,</div>
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you left hurriedly with a smile</div>
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making a promise for another day</div>
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Because you have all the time in this world</div>
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<br /></div>
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The drizzle in the evening and a hot cup of tea,</div>
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A moment to yourself all alone in the balcony</div>
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You put it aside, engrossed in networking,</div>
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You glance outside, wishing it rains tomorrow</div>
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Because you have all the time in this world</div>
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<br /></div>
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A phone call you have been putting away</div>
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Too busy to spare a few memories</div>
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A pleasant surprise in someone’s rather dull day</div>
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you could to it today, but you put it off yet again</div>
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Because you have all the time in this world</div>
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<br /></div>
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One day to another, you pass by</div>
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Letting go of things that make you happy</div>
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In hopes of a better chance at life</div>
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You let the one you have slip by</div>
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Because you have all the time in this world</div>
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<br /></div>
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Unsaid words, incomplete dreams</div>
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a whole world of emotions unexplored</div>
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You live the same day over and over</div>
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Keeping happiness at bay, just because you believe</div>
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You have all the time in this world!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<img alt="Image result for time running out" src="http://home.bt.com/images/time-running-out-to-use-your-isa-allowance-136404921059103901-160331131741.jpg" /></div>
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<a href="http://home.bt.com/lifestyle/money/savings-banking/time-running-out-to-use-your-isa-allowance-11364049210636">image credit</a></div>
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P.S: Just some abstract thoughts I had today. </div>
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-21729426719628583702017-06-03T11:02:00.001+05:302017-06-03T11:59:59.395+05:30Kid me not<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She closed the door quietly behind her, tip toeing her way into the house and into the washroom. In her bag she hid the small kit that she had purchased on her way back from work. Although the instruction was to wait until early morning, she couldn't hold on and broke open the kit. She prayed hard before she saw it. Two lines, one faint against the dark one. It had to be the dreaded line. She was pregnant!<br />
<br />
She disposed the kit before she heard the door click. Her husband had turned home unexpectedly early. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Her pale face and fatigued body at once concerned him. He had been telling her to slow down at work. After all, she was just 26. She did not have to burn herself to achieve anything. Together, they could manage the house conveniently and she did not have to strive so hard for a promotion. But for her, it was not about the "have", it was about "want". She wanted to excel at her work, to be looked up to by her coworkers, to be acknowledged in the corporate world and more than anything, she wanted to feel accomplished. Setting up a house and bring up a child was not her idea of accomplishment. She never put down women who gave up full time jobs to look after their kids, but she was not made for that. She couldn't hold a conversation involving recipes, vegetables or child behavior. She was the kind who could grab attention with her knowledge of world affairs, something which amused male relatives from their family and was beyond comprehension of the women she knew. She gelled up better with males as she found it easy to talk to them and on par with the topics they discussed.<br />
<br />
She went up to him to give him a quick hug. She knew he would realize that something was off with her. She did not want to hide the news from him, but she knew very well what his reaction would be. He would be delighted! He would want her to continue this pregnancy and focus all his attention on their family. He had no issues with her working, but she feared the equation would change once a baby would come into picture. For this reason, she had always been cautious, never giving in to moments. But who was she kidding, nothing is 100% safe. She went into the kitchen and started to get the meal ready. She would think about the situation when she the time to herself.<br />
<br />
She lay next to her husband as he watched TV after dinner, not really focusing on anything but simply trying to acknowledge the fact that she was not alone. She could never be alone to make this decision, there was a life already inside her, sitting snugly without judging her. She turned over, quietly calculating how long it had been. Long after her husband dozed off, she kept staring at the ceiling, afraid that the life inside her would give out the secret she was holding on to.<br />
<br />
The next morning, she called in sick to work. Her husband insisted they go to a doctor but she made him go off to work. She just needed some rest and promised him to go to doctor if she didn't feel any better. Once she was sure he reached his office, she got ready to visit the clinic.<br />
<br />
Even though she had made up her mind the last night, she was constantly battling her conscience. It was tough being a woman! She was not ready to commit herself completely to another person who would depend on her. On the other hand, a feeling of unease tucked at her, almost making her question the rationale of her action. Did she really want to give up a part of herself? No, no she was not falling into this trap. She had to be more practical than that. It was a life long responsibility which, no matter how much she shared with her husband, would weigh 24X7 on her.<br />
<br />
She went through the procedure in a detached manner. The doctor confirmed that she was 5 weeks into pregnancy, tried to counsel her into keeping it, told her the options she could have and she patiently sat through the entire thing. At the end of it, she booked her abortion for the day after. Once outside the clinic, she felt the moistness in her eyes. The maternal instincts had kicked in and she considered going back and cancelling the appointment, but she walked on.<br />
<br />
She coiled on her bed, unknowingly keeping a hand on her belly. She cried to herself. If she told her husband about it, he would see a murderer in her. A woman incapable of loving her own child. Why was it so difficult to understand a woman who did not want a child? It wasn't her choice to be born as a woman but it was her choice to not bear a child right now. Why was it unacceptable to people when a woman chose not to carry on her biological role? Was she just a womb? What about her ambitions and dreams?<br />
<br />
That evening while she was sorting her laundry, she had a terrible ache at the bottom of her stomach. She shouted out in pain. Her husband who was busy on the phone, came rushing to find her unable to move. It was only later that he saw the blood. They rushed to the nearby hospital where they were told that she had miscarried. It took a while for her husband to take in this fact. She was inconsolable. She did not know what was more heartbreaking, the disappointment on her husband's face or the fate of her unborn child.<br />
<br />
The kid she did not want, was perhaps aware of his destiny. Maybe, he too was not ready for the kind of end that his mother had planned for him or maybe he was the one who understood the plight of his mother. He decided to leave, like an unwanted guest who had made a brief entry into his mother's life. She felt guilty of keeping her husband in the dark, who was trying his best to console her, unaware of what her intentions had been. Maybe, it was best for them to keep the facade on. Her kid had carried the secret with him.</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-50010582560522848862017-01-30T13:36:00.001+05:302017-01-30T13:37:06.225+05:30The Silent Cry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The clouds had cast a dark shadow since morning. A calm had taken over the village. The markets were not bustling with people, the schools were closed and only a few shops had opened reluctantly. The heavy rains for last 4 days had brought the village to a standstill. He made his way to the lone house. The flood in the fields had made it difficult to access the house. The power was off and telephones weren't working. He wondered what the matter was.<br />
<br />
After a few knocks on the door, he heard the tinkle of the anklets fast approaching. His heart skipped a beat. She was in the house!<br />
<br />
She opened the door and stared at him for a few seconds.<br />
"You? I did not call you." she said coldly.<br />
"I came to check if you are ok"<br />
"What would happen to me?" she said with a smirk. He was shivering slightly. His face had turned pink with exertion.<br />
"Come in." she said and he followed her.<br />
<br />
She brought a cup of tea. As he sipped, she let her eyes hover over him. His sharp jaw line with stubble, his neck,his strong muscles, his perfectly sculpted body.. She felt a quiver. He looked at her and smiled. He stretched his legs lazily. She got up to clear the cup. He pulled her into his lap.<br />
<br />
The next moment, he was all over her. Once again, she was consumed by her attraction to his body. She wanted to devour him. Wild and passionate, he took her to peaks that were insatiable before. It was getting cold, the rain had started again. They lay entwined in the dark room. Sweaty and exhausted.<br />
<br />
When he woke up, she was not beside him. She was already dressed and setting the room in order. It irked him, the way she went about cleaning everything. When they were done, she would change the sheets without delay. She would air the room. She would once again resume her cold composure and behave as if nothing happened between the two of them.<br />
<br />
"You must leave before it becomes impossible to cross the fields."<br />
<br />
She always became impatient to have him out after she was done with him.<br />
<br />
"You are so selfish. You don't care how I would go out in such situation." he accused her.<br />
"I did not call you. Lata would be waiting for you."<br />
"When did you start caring about Lata?" he mocked her.<br />
"I m not as cruel as you think."<br />
He laughed at her words.<br />
"You are nothing but a witch. You lured me and now you behave like the pious one."<br />
He dressed and left without another word.<br />
<br />
She curled on the bed and stifled her cries. Not because she loved him. She did not love him. She only lusted for him. It was true that she had lured him. It was true that he was once a loyal husband.<br />
<br />
She had changed it all when she had gone to visit her cousin Lata. It was another monsoon. She was staying with Lata's family for a few days as her house was getting repaired. She stayed in a small room next to theirs. The giggles, the whispers and the moans from the adjoining room had made her curious. She could only imagine what was going on inside. It had made her jealous. She was deprived of this romance while Lata was basking in it. Without thinking of the mess that would be created, she went on to bewitch and seduce him.<br />
When he had come to drop her home, she had chanced on the opportunity and got him into her bed. It was addictive. The more she thought of breaking the ties, the more she found it difficult to get rid of him. It only added to her woes that he foolishly fell in love with her. She did not foresee this.<br />
<br />
She had not even planned to carry this any further than that encounter but she could not control herself when he visited her again. No matter how discreet she was, she worried about the helpers in the field. It would not take one much to add two and two together. In a small town like hers, she would be ousted from the community. A woman living alone, is never actually alone. It infuriated her that he did not understand her situation. He seemed to want her more fervently than before. She had tried to limit him and asked him to come over only when she called but he seemed unable to adhere to any rules. The fact that he scurried back to her the first moment he could after the rains was proof that he knew no bounds. It overwhelmed her when she thought of how irresponsible he had become towards his family. But then, was it actually her place to talk about responsibility?<br />
<br />
It rained incessantly since he left. She broke her reverie and sat by the small fire she had started to boil the rice. The rain lashed on the windows violently, the whistling sound of the wind made her shiver. She sat in the darkness of her kitchen watching over the rice. Then she thought of him again. Even though she had a hundred reasons to shove him away, for once she wanted company. Just another human to share the dark fear that clouded her mind. Oh, she would just keep him with her until the weather returned to normal. She even regretted that she had sent him away in such a harsh weather.<br />
<img alt="Image result for rainy field" 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TbMPhcuWO9x5xTSDZd/1D4g7BTOBq0UTsWXf0gJMlWZ0h7PXzgqZhHAPwjQnQ9/y8PCKC2zUziK366dou/y5ig5IDeHjGYTBTcwSkBTlra9BrHTYf2f92oJmoWFBjzjLl6B28PnBJRSsqMWxLhuGrW61BWVnUVFKX6DMQ56CvSJzUoJcMEiwt5wy4nMTma6UmgLmtvMtAgKVWTlvQguNKNGOd7KxQavgkudhBMRMk+8QSFIKss1nNSFMFjZvuIUyMGqVWhVsR6ikNOBlMqYp050qFA9Uqe/51g/HSRNSSAsFqivy1vFybcdDwtX5OUn4uY9SCH2geXMc/J6PWDsXh6sDcb2feJq4dlQxNXd6DSn184lSSRlTMTOlkGq84DPlSlrUAYkrfOL2baNISnKkn4Qwc2Yklg1gARW9PGAJKTKW7EgDmp5i4pp4w6kKQpQCQzMzE1JDkgE+oOogaxWg5FyuHkkoVMqmjlzcHKCAeaoAoSzgs0LDg5rEqygpo4YAgEOOW5FI6qXwoqmJCTXapDqId6NV3aN4nAMopAISsjKVL5Ugu2Ut0yneu0JdavIUcZLOVQJYX3ArStKeMGqlZk0BOUOohzuxfQXr93hrjODEpLJUoJUWSkBRLpNKbU62hbJXNTqUFNU5VKoauQNHe4EbZ5K48ioDnpI5crsK9r1a0VzpUwkqUTW5ZRc6vdz3hjNASkhRG/lQAb9vtGsNJJzGWlagj41INANzQttX+YrOthQPmIoySwFwCbRkHuTX3kmu8yYD5BQA8BGROS9Dozh02od7qf8A45S/1iwT26BRfvygM+oaF+FnEOWqHdtwkgd4zM/YIfxBFPWIlDZAcqay/wDkD62+v4YomAKQWuRmJ2sGHU/ICKJqqZgQzU8wPmT5GLAse7cfqIbwzD/9CBJoCEiaCsvcsBpWqfrB3vwFM36HtrQq7GxgWeRmCgKufQuD4k+kWoUHzUDPodvKxgk72BLFIBWhSgS3xF7ubnreLlYjM4JUoki9TctdzqaQunTiEsTZvCjfzFSiSX1Da7WPSkGFoA8zEKU+4oDZzQsOzxCZPqS1DpagSz/WASv0PhEJc9KSCvMpyLFv79IpdMdnV4XFqmSUpqMj0FgHF/3FiXLaCBMVPK5XKU8jOEjm/wCTjct6Rz8uZMKzMSFMKuHoIJE11ummfuKFwPT5QdqjTO0EybM+Ys5fxU5e508YHJIJA716j00DRbLS5/SaOHrytRxu7esWTEJfMK999COg2hcMVF2UZHCg1jbuw9fKKlShYsbGjHt6CLJWEMw8oL0/l4eYHg51qR+fneIvE0jByEeFwa3BQCC8dFwr2ZmT1hLAlRFdB1jpeDezilspQZBGlzD2ZxKRhJIKcpXlBA1fc+JAgyb3waYRigPiXAk8NQJiPdrKhkzrBK0lj/4x8IoDW8cdOWJpIYmjdmbmi3i/tPPxJSFHMAHKWIAU1S2txCrDTZilEAVJ6MLVP5tEdRub1pCT9nRYbCSwgBnWCwVUu25LdfOKMYtCc1SdDqLVq9RVqQOmeUAOFM6UilVP6fjQumTSVFnIq40Ox/iMlCXkptBMqUMzgaE0JLOR46wdImhzUUcO40uK/KKPZjAJnTmWlYATcOAd9KVNukdvwfg8hMnIuWhZCll1JTmLrJBJbZo7ILWwTPPMWWIyN1dnP0gCdPWkjOBXQkdx0t8o7/2g9nkE55YyinKByk9NjHJYjA5RVwody2xZnEKSi3QnGxFis0zTKLUBAU7s53+0G4XC/wCoqca0LpcB3ABcAVDH6UpFRk+8q5Is7EPdvu94kohL2UEsSkXLt5AH8DxElWjBqh3g8SrLmNGDoylTDKpiTQJDFVhdthAePUEAJPMB8JF1lQHLLGzs+rnq0LpylJASVP8ArJrUkkkDsG8vCKkZshUtRyh5YI+J1lwQGYADMX8IyjCwGEyYha0oBOVIbPQpJDpdRagJCPAPAfumCipPK7gkOQahlamoZju7RcZZlqKJv+msJYIIOUu+QuC6S4+K/KHpAeBm5y1c3MoqqWDOvNSuv8xpHYmhNOwizQKDlqFyVu7MAk6VPfeCpa0SSoGZzNlUJa8gP7kqJFRZx9oZGWlLBDJKW5ibakuXuNNOlIQ/40tc051sFGjBiSSDc28AfCOhNSW+CRkrEgWzJ6BKWHnWMgudjpeYtJUofuzKD+SmjIz+n9DE0pbZwSHe1r2D+PrEZZYFkswdyXoBW2vrFM5QckFRdqFg3hrYxP36VOCSBVy1bggddY1xJMz8xSapttavg5Ai5c4AAK5iwtQJJbzakDzVpUQKAMWqS16KoBVrjcRBCXvSlyDsW8y28U4iGCEczAjlYl6CtvGzDeNBTTQ9iSPSv0MUTTlLlzbRmIDXLuW+cWKUcwYWruWNb6N9YzxGSmyySAqzaG7GvlEch5XDgBias5fzoBEQskP/APVvB/QnzgmUQkB/9zAM4IY1Bt2hbSApkSgztYlwb1AZvzSIzcEKVpcsRtrXlrvtFi8UwBAYPpVqkh7VNIhMxAULOXsC3y7RSUrGiQQEEsSAQzPpfL9YkZaVX/V69A302iibLUS90lmB0altdYYYHhc2aXIYUAfQAUaBqttlxi3wC4eUouACbhh4BwfOsOsBwUlszh2p2hzw/hAT1MNcJhK2jCfW9HTDo+yPDOCcnLQbfl4Z4DhzkA/0Bf5iHeEwqUAuQwe/aEHFOMJlBpbl6E6V+WnnGT1tmjkkg/iXElSZQSlQSuwptc9qRw88zJqnFXcEnQubOesE4xZUQSOUAhyTm7t/y+8B4icQUixZJpZyMxPg4p2jNdRNpM53K3su5ZVVtmFvkSOvaKsLxBKplFqcAmjpo7M2rPf7Qtx2OXMAAFDrWtw6t6iJ4NM0Z+XMCP2uWJUxJFxy9qiNcb5FlukME44TSpIKnKvAjQOauzCKZ8qtFKIB2GnZqW9YlisElsySw5TalUudKGhgWetVQKJIoC9RVg9Xt5xrBqSKt+R/7L4lSZ6OdwoK0PTxFY7iVMADCjx5nKLFKnIKN63Ggeo0qfOOo4PxgrJSsEKamgIs4jRrWi4nSzp1KXjnOKIzPSvrtDQz4B4jMEYz2aI5PEcPYFmBNBt+U9YWpASokvmAY1cAM35TTWHeOUt6Men9whxpFCRX9tGftqIqKbVMymkDzJxN7D5dPWBJ81RFRQ/QsLaXi3HSHIqWb1rQRUiSQFCtWrpQ766xSikczTGON4klclCJgUZyCWm5g6pf7VUqxAIJfWtSIEkSVFaVy1hOVTu+QsTlDF+pHmIEWhZYAmnke8QUqoY6EdW/BDwVUgbHGKSAoZlpZnJQpwnUhwwBv3jeHx/IpMsssAtQE7vYZn8w+toSLVlcVBHrZo1LnhIevVqnvXp8oO3YZbITeITgojOoVNAAB5NG4OPE5eqVk7uQ/kYyNb/aTQtEl2GZItu9xajHzjRlgrCUjMauXoGDnYUZz0EVoByOxqaEPolm9R2eLpU8JKyxdYKamwNVNQfhMXQBmOwP+miYlHLlSV1c1UtNtAQGdmvrAE5BYUIA3Lkkkhh6wzlYoCYxqkI927pNBc98zkH7vEAoAX+EKf4q2YAtRJA84lNlUgU5vhIqkXNR1OxNAHMWZ0hsprSt3NArV/1E+MbTMTY0UQKNvU9BeJypQYKamlurDXK/X+xbElZJzlPKQ9XoSTv/ABWB5Upxoft3oxuaQUrCljlDguM2+xbTx0hrg+AKKWLEioIo9KliKNpa/aDgpQbE8hBBCiArK1Du2UsofOC8JggBmsSSw2tQEX8Y6BHCkpopSlEhr1sKawTL4Y4o4buWqzMH7mJcjWPTFmD4aHBU73/CY6HBykxCRwtaiMyrC3TSpgmbw4JGp3G/mbm0YSi5PbN40uAvDpS1x6fXtEhiEgqUkFQpYFgdf70gVWGQgOUMQKFnYs4BY1PQdICVxQBJcBOgKeUZjRyCLPEYJDcwniXFlqWSokZasAKB3q9w0IsRxTlyIJLk06hmfow6/OK8RPzalTjMSK65b0regeFciRMYqTarHvbauzb9ozay54OabdjOXiSpy9uYainLlpRxfrliCFJJzEg5RTs4A8K+DQFhcKopUp+bQKuHYuXHfWCZeHyBZTVABZPU5W71JrEygk3sQB7nlBCi9g32O0OsLMYKYu6C1WoCzg3ukn76q8POaYHYg1I2LE5/CNf5icyUpoAQn0GutzGjTYk6JCZMBGY1JPKLC1DWlMrlvMuIrxEyYVe8LEBgWBDMKd7EdIuOLBXkAazkgC13egcgnrbaInFA5kE2L5k0eN4/wO/BZgsdosHKQc1xagarNfzeGoBCkLFiGLUV320hDmUnUVFTXukUta8NcJPKk5VB9mJGr06CNK9Fxfgdji4DXtXpVqN3+cRXxBKikHWzdO8KlKd33f6V9YrnYbNQliwq5/NoTgmaZMYYos4rCibLNy5e1u1gPWJ5lG5LhviNWtvaLQgkFJDN0hRhiJuwMzBqHPX87xRNly6EpGrVIZxUtrB3uizXbwPrAeNJqGP5/baRZD4FsxCqtprZn7t02gKfYPUnbRmp6v4w0Si4CAoqo+UlQHQg0HcQEiUkgCpVWg2YekCSMXEHmKUfif8AN4HSkpIJDj6VhjiUykhJEwkKG2rMXfQWfpG5P+olw5Ya1LaZd66RSdImtlCZZIcIp1vGoYycXKCQFAE6v/cajJyn6NFBexRhFA0NjUjSzZu7m46CMmOpmoWqVF/icOdGoPOB5CVEEC1/L+WgyQCL63evn1eOpqjJEU4ZXnXSuxvaLvcKLuE+Jp4btbzjUvErzJ93cEEd/HaDcJhFkpJQzs3MLp1pZqVPW7xO/JSRXhcIFKdSc5oxGgoX+cMpHCFn4pYYqsVUCa1cF9m0L9IJ4ZJYlISWY1HdqmhdwdIeyZdB11velGiHI1jBFWGlpQmpSKbhm08NIMRLcOkh8rsxYtQB2AAbSLZGHH6gAwdqWs9H6WgzDklsrHXMSz+DU/mM2zaiCcOyedINgQnfuWYfjQWiQlIqR/xehrqTU9rQPMmqBuwDhnoond/NtT5ws43OGUqWZhtRylJS7aNdvSJ2DdBvEeNS0MygdCkMcr2tr06xpOMJrQA7ltqBx/PrCASfeMp/dy02IHV2Or3qzeUHHGgZwlAzB+epewBJBYPbuzQqrkSb8heInmuaYi9AH5dnYVfvoekIkYMldQSxDkm2jttYjwNI1/1FTmys2UrDuUuA7Ptzd2imZjCUu7EgbOyaOfQP0hZ1pEOaGKsIhPMtQfMcoP7dG3awG47QtxOOUJhCbUZyDQ6dm6aaRR/kBVFIdtHNA1bV0J17HQTEz3BSHodXBFLB7i/5WMXFyezOcr4Gk/GkgpIZwVB9SlNNdT8ohMnoy5Cf1ZXL/pIJp1PygDBMCkqY2SD3CiGqxoOukC4meKNpUHdRbMzm1II9LdCskrlazqBNC4arseuU2pGOfibmNrWFiPBvy8pE5JSAUnKzVoHN9LX1HjBgwzss5TViofFrsGFC1+lI3pWCVgKSpyVOMzhjStMxSOz+fSKpi1moSfAA9B8h5Q0/wwQzF2u9VE6CtBct0rsIL4chFQVW+jfnhGtKynBlOHnMk17KBLkkV70Jpeh6w0wtRyEXs+VWr3DPQ0eF83CKJJf4iKmlRrS1oKkJ5dGNNA3i4LuTDaRUVQUZhKi6WvRwWeoci4MZnoQ2tx12gZBId72p4moMSE4jYVa1Ol/HyhUVZfhzU5rGhe4MVBRCiMzjQu7dAekYm6VJvep2v+dYsx8gXBobizKu77tABCZZ700Gnj994HXKJBprX80PZoyVKSSAXD2AJZ2qB0jc+VZIdwdDbYtD4ECmWnVanqaE+B2894oXJykFNRe4cVt3teClSm5SDlpQHKfMDfd4kJagA5BB7aGtrHuNYCaE8+UpeUZXdwSbkk2DXgVUoy1EAFJpq4f5aw6GGK15QRY3LPZ7D5wHjsKpJyqZ70KVU7pMaJ+CGgEY1eoBO5Zz3jI0Eo1Kn6D+YyHS9EbJYZBHjt+dobYTBvU6/loowqWajlvCCkrGpBrQD6bwMuKL0y0JUprHUAMCdABUgWi6Sb0Lvr9hbvW8QBzdNNM3lpF2GlBrsBpeh66xJaLffN8AY7uwHm7mD8LiFM2YuQzliW1y0v1raBZUgqLBj4Wt5d4ZBSJaSVkUubgDQk9YiTLRbgkBPNUOwu5LDVxv/dIJm4gEM27jfvYWf6Qhl8eQpYYEkj4kpto5Nn6nrBshZLEMxs6mqBzVIvar7aRHkakvAfLmfpe4owcAjQBvK+u0Zi5gokrHUZczitaWYtA4xASmjZiotV3L2ZW7bQsxOOWVhkJNSEgCgNS6m+KhF6bAO0GrHYWriCyB+lB5QwZ2GgVUnqzUFDCvE5XyIBoCWFSTur9R0rEuIzC/OSTRkuwdmKnFB4DWm4HkpJKhajqXSmlDo9X6C8N1RLYIqafeNQkuH0zhJZNC3xMIoUouCB8QDAjWlC9BWCl4LQEctUgAmwqHZqMd7RPCzWqd2YCjlv6/uMG0uDCgKZiFIKcw+IPpYG52p9IonzOdQKs9FaDUXLbiviN4YtnQoHvuAHpRqPXy1inESkqUQC6kkcooFMKOdGSNbudouDTGjeFZboJy86SknlALObHb83XjDkKSClwpik7hT5SCC1wx8YKXiwzJQARmLsVKOj7M5DXfpFUiYSACQAhJAe9SSRTep7qO8aRjjYFstNeYKpY57vRg7vqzg9RBcjhgzGp1ZwxBfVvn+CciYhIzF7NQF9KB9Ya4cII5XLUelC508jCto0jFEMPNGYBWdLGhejEGw+unjE8ZOHhViXam/evpFGMxZQrQsaV5aXekKcTxJU0BJc0ckBgNb+LQqdjlOtDOZM5CQr/klqjSg/LRQAAVIYkO4Jq7P9z0hclakkJ5f3OKkUqD/UHYac7hQPUHrt5GkaVQrssJBNHvUtQmlesaWAuigS1bsaW8anzi5ax4t4/3AiFPR69x4fjQDZiZhSaE63PZg+kGIxBZlO5qC1zYjZRtAeZ9O3eLJc0JDLFCxZrF/iB0htCRIrJu7HoxfrGZgrRlDtoY3MnE0LF9ttFfxFU2l7/MPAMs3Z2e/wCXiueVMG/TbsfpR6bmMVNBoSx7xViVU2b1FKFz0gQmVlRylJOYHZxY0Pz84BmLIoU+PTxEXJTrqWF6N9GimdMf87xaRDKY1GAdR5iMiiRgZY1Pp4Rshq1ABajOTt0EZGQig1EtKQ9z5PBCRyuqg797DwjcZElhUtaUliSAQTy3bd9NPtF/EcPnSwAAU1TUl6B9/uBGoyM2UBIlysMSSFFSUihZmI/20imXxBS05n5QaJoXUaOXpRnjIyMfn8zLJ3Rv/LUxKlGtvIm/Vh5CApGLKUO5ua/qskMD3EajImvzfX/RNuy4nOpRVUFCW3+FLPsxJoKBy0UT8UAKB6dqUdhu5jcZFy/V9gkyiXxJUspWBUKJY7U5aaMCDBE3LLc3SMqkgu5zfA/hU9o1GRnJK0RYDJWqgP6gW1snLvo/rBxWErLpdLc1hmzO2ZvOg+cZGRotsqIX/lJLlSQkA/pBa2mvnFOMmSndstmYUVVnI3qIyMjZRRq3oIOWWEqNHNCasBfwipfELsKZqdXEZGRLitibFs6etRykjoK6VfvUeUCoSUrBSk7gZgzuwAcWLxkZDyozbCsJkAC6uFD1P7qHTaCpKRyjy31/mMjI0ZaL5k2hID1Zu1NYGDHmIY6h9m8NY3GQIbLlzQUp5Q4Jq6gTtqwa1IqVOcMTZ+rWsdYyMgCySFOliAW3/KRVjJmViBpu/wA9NI3GQlyD4BffEdXFH00b0iwKLO1YyMimSVKm+bH7RricuWAlSCQ4ZSS5IWBUuzEGMjIaExeFJ1zeDfeMjIyLM7P/2Q==" 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">Image credit</a><br />
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There was a knock on the door. She walked towards the door, wondering if he had returned back. There was slight bounce to her step as she thought of him. She opened the door to see two dark faces. She recognized them to be men who worked in neighboring fields. They were soaked to the bone but their expression was grim.<br />
<br />
"There is a man lying in the field, we think he is your relative" one of them said.<br />
It took her a moment to take in their words. Her throat was dry.<br />
"What happened to him?" she asked fearfully.<br />
She did not wait for the answer. She ran through the muddy fields, braved the water logged low lands and reached the place where people had started gathering. She pushed them apart to see him lying on his back. She dropped to the ground beside him, wailing. She felt widowed again.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"> She placed a hand on her child's forehead. He was running a fever. The doctor from the neighboring village had not visited in four days. The child slept peacefully, unaware of the catastrophe that was to befall on the family. She placed another damp cloth on his forehead. It would all be over. Her marriage, her life as a married woman, her life as a woman cheated. He had not known her. For him, she was the woman who cared and raised his family, who knew nothing of the world and his meandering ways. But a wife always knows. She knew it for a long time and suffered in silence. But she lost her mind when he had told her he was going out today. She knew he was going to her. She was not the kind of woman who would forgive him for his adulteration. Only if he knew how much she was capable of doing! She eyed the vial that she had emptied into the milk he had before he left and a lone tear escaped her tired eyes.</span></span><br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-59000835529546782782016-12-12T12:56:00.000+05:302016-12-12T12:56:31.135+05:30Of winter and memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<img alt="bed, bedroom, room, window, winter" height="212" src="http://s4.favim.com/orig/141027/bed-bedroom-room-window-Favim.com-2185254.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Image courtesy: <a href="http://favim.com/image/2185254/">favim</a><br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the warmth of your naked skin against mine. Spooning against you, under the duvet, your breath tickling my senses.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the times I snuggled with you, resting my head on your pillow, taking comfort in your smell and feeling secure.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of the rare times I climbed out of bed before you and then nestled back with you, rubbing my cold feet against your warm ones and giving you goosebumps.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me hot ginger tea that I made every morning for you and complained about how I preferred coffee more.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how you would sneak my socks inside the blankets so I can wear them warm for work.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how you loved to smell the rose scented cold cream I used. Of how you would hold me a little longer when you left for work.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind of the steamy bathroom glass where you scribbled with your finger. They remind me of days you were insatiable and dragged me back into bed.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind of holidays we took in log cabins. Of days and nights of unbridled passion. Of me refusing to get out of bed. Of you obliging and making me coffee in the electric kettle. Of long talks and short naps. Of hot piping food ordered and devoured while watching TV. Of the glint in your eyes as you had your way with me. Of the longing I felt each time I recognized your intentions.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind of the Sundays that began only at noon. Of lazy planning and then staying put at home, shutting out the entire world. Of watching series back to back. Of the drink that burnt my insides into dizziness. Of how we danced slowly into the night. Of you patting me into sleep.<br />
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Cold winter mornings, they remind me of how cold your body felt, lifeless. Cold winter mornings, I wonder if you feel cold inside the bed storage. Cold winter mornings, I feel my heart frozen with your deceit. </div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-84704395043936267612016-11-23T13:47:00.003+05:302016-11-23T13:47:56.666+05:30Confession<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It wasn't the first time that she had attempted to write. The innumerable draft mails in inbox were silent witnesses of the difficulty she had putting her thoughts into words. But then, she wasn't the one who had her way with words anyway. It was always her. The person she was desperately trying to reach out, yet didn't dare.<br />
<br />
It was the last month of the year and she had resolved to come clean before the year ended. The guilt she harbored had become too much to bear. It felt like a heavy weight on her chest and she couldn't breath easy without getting it off. She had made the decision way back in June, thinking she would have enough time to prepare herself to face the consequences of her disclosure and here she was, not an inch closer to her plan. She checked the time again, it was way past her work hours. The lights were out in most sections of the floor. She wondered if she could just stay back and finish what she was writing. She liked to be alone these days. She could think clearly and put her ideas out better when she was in solitude.<br />
<br />
It was past midnight when she completed the email. It was the best she could do. She decided it was time to click on the send button. She did not want to wait any more. With a sigh, she sent the email. She packed her laptop, booked a cab and walked towards the office entrance. Her heart was throbbing wildly. She did not feel like herself. After months, she felt unburdened but the adrenaline in her system was making her dizzy. She knew it was a catastrophe in somebody's life.<br />
<br />
She reached her apartment at 1 am. It was not unusual for her to be this late. However, it was unusual for the gate to be open at this hour. The security guard was not on his post. A mild shiver coursed through her body. Was something wrong? Her panic dissipated when she saw the guard walking back. He smiled at her. She took the lift to her floor. She saw that her neighboring door was wide open. She peaked into her neighboring flat and stood frozen. It was her.<br />
<br />
"Hi Riya, you are very late today", her elderly neighbor said.<br />
"Yes aunty, I had work today", she responded, her eyes still fixed on what she was seeing.<br />
She smiled.<br />
"Riya, Anwesha just came now from Delhi. She will be here for delivery. She is in her ninth month. Ofcourse, you must be knowing", Anwesha's mother blabbered excitedly, unaware of the tension between both of them. She went into the kitchen leaving them both together.<br />
<br />
"Riya, why don't you come in?" Anwesha asked.<br />
She looked at Anwesha. Surely she had not read the email. She realised she was staring at Anwesha's baby bump. She looked ready to pop a baby anytime. And then it struck her! What had she done! She had ruined Anwesha's life yet again.<br />
<br />
"Anwesha, I am sorry. I am sorry" she broke out and just rushed into her own flat.<br />
<br />
Anwesha was dumbfounded by the sudden outburst. A year back, her childhood friend Riya had just stopped talking to her. She refused to divulge what had happpened that led to this strange behavior. She had tried her best to prod her and find out what was bothering Riya. As much as she could think, she did not have a reason why Riya had out of the blue broken all contacts with her. They had no arguments, no complexities and had been best of friends before Anwesha had moved to Delhi. Anwesha had cried some nights on her husband's shoulder when she had lost all hope of Riya's friendship. With time, she had forgotten all about Riya's bitterness. She was occupied with her pregnancy. Riya was unaware of her pregnancy.<br />
<br />
She changed into her night clothes and lay on bed, thinking of what had transpired.<br />
The next morning, she opened her phone and realised that she had not switched on the data roaming. The messages and emails started pouring. She was surprised to see one mail from Riya.<br />
<br />
"<i>Anwesha, I have been unfair to you. Not just unfair, but unfaithful. I could not face you after what I had done. I could not bear to talk to you. I did not know how I was smitten by Rahul. I just did not plan it. It just happened. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> Trust me, I was the happiest person when you got married to Rahul. I did worry about you moving out of the house and not being able to spend time with me, but all my doubts were set aside when Rahul so readily became a part of our lives. I loved hanging out with you both. I did not do it conciously, but a dark desire crept into my heart. To have what was yours. Unknown to me, Rahul was also having the same thoughts. When you guys decided to move to Delhi, it broke my heart. Not because you would be moving to another city, but because I would not be able to see Rahul. I hated how selfish I had become. A week after you guys moved to Delhi, Rahul came to visit me. I was all alone and without thinking about you, we sinned that night. Something changed after that. Rahul distanced himself from me and I could not bear to live with what I had become. I did not dare tell you. You both looked so happy together. I did not want to break your house but I could not go on as if everything was the same. Why am I telling you this now? Because it is breaking me apart. I cannot fathom the hurt it will cause you but I cannot go on another day with this guilt. I am sorry Anwesha, I did not mean to hurt you but I have. I have hurt you deeply. I know it is impossible to forgive me, but know that I never intended it that way."</i><br />
<br />
She touched her baby bump and smiled and said,<br />
<br />
"Rahul will never know you are not his".<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-26701137539177812102015-09-09T11:44:00.002+05:302015-09-09T14:10:30.536+05:30Fort Vengeance Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Read Part 1 <a href="http://maithilibhatnagar.blogspot.in/2015/01/fort-vengeance.html">here</a> and Part 2 <a href="http://maithilibhatnagar.blogspot.in/2015/04/fort-vengeance-2.html">here</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Sardesai tossed and turned on his bed. He had been unable to
sleep ever since the killings at the fort. The case had made him impatient. It
wasn't that often that a case like that happened in Raiji. In his career he had
never seen a crime like this. The weapon did not match any of the conservative
weapons used. Who was this mastermind? How did a simple town like Raiji give
birth to such a criminal?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
He felt his wife's hand over his chest. She caressed him lightly. He
turned towards Sadhna, his wife. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"What is it that keeps you occupied these days?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"Nothing" he lied to his wife as he ran his hand into her long
hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"I heard about the fort."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"From whom?" he asked her, at once alarmed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"I have my sources too" she giggled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"Sadhna, please tell me, who told you?" His tone scared
her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"Dilip, the locals know all about it. They talk in hushed tones
about the murders because no one knows for sure. There are rumors that there is
a ghost in the fort."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"What rubbish" Sardesai dismissed his wife's news. But it
bothered him that the news was out in the public. Did that mean that there was
someone who was letting out the secret? His investigation had not progressed
much but whatever he had come across in the last 2 days had been shocking. If
given a free hand, he could have openly investigated the matter but Patil had
tied his hands. He now knew only too well what happened to people who went
against Patil. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"When we were young, Prabhakar Kaka would sometimes visit us and
tell us about the history of the fort. He loved to teach us. He took us to each
and every corner of the fort. Did you know there is a hidden passage in the
fort?" Sadhna mumbled, staring at the ceiling. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"What did you just say? A hidden passage?" Sardesai sat
up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Sadhna raised herself and leaned against the pillows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"Sadhna you never told anything about Prabhakar Kaka. How was he
related to you?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"There isn't much that I know of Prabhakar Kaka. We were only kids
that time. He was my father's cousin. He used to visit us in Nagpur once in a
year or two. It was only after I shifted to Raiji for studies that I came to
know how popular he was."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"What do you know about the secret passage?" he
interrogated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"I have never seen it. He never showed us the passage. He
said it was the best kept secret of the fort. I doubt if even he knew where it
was. But he did tell that one cannot stumble upon it if one looked too hard for
it. It always intrigued me, the secret passage."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
***<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"> She sang about the winter nights. About the fire. About the love
that keeps the heart warm. About the ice daggers that cuts the soul. When she
sang, her melody carried pain. Her eyes closed, she was lost in her past. A past that had so much happiness and so much deceit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"> It numbed him every time she sat like that. He had goosebumps all over. For him, she was his world. He could do anything to make her happy. Yet, on days when tears rolled down her cheeks, he watched helplessly. He never interrupted her. He knew it was her only release. Her history made his blood boil. With a strengthened resolve, he set on his task. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
***</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Mukta was nervous about her father's visit. Her father had never expressed any love for her or her brother. She was always conscious in his presence. As a child, she always hid in her room when her father was in the house. He too never bothered to interact with her. The only time he had been proud of her was when she had topped her class 10 exams. He had kept a grand party at their bungalow and distributed sweets in his constituency. It was the only time when she had felt like his daughter. She had thought that this would change her relationship with her father. She had been brave enough to tell her father that she aspired to be a doctor. Her father had been indifferent. The very next day, Dinkar kaka had told her that her father was sending her to Raiji to pursue an Arts degree. Mukta was heartbroken. She had not even been consulted on this major decision of her life. She was sure that her father had no plans of investing on her future and would find an alliance for her that would benefit his political career. He was the most selfish man she knew. She began hating her father with a new vigor. The only good thing about Raiji was that her brother was already there. Sharad had met a similar fate when he had desired to be a writer. He was promptly packed to Raiji and enrolled in commerce. Patil wanted him to complete a management degree so he could carry on his businesses under Sharad's name. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She had told Samarth that her father had ways of knowing her activities and if he found out about campusdiaries he would expel Samarth. Samarth had simply laughed off her worries. She remembered Sharad's words. No, she would not be careless. She had messaged Samarth that she won't be coming online. He had simply said ok. Just ok? Why did she have to tell that to him? Unlike her, he had other people to chat to. Why would it matter she was online or not? Her father would reach late at night. She could have still chatted with him. Now she regretted tell him she won't come online. She was already missing him. Was she falling in love with him? Did she have the right to?</div>
***<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> Early in the morning, Sardesai decided to meet Dr Raghuvanshi. He was a 90 year old man who had lived in Raiji all his life. He was a historian. Sardesai's mind had been racing ever since he came to know about the secret passage. After talking to Sadhna, he was sure that there was something about the fort that he needed to know to solve this murder mystery. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> Dr Raghuvanshi lived in his old ancestral house. The house had been renovated but had maintained its old world charm. They called it wada in Marathi. A very few houses in Raiji had remained in the wada structure. It was a single storied wada with rooms arranged around a courtyard. Dr Raghuvanshi often entertained people in his courtyard which had huge swing and small seatings surrounding it. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> A maid opened the door. Dr Raghuvanshi did not keep too well and seldom went out. Age was taking a toll on him. The old man hunched. He walked slowly into the courtyard and directed Sardesai to take a seat on the swing. The maid helped Dr Raghuvanshi on the swing and went about doing her daily chores. Dr. Raghuvashi coughed repeatedly as Sardesai introduced himself. Sardesai wondered if the nanogenarian could be of any help. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> Dr Raghuvanshi adjusted his spectacles and spoke, "I have never seen a policeman at my doorstep. Researchers and students often come to me for guidance. This is the first time a policeman is seeking my help. I am flattered!"</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> Sardesai was getting impatient. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> "Is it true that there is a secret passage in the fort?" he asked straightaway</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> "Only a secret keeper would know" Dr Raghuvanshi smiled. </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>To be continued</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-10511232806067326212015-08-21T14:59:00.000+05:302015-08-21T14:59:50.334+05:30Airtel 4G- For the fast and curious<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It has been almost 10 years since I first got on the
internet. Yes, I distinctly remember the year 2005 because it brought into my
life someone who is now my husband and my affair with the internet started that
very year. Back then, computers were just making their way into the middle
class house. Mobile phones were just getting their color. Having a phone with a
camera was considered as a wastage. What could one do anyway with those low
resolution pictures? Our Orkut profile pictures mostly featured some prominent
actor or actress. We didn’t mind waiting for the e-mail to load, we still
depended on video parlors to watch a movie because downloading one was
unthinkable. Shopping happened in the known shops of the crowded lanes. Having
food in select restaurants was reserved for special occasions.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world has changed in the past decade. We are the
generation that has seen it all. From black and white TVs to flat LED screens,
from the huge old computer to the sleek new laptop, from the good old landline
phone with a turning dial to the latest touch screen models. The revolution
that has brought about this drastic change in the lifestyle is the internet. The
internet has made it possible to sit in one corner of the world and go around
the globe in a matter of minutes. The world is at your fingertips. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the days when I used to struggle with the internet
speed of snail’s pace. Video chatting was the test of all patience. It
definitely ensued a fight between me and the guy because it took forever for
the video to stream and another lifetime for the audio to reach the other end.
It was frustrating to say the least. How easy life is now! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During my college years, internet was slowly making its way
into mobile phones. Remember the GPRS that we tried out of curiosity and then
paid a heavy bill for? Airtel live was a thrill in itself because through phone
we could select ring tones, match our astrology, read a line or two of news. The
mere fact that it can be done on your mobile phone was enough to make us
excited. It is another story that we only came to know of the charges later. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then came the 2G. The only app I used with 2G was WhatsApp.
Nothing else was worth the wait. We could do everything else on our computer.
Then came 3G and android had uses such as Facebook, twitter and Instagram. Life
was never the same again. Mobile phones quickly became the center of our
universe. It was everything packed into one! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hardly used airtel 3G except for WhatsApp and Facebook. My
earlier office prohibited mobile phones and after getting back home, I had the
LAN connection. I started using my mobile internet only after joining the new
job. At home the Wi-Fi connectivity is unbelievable fast. Since I spent more
than 3 hours per day travelling to and fro work, most of my social networking
happens through mobile phone. I am a lazy person to keep hoping shops and
trying clothes. I prefer online shopping for everything. No wonder my mobile
has flipkart, jabong, myntra and I surf through them while travelling. Since I
am new to Bangalore, I also use zomato each time I plan to go to a restaurant.
My new found love for random tags and photographs has made Instagram all the
more enjoyable. The only huddle is the slow connectivity with 3G. Yes, the
internet speed is decent enough but the things that we do with it has made it
imperative for it be faster and more efficient. With Airtel 4G being launched, my troubles have found solution!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I am actively back to blogging, I have been trying to
log in through my phone into blogger but I am always scared of the slow speed
and connection issues. Recently I was so impressed by a blog post that I wrote
full 3 paragraphs of comment on the post but the comment took so long to
publish that I had already entered a no network zone. I wished the connection
was faster! I am waiting for my<a href="http://www.airtel.in/4g/"> Airtel 4G</a> connection so that I could blog in peace and comment to my heart’s
content!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have the habit of going to google search to learn more
about anything I come across. A faster connection will make it easier to feed
the curious cat within me. From movie plots, to scandals, to history, to random
questions, I keep surfing the net till I get my answers. I can do it all while
on the move!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for my craze for online shopping, it takes me at least 2
days to zero in on an outfit I want to buy. The collection is huge and the time
to surf through the apps is more. Often when I feel I should go back and buy
the outfit that I first liked, it is out of stock. A faster connection would
make sure I get what I want. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The book reader in me is dying a slow death due to lack of
time. The blog reading and online story reading keeps me going through the day.
Since that too has now become a luxury that is confined to my travelling and
free hours on weekend. I cannot keep a story down and restrict myself to short
stories that I can read online in less time. Of course finding a story would be
easier and save a lot of time with a faster connection.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until my marriage, I had widely used public transport for
travelling. Out station journeys were meticulously planned and train tickets booked
in advance. Post marriage, lot of our outings have been spontaneously planned
and we have hit the road in wee hours of the morning with only the GPS as our
guide. On one such trip, we were on a very confusing road and since the map
showed our point at the right road we kept moving ahead. 5 minutes into that
way, we knew something was wrong. The map ridiculously showed us way off the
road! All due to slow internet connectivity; we wasted around an hour going
around that road as there was no turning back. 4G would be a real help on our
road trips.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am wary of booking tickets through my mobile. Many times
the internet gives away making it a payment failure or transaction gets
cancelled due to the process taking longer than required time. I am hoping a
faster connection would make it convenient to make online bookings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world is moving at a fast pace and the internet needs to
be faster to keep track of these changes. In a competitive environment it is a
need to be constantly updated and curious about your field. You need to be fast
and curious and a fast internet connection is an aid that is indispensable. Now
you can have all that you need just by a click at the right place. A faster
connection will help you achieve a lot in no time! Thanks to <a href="http://www.airtel.in/4g/">Airtel 4G</a> we can now hope to have it all! <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-83059169547515899472015-07-10T15:01:00.001+05:302015-07-11T10:40:56.969+05:30Choosing a sweeter, healthier life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>It's that time of the year when
realization dawns. The winter festivities have made sure that the calories we
hogged on to are showing in all the wrong places. The summer indulgences of
sundaes and family packs of Amul are piling up with all their love. Welcome to
the alien world of your own wardrobe. The dress that fit like a dream only last
season, now refuses to pull down the love handles. The tops, that you spent so
much on, hold your arms in a clingy way to give you abnormal curves. You stare
at the image with disdain and remember the famous dialogue, "Ye admi adrak
ho chuka hai, kahise bhi badh raha hai". But instead of clapping, tears
well up at the sad plight! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Amidst this sudden body crisis, comes the call of relatives
near and far, informing of yet another season of celebrations! A cousin getting
married, another getting engaged, anniversary party, its a downpour of
invitations. To anyone who has had weight issues, this is the call of action
unless you like complete strangers commenting, "You have put on weight, you
were slim the last time". You alone know that the last time was ages
ago! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Post marriage (Did I mention I got married last December? No?) I
have had little time to think of what I eat. It is quite an irony, given that
most my thoughts are about food. Months of diligently working to come at a
reasonably fair weight for the wedding just went down the drain post the big
day. For nearly 6 months, every Sunday was a gluttonous one. The husband's
relatives refused to let go without making sure that every meal cost me a
kilogram at least. The dinner and lunch invitations had the better of me. As it
is I was never good at holding myself when it came to food. Added to it, the
lonely months of being away from Mumbai, woke up the comfort eater in me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Now that the alarm bells are ringing, I have to get my act
together. It is tough to get on a balanced diet when you are the one cooking
it. On days you have too much work on hand, cooking simple dal and rice becomes
a herculean task. I just wonder how Mom managed to cook a well-balanced
nutritious meal every single day. Gone are the days when I used to complain
that my tiffin is always the same and boring. It would take me forever to cook
all the things that they recommend in diet books. What option do I have? A
crash diet?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I have never been the one to go on crash diets. I just do not have
it in me to survive on the calorie intake of an ant. But I won't say I haven't
been tempted to! One of my classmates had managed to survive on just water and
pulses for months on end. The results are worth envy. She has lost oodles of
weight and carries of any kind of clothes well. Every time I look at her
pictures, I feel the urge to go on a diet like that. Only, I cannot sit hours
with a hunger pang. I cannot pass through restaurants and drool like a
penniless person. I cannot deal with my hair going all dry and brittle. I
cannot feel nauseous and weak all the time. I cannot see my eyes buried inside
my sockets. I cannot see my teeth almost protruding because my cheeks have sunk
in. Yes, that is the cost that she pays every day for that figure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The harms of a crash diet are more than the benefits. A crash diet
is impossible to sustain in the first place. Anyone who sustains is bound to
die of malnutrition. Giving up on the crash diet only invites more weight. It
is a vicious circle. One that is dangerous to life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crash diet is nothing but a shock to your body. It deprives
your body of essential nutrients. Most crash diets just concentrate on reducing
the calorie intake so much that it does not even spare enough energy to carry
on day to day activity. If you are working or studying, be prepared to faint
somewhere. Off late there is a growing business of diet food and diet drinks.
Some even claim only the drink is enough to manage the nutrient requirement of
the whole day. XYZ doctors and crooks claim to give the perfect weight loss
diets with recommendation to walk 45 minutes per day. The energy deprived
person often falls prey to knees problems and hair loss. Funnily enough, these
same clinics offer hair regeneration and knee therapy. Good business? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crash diets are an unhealthy option to lose weight. Often it
results it sagging skin, wrinkles and speeds up the ageing. Beats the whole
purpose right? Most diets only aim to reduce body water and not fat, thereby
creating an imbalance in the body. Fatigue, weakness, constipation are the end
products. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Protein fads are another thing that many take up to lose
weight. Cut down all carbohydrates, discard the fats. The brain cannot use
energy from proteins, it needs carbohydrates to function normally. But who
needs brains these days? Say no to fats and let the bile secretion in body go
to hell. We absolutely love to call PCODS and hypothyroidism on ourselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crash diets end up in nothing but future illness. A good measure with the tape and a drawer full of tablets is what we are looking at. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7txhcGQ9E5iiIJg4CWyArSI2CQWcyvYL3mFZoVEEXYbVhsQmZoGrfAYST6DQI2Am7OzJ-RjdTzpdK5YQgjXYsSbOlLU4B5hfdZVtuUKur9KgF3BNbUW09j9BPtKjd5SVpoIMU7Mt86e8/s1600/buzzle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7txhcGQ9E5iiIJg4CWyArSI2CQWcyvYL3mFZoVEEXYbVhsQmZoGrfAYST6DQI2Am7OzJ-RjdTzpdK5YQgjXYsSbOlLU4B5hfdZVtuUKur9KgF3BNbUW09j9BPtKjd5SVpoIMU7Mt86e8/s1600/buzzle.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
source: www.buzzle.com</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps it is time to revisit school. Remember this pyramid
that we so studiously learnt and repeated at every exam? Yes, this very pyramid
was one of the few things that was not supposed to be mugged and vomited. It
was to be carried all life. The right amount of the nutrients that lead to a
healthy life represented the solution to all health issues. Sadly, we don’t
tend to include this mantra in our life. We swear by diet fixes, baked stuff, and
low cholesterol snacks but forget to acknowledge the goodness of fruits and
vegetables. We like it all ready to make. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ezpIE7Y88wmO-T-ycefDSXoYDjxIGLc-mg0L_9hv6RqAZnGQQ5kEhfqEOz2VjoUr5orNAW-V6rWyOHKp0YstxMTUew3uMttbVeAHcWttiSQ84CQvNUPgpjvNvFvww5_0NCby8T_5j8k/s1600/styleglow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ezpIE7Y88wmO-T-ycefDSXoYDjxIGLc-mg0L_9hv6RqAZnGQQ5kEhfqEOz2VjoUr5orNAW-V6rWyOHKp0YstxMTUew3uMttbVeAHcWttiSQ84CQvNUPgpjvNvFvww5_0NCby8T_5j8k/s320/styleglow.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Source: www.styleglow.com</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wouldn’t say I have followed a healthy and well balanced
diet. I have messed up my eating many times. Diwali is just 4 months away and
the dreaded wedding season just 5 months to go. I have panicked. I have looked
at quick fixes. Tried to purchase unnecessary health drinks. But I am proud to
say I haven’t done any of it. Out of sheer laziness. Then I came upon something
that I could follow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just when I was looking at a diet book that many people
recommended on flipkart, a mail came to me. I went to see what it was all
about. A honey advertisement. Then I looked at what it had to offer. Voila! I think I found the answer at <a href="http://www.daburhoney.com/"><span style="color: magenta;">daburhoney</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I swear by the goodness of honey when it comes to my sore throat.
For years I have pumped myself with antibiotics for throat infection. Then one
day, late in the night, my throat hurt. Not knowing what to do to avoid having
a throat infection, I drank hot milk with honey. I added one spoon of turmeric
to it to enhance the effect. Since that day, at the slightest hint of a throat
infection, I try this remedy and it never fails me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This page made me aware of so many other properties of honey
which I had always known but never tried. One that offers to help weight management, to get beautiful skin and aids digestion,<span style="color: magenta;"> <a href="http://www.daburhoney.com/"><span style="color: magenta;">honey</span> <span style="color: magenta;">diet</span></a> </span>is just what I looked for.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took the 3 click diet planner and voila! I had the diet plan
ready. It takes into consideration the gender, lifestyle and BMI. Also it is no big deal to stick to this plan. Also it is easy to cook.
Working in a shift makes it very difficult for a lazy person like me to
exercise. This page also offered some basic and realistic exercises to lose
weight. The page also offers various health tips. I have already started using the stair. I plan
to start skipping now. Today is day one of my <a href="http://www.daburhoney.com/"><span style="color: magenta;">honey diet</span></a>. I feel energetic and that is a positive sign
of a healthy diet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t plan to get a makeover with this diet. I know any
good diet should work gradually and not just aim at losing weight. It should
achieve an overall sense of wellness. It should make the skin glow. It should not make the hair lose its luster.
It should make the eyes bright. It should keep the energy levels high. Only
then it can claim to be a well-balanced diet. There are no quick fixes. I am
giving myself 5 months. I know it is difficult for me to lose weight because of
thyroid issues and my love for eating. I have a realistic expectation and body
image. Because my weight does not define me. Do it because you need to be
healthy not skinny. Don’t do anything that doesn’t agree with your body. Your
body is not to be abused with food that doesn’t suit you. Remember, the body
only accepts what the mind wants to. So set your mind to it and make way for a
sweeter, healthier life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-662074212654645652015-05-20T09:44:00.002+05:302015-05-20T09:44:59.003+05:30My mother, my expert<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was a young girl awestruck by glamour. Spending hours in front of the idiot box had influenced me in a big way. I knew who was dating whom and what celebrities did to while away their time. On a usual Sunday morning, while I was glued to a music video, my mother switched the TV off. She was getting wary of my vain interests. She told me to go read the newspaper. I obeyed her and went straight to the page 3. Unable to keep the gossip to myself, I read it aloud to her. It annoyed her no end! The very next day she brought home a Tinkle book.<br />
<br />
I had hardly read any book till then. Slowly I began enjoying reading the tales of Shikari Shambu, the craziness of Supandi and this was just the beginning of a lifetime hobby. A few books later, I took to writing. I don't know when and how it came to me, but I began penning poems, essays all by myself. It gave me a new sense of accomplishment. I was doing what no one else was doing in my class. My essays came into the notice of my teachers and they praised me for it, encouraging it even more. I had decided right then that I wanted nothing more to do with academics, I just wanted to write. I voiced this idea to my mother and like always, she gave me a reality check.<br />
<br />
My mother explained to me why it was not a great idea to ignore education. She told me about authors who write just medical stories, some who write just dreamy romance, some who write books only for a mature audience. I needed to learn more, see more and be more to write something that people would read. She began asking me if I knew the Mahabharata. I had a rough idea from what I had seen on SONY TV. She narrated the first chapter of Mahabharata and next day I had a children's Mahabharata to read. The story was engaging and the plots and characters kept me at the edge until I finished the whole book. It was then that I learnt the greatness of this story. It applies to every generation, every family and every person. To write a tale like that was a genius! I realised I knew hardly anything to write! From then on, I have read and read and hungrily lived on a staple of books. That is the best gift my mother has given me. The gift of a hobby that will last me a lifetime. That will never keep me lonely. That will never let me be at loss for words or ideas. That has given me a passion to write. My mother used her expertise to channel my talent in the right direction. She knew it before me that it was the people and stories that kept me amused and she found the right medium to tap that interest.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguakfUFdOTL4stBDHtjmCNq0vAb9bfyhyphenhyphenETEWQ3rxWQdrOjNhzsjiCCWh3zzBnVktOK8U-YZ58UHWl82gCpimUoMe9_3QbCY8euwmJEXbK-jH91MWySY_YVMz5wKtOHHkfuSo1R6OcYo/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguakfUFdOTL4stBDHtjmCNq0vAb9bfyhyphenhyphenETEWQ3rxWQdrOjNhzsjiCCWh3zzBnVktOK8U-YZ58UHWl82gCpimUoMe9_3QbCY8euwmJEXbK-jH91MWySY_YVMz5wKtOHHkfuSo1R6OcYo/s320/books.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
collection that keeps growing</div>
<br />
My mother has always been the inducer to my interests. Like the first time I had to draw an elephant, my mother held my hand and traced the outline of the elephant. She taught me how to draw the head first and continue all the way to tusk and then carry the same forward to outline the legs of the elephant. I practiced it so many times that in the end, I could draw a perfect elephant, much to the delight of my drawing teacher.<br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEbHBo3FvgZMaWeTP13RTeJaEq4d5SRNNWK4eoq6n7QevSES7q334YHoI3Ab0IzZ-jwLjKVZweqCwOiX7YgX0wXXw1XnGO7569E2gHqXS7zZf5tru8pgEn7F6SLCs-PksfSOouj07t8Y/s390/cropped-lovely_illustration_of_mother_teaching_daughter_wallcoo-com.jpg" /><br />
image courtesy- wallcoo.net<br />
<br />
My mother taught me how to draw a proper seven dotted rangoli while I was struggling with the rangoli colors. I had drawn a huge lotus that I was having a hard time filling with colors. Exhausted, I had swept the whole thing off and sat in disappointment. I was very young and she had told me that little girls don't draw rangoli, but I had been adamant and made her purchase the colors anyway. She had sat by my side and helped me make a neat rangoli. Year by year, I grew better at it and could make a full rangoli with vibrant colors and she would be mighty proud of it!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_X5jwfWGt6L_UTWbHmUt4SSPGKHOe8d9rTM2jeCWDjr73cP-UH5wkm6YQvgmjQIVPiYQCmcsQOLWlxoh07j5KtX8Mw5gnvptMW-vHJu56JDASGQ3p6exNXREUJ8UbKDfObF199N33eI/s1600/rangoli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy_X5jwfWGt6L_UTWbHmUt4SSPGKHOe8d9rTM2jeCWDjr73cP-UH5wkm6YQvgmjQIVPiYQCmcsQOLWlxoh07j5KtX8Mw5gnvptMW-vHJu56JDASGQ3p6exNXREUJ8UbKDfObF199N33eI/s320/rangoli.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
what I can draw now</div>
<br />
Being a working mother is no easy task and yet she was always there for me. Be it teaching me to make a round chapati or how to stitch, she taught me all that would make me self reliant. If I ever came down with the slightest of fever, she would check my temperature multiple times through the night. She did not think twice before taking a leave if I was not keeping well but slogged anyway even when she was not in the fittest form. She knows the treatment to every ailment that I go through. Be it a cold that will never go away without antibiotics or plain moodiness that goes away with good food. Be it my stubbornness that she would melt away with reason and shopping or pampering me with foot wear. She knows how I work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEwenxXSPQPGgJ3jNbtXPe7NrtVLBHZWDXCIhMRKWJtmeLOh81M7jpaO-vI0nLkUi25TzsOXbItMgIdSWV9EahPCINteYIzwi42aPYzo17tItU9ojsvcOZzXVGGZmuM5Gqk8ATNkqbQg/s1600/walco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEwenxXSPQPGgJ3jNbtXPe7NrtVLBHZWDXCIhMRKWJtmeLOh81M7jpaO-vI0nLkUi25TzsOXbItMgIdSWV9EahPCINteYIzwi42aPYzo17tItU9ojsvcOZzXVGGZmuM5Gqk8ATNkqbQg/s1600/walco.jpg" /></a></div>
image courtesy-wallcoo.net<br />
<br />
Growing up, I never really bought any cosmetics. My mother always made it a point replenish the lipsticks, the nail paints, the perfumes. She got me a purple kajal when it came in fashion, a green nailpaint because its the "in" thing, neck piece that she felt would go very well with my dress. I never really had to think about any of this stuff. She is an expert when it comes to what I should wear.<br />
<br />
She surprised me with the large teddy bear on my birthday. It was never around when I was a kid but when I saw it at a shop, I kept eyeing it. I was 21 at that time and yet she thought of gifting it to me just because I never had it! Mothers and their perpetual need to fulfill our wishes!<br />
<br />
When I decided on the man I want to marry, she was the one who supported me. Knowing fully well how temperamental I am, she still trusted my decision. When the time came, she took the lead in all preparations. I am so proud to be a daughter to such wonderful parents who gave me the wedding of my dreams. It was her goodwill that made it all possible.<br />
<br />
Every Saturday and Sunday of the 4 months before the wedding, she ran around with me, shopping and arranging. From the kind of dresses, to the silk sarees, to the lighter sarees for casual events, to the lehenga, to the footwear for all occasions, her list was ever growing. At times, I would be overwhelmed with her desire to give me everything that I ever wanted. She left no thing that I would want and not get. Selecting the right kind of jewellery was never my thing, it was she who made sure I had all that was needed. She came up with innovative ideas to deck me up for the big day. The parlor treatments, the make up, she had a plan for everything. The kind of expertise that a girl needs on her wedding can be provided by no one but her mother. A woman truly understands the importance of her mother at the time of her wedding. No time before that I had felt such an acute need of my mother and no other time had I cried so hard than the time I was leaving her back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1229254277767053534" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a> Every other day, I call her up to ask her for a recipe or what to do with something I have no idea about. I tell her I got drenched or I have a bad stomach, and she keeps talking at length on how I am careless and I don't listen about not doing things the way I do and later keeps checking on how I am doing, suggesting medicines. Recently I met my mother at my native place. It was not pre planned and last minute we decided to be there. On the way I thought if I had known before I could have asked her to get the thin, sharp knife that we got in our neighborhood. I met her and voila! She had brought the knife even at the last minute although it had been months since I had said I needed it. The best part about our relation is that, it works on Telepathy! I have seldom had to ask for anything from her. She has always known what I need. In that way, I have always depended on her to know what I need. Yes, I am still reliant on her because she taught me everything but to live without her expertise!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://godrejexpert.com/single_used_pack.php">http://godrejexpert.com/single_used_pack.php</a><br />
<br /></div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-51676028664831313902015-04-21T11:15:00.000+05:302015-04-21T11:15:12.816+05:30Fort Vengeance 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: blue;"> Samarth is now online</span><br />
<br />
Mukta's heart leaped. She waited for this notification all day. She knew it by now that Samarth came online only at night, yet she kept checking the site just to make sure she didn't miss his appearance any other time. It had been just a week since she had joined this site and it was crazy how addicted she had become to it.<br />
<br />
"Hi.." she typed in anticipation.<br />
There was no reply. Mukta paced about in room, wondering why he took so much time. Wasn't he interested in chatting with her? He was the only male friend she had in campus.<br />
<br />
"Sorry Mukta, I am a little busy. There are a few complaints I am looking into." he typed some time later.<br />
<br />
Campusdiaries was a site that Samarth had opened. It served an all around purpose of networking, chatting, complaints and confessions. Students had taken to it very quickly and its popularity spread like wildfire. Samarth had a huge following. A lot of people confided in him. Mukta felt insecure sometimes. Maybe he had too many female friends as well.Annoyed, she reached to shut down the laptop. Just in time the chat box flashed. Samarth began chatting with her. Late into the night, huddled under the blankets, she smiled at the screen, typing away her emotions.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sharad took large strides tpwards the girls hostel. Mukta had been fast asleep when he had called her. But the news he had couldn't wait. He dug his fist into the pockets of his jacket, taking a deep breath as he reached the gate. He saw Mukta heading towards him. She rubbed her hands together to keep the cold off. Sharad noticed dark circles around her eyes. Something about Mukta had changed. She was staying up late at night, she seemed obsessed with staying in her room, she interacted little with anyone else and most importantly, she seemed to need less of Sharad. He didn't want to bug her with questions but it bothered him that Mukta was keeping something from him.<br />
<br />
"Dada, so early in the morning! It is so cold here!" Mukta shivered as she spoke.<br />
It always melted his heart away, the way his sister acted like a small baby.<br />
<br />
"Mukta, Dinkar Kaka had called. Baba is planning to come tomorrow to Raiji."<br />
"But why? The elections are a month away!" Mukta questioned.<br />
"Kaka said it was something confidential. He called us keep us informed. Baba had no plans to let us know about his arrival."<br />
"Dada do you think it has anything to do with us?" Mukta asked, worried.<br />
"If that was the case, Dinkar Kaka would have told. He has been protecting us from Baba's ire for years. I believe it is something to do with his personal gains. Anyway, you keep a watch. Don't get into any trouble."<br />
She saw him walking away, her only confidante and friend in all those years. He was not just her elder brother, he was her whole family. She felt guilty for keeping him out of her secret. She wasn't sure if he would appreciate what Samarth was doing. For now, she had to keep it to herself. <br />
<br />
Dinkar sat uneasily in the backseat with his boss. It was not unusual for him to travel with his boss everywhere. For years he had been the right hand man for Patil. He did as he was asked. Although it wouldn't true if he said he never held a gun, the last couple of decades had made him abhor violence. It was his gut feel that this trip to Raiji would indeed be a blood war.<br />
It was, of course, unrealistic to hope for a nonviolent life, being with Patil 24x7. Patil yielded the gun to rule. Patil used force to conquer everything he desired. Patil fed fear in the minds of those he loved. He hoped to gain everything from terror. It was indeed a rare feat that Dinkar had achieved, to have never been shouted or yelled at by Patil. Everyone felt that Dinkar had a calming effect on Patil and it was because of this fact, everyone tried to reach to Patil through Dinkar. Only Dinkar knew the truth. Patil owed him his life. It was this very reason that made Patil keep Dinkar close. If anyone could be remotely called as a friend to Patil, it was Dinkar. For Patil never made friends.<br />
<br />
The playground was full of children, shouting, laughing, running. The younger ones played in the small garden adjacent to the ground, waiting for rounds on the swing, sliding down the lone slide. She made it a point to sprinkle some water in the garden, making sure that the dust was settled as the kids played. The older ones usually played football or cricket. She always kept an eye on them for someone was always scrapping a knee or getting an arm twisted. She rested on the arm chair and rocked herself.<br />
"Mother, Patil is coming."<br />
A slow smile came to her. The moment had arrived. The Fort shall seek its Vengeance.<br />
<br />
<br />
To be continued<br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-3439146786038916022015-01-20T11:51:00.002+05:302015-01-20T11:51:27.287+05:30Fort Vengeance <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The campus wore a deserted look. The tall shady trees stood in silence all around the large ground on which Ramnath was running. He stopped briefly, panting. Despite it being a cold morning, he was sweating profusely. He was the oldest watchman of the college, who also doubled up as a personal peon to the Principal. He started sprinting as fast as his tired legs could take him. The Principal would be sleeping at this hour. Ramnath hated being the bearer of bad news, specially this one. In the past one month this was the third time.<br />
<br />
Ravi Gokhale had had a rough night. It was one thing to manage a college and another to look over a criminal case. As if that was not enough, his wife had raised a storm over his negligence. He no longer had time to look after any of the house matters and she had persistently asked to be taken to her maiden home. It had infuriated Gokhale but he could do little to shut his wife up. She was ,after all, the sister of a powerful politician, to whom he owed his position. He had resorted to alcohol and surrendered to sleep. The banging on the door got louder. Gokhale forced his eyes open, praying that it wasn't Ramnath.<br />
<br />
'"Sir, there is another case." Ramnath said, letting out a huge sigh.<br />
"What! This can't be! Where?" Gokhale asked, at once all alert.<br />
"Near the old fort." Ramnath answered, shaking his head.<br />
"How is it possible? The guards are everywhere!"<br />
<br />
Sardesai had been on a night shift the day before. He was returning home after long hours of duty. His 6 yr old daughter stood at the gate of their house, dressed for school. She came running into his arms.<br />
"Baba, drop me to school. You are wearing uniform, I want my friends to see!"she exclaimed.<br />
His wife came out, packing his daughter's tiffin into the satchel.<br />
"Baba is tired. Some other day, today I am dropping you."<br />
His daughter looked at him with hopes. He was about to give in to her request when the call came.<br />
His daughter was crest fallen and it broke his heart to disappoint her, but duty came first.<br />
<br />
Gokale stood at a distance, covering his nose with a handkerchief. He had retched at the sight inside. Ramnath and a few other guards looked around the old fort. A police jeep was approaching. Gokhale heaved a sigh of relief. Sardesai would know what to do.<br />
<br />
The fort stood strong even after centuries of its inception. It was built by a Maratha ruler to safeguard his kingdom from the sea enemies. Much of its fine structure was dilapidated as it was never maintained after the reigning kingdom lost its heir. The fort was at the north end of the campus. Beyond it was the sea. The only way to reach the fort was through the campus. The small town of Raiji was once a stronghold of Maratha kings. Its past glory was forgotten in the years to come until this huge sprawling campus drove in students from all over Maharashtra. Raiji was famous for one more reason. It was the constituency from where Patil won the elections.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_ZkGMkEbD5E2hbXMeyWey_PCytyJTyTmnPShudZ0bZSCIc02PdyItlVhMfAqr_B7UbYxBFj1kIHNZrspUjv4eRzj3a3NWMQAL56VCuylCmt6kn8c7s0ZcVPSrKArCsDSuVtTTlRabxg/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_ZkGMkEbD5E2hbXMeyWey_PCytyJTyTmnPShudZ0bZSCIc02PdyItlVhMfAqr_B7UbYxBFj1kIHNZrspUjv4eRzj3a3NWMQAL56VCuylCmt6kn8c7s0ZcVPSrKArCsDSuVtTTlRabxg/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.holidayrentals.co.in/blog/short-trip-to-janjira-fort/">Image source </a><br />
Sardesai had a look at the fort. When he was a college student, he had come to the fort with this friends so many times. It was here that he had brought his wife, then girlfriend, on their first date. It was a heaven for young couples back then. On lazy afternoons, one could see couples in nooks and corners of the old fort, in the comfort of embraces or enjoying the sea breeze. The fort also had little rooms where soldiers were stationed in olden times. Most rooms were closed now. The rooms were nothing more than spaces to sit. A few rooms were open where people often stood for photographs as it faced the sea. <br />
<br />
Sardesai had handpicked his team of 5 members. Vishal was the youngest recruit in the force and was taken in for his sharp wit. Arjun was a boxer and had the strength of a bull. Yogendar was transferred as a reward for his bravery against North Indian top brass. Rajat and Vikas were his most trusted men from the force. He had called them at the crime scene on his way.<br />
<br />
Unlike the previous two cases, this time the murderer had made no attempt to hide the body. It was kept lying on the stairs of the fort. Like the earlier murders, this too was done by smashing the head with a heavy, blunt object. It was man whose face was beyond recognition. From his clothes, they found out his identity.<br />
<br />
"Vinod Vichare?" Sardesai raised an eyebrow.<br />
"No idea", Gokhale shook his head.<br />
"Check the records."<br />
<br />
Sardesai had a gut feel that Vinod Vichare was a past student, just like the previous two, Rangnath Kamath and Abhinav Patole. <br />
<br />
Bhimraj Patil was busy skimming through the papers. These days, he made it a point to check all the local papers of Raiji. With the elections close by, he was in turmoil. For over 15 years, the college functioned smoothly under his brother-in-law, Gokhale. The revenue was growing, the publicity was good. The land acquisition went as per plan and the acres of campus had every amenity that a city college could boast of. Raiji had students swarming in from various corners. Hostel was built, PG accomodations cropped up. The locals did a good business. He was God sent for people of Raiji. Without doubt, they made him win every time. <br />
<br />
"Sardesai, I trusted you to handle this case." Patil shouted at the other end.<br />
But Sir, this situation is serious. Three murders in 15 days and no clue. You have to let us operate openly. We have to close the campus for a few days."<br />
"Are you out of your mind? Between semester if we close the campus, everyone will come to know there is something wrong. Besides, the students there are the biggest source of leak that can happen. Get your act up. I don't want an issue when I come for campaign next month."<br />
<br />
<i> It's a pity he didn't even ask who was murdered. Given that his own kids studied at the campus, he was least bothered about their safety! </i>Sardesai had a long day ahead. He could do with a large cup of coffee. <br />
<br />
The campus was slowly getting filled with students. It could be any one of them. The nerd with big glasses and straight oiled hair, the reckless boy on the bike, the uninterested boy sitting with a guitar or could it be one of those scurrying around in a white apron?<br />
<br />
Bhimraj Patil College of Science, Commerce and Arts was just one part of the campus. The other had a medical college and an engineering college. A total of 8000 students. Around 500 in hostel and rest day scholars. It could be any one of them. Or could it be a local who knew of ways to get in?<br />
<br />
What were Abhinav, Rangnath and Vinod killed for? Was it just plain robbery or something more than that? Did Patil know something that he was evading?<br />
<br />
Rangnath found murdered at the south end of the college, body hidden under plastic sheets. Found by a rag picker who came to collect campus garbage.<br />
<br />
Abhinav found murdered at the east end of the college, body hidden in gunny bag, found by Ramnath.<br />
<br />
Vinod found murdered at the north end of the campus, fort stairs, body in open. Found by one of the guards Keshav.<br />
<br />
Sardesai and his team got to their work.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">To be continued</span><br />
<i> </i><br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-28297081467166263402014-11-19T13:41:00.000+05:302014-11-19T13:41:01.374+05:30Touch of love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was late into the night and the four of them were still talking. Niharika covered her mouth as she yawned for the nth time. Suraj looked at her with a frown. She tried to sit straight and listen to what he was talking. She had had a busy day and had an early appointment the next day. She had just been ready to drop to bed when the doorbell had rung. Suraj, who was still working on his laptop, had got the door. They had been shocked to see Suraj's brother, Abhinav, with his girlfriend Priya.<br />
<br />
Priya sobbed continuously which was getting on Niharika's nerves. She wanted to shout at the girl to act her age. At 25, she was behaving like a teenager! Why couldn't she just gather herself and be responsible? Abhinav, on the other hand, was behaving like a love lorn boy of the sixteen. To think that the two of them had just eloped and landed at their house!<br />
<br />
"Abhi, this isn't the right thing to do. You both are adults. Convince her parents and if they don't agree you can think of registered marriage."<br />
"Dada, they will marry her off to someone else. Didn't you take away bhabhi because of the same reason?" Abhi asked.<br />
" Just because we did it, does not make it right" Suraj reasoned.<br />
Niharika was wide awake at the mention of their marriage. Of course it wasn't right. Suraj had now made it known to her. He regretted their marriage.<br />
<br />
Niharika and Suraj had been in a relationship for 2 years before marriage. They had been head over heels in love with each other. Different communities, different lifestyle, nothing had mattered. They couldn't keep their eyes and hands off each other. They were just perfect together. When their parents had refused their match, they had run away and gotten married. After marriage, their romance had reached new heights. Then, everything went for a toss!<br />
<br />
Suraj decided to quit his job and start a company of his own. His new venture took all his time. Dates had been replaced by meetings and birthday and anniversaries had little time. Soon the distance had started seeping in. The conversations were getting shorter. TV time was no longer the same and movies were altogether avoided. Talks became nagging and discussions became arguments. Everything had become partitioned. Bed space, bathrooms, bookshelves. They were hardly a functional pair. Niharika too started spending longer hours at work. They were making a good living but hardly living it.<br />
<br />
"Abhi, we are dropping Priya home. We will think of something else but right now this is the sensible thing to do" Suraj asserted.<br />
Priya, who had finally stopped crying, had fresh tears streaming down. Niharika pitied the girl. How hopelessly naive she was!<br />
<br />
Niharika took to the wheels. Suraj sat beside her. Abhi and Priya stood outside. He was wiping her tears.<br />
"Why are you forcing them?" she asked Suraj.<br />
" I don't want them to make the same mistake that I made." He said with a straight face.<br />
<br />
She fought back her tears as Abhi and Priya got into the car. Suraj stayed emotionless. She parked the car outside Priya's house. Abhi accompanied her to the gate. They stood there holding hands. Watching them made Niharika aware of her own loneliness. How long had it been since Suraj had held her, caressed her or walked hand in hand with her? How beautiful their relation was once and how distant they had grown!<br />
<br />
She started the car. Suraj watched her in amusement. She had left Abhi behind! A few blocks away, she stopped the car to a side and walked out. She just couldn't take it any longer.<br />
<br />
He had been watching her since they left the apartment. Usually the one to never show any weakness, Niharika was acting vulnerable. She always smirked at those who cried or acted weak. Only the day they had eloped, she had hugged him and shed tears. She was at her most vulnerable, afraid of the big step and unsure of the future.<br />
<br />
He went after her. She stood behind the car, her eyes swollen with the crying. Oh! It was just the girl he had taken away for himself. He held her hand just like the day 3 years before. Her hands felt just as moist and soft as they had felt then. It rekindled the madness that had made him pay no heed to anything and run off with her. Where had he lost this girl?<br />
<br />
"It's over isn't it? I was a mistake, right?" She asked him with fear.<br />
He took her into his arms.<br />
"You aren't a mistake."<br />
"But you just said.."<br />
"I don't want them to run off. I don't want them to be shunned by everyone. I just want everyone to accept them. I know cutting you from your parents has been taxing. I don't want Abhi to do that to Priya. Atleast they can give it a try. That's the mistake I made. I should have tried harder to bring our families together."<br />
<br />
She looked at him, smiling and hugged him again, breathing in his smell, feeling loved by his touch.<br />
"Shall we go home?" she asked.<br />
"No, let's not go home. Let's just run away. Let's take a holiday no one knows about!"<br />
<br />
The touch was back. The touch of love, the touch of madness.<br />
<br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-41335288867697358662014-11-15T21:22:00.000+05:302014-11-15T21:22:12.449+05:30Childhood revisited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
For the last couple of years, a new trend has been catching up on social networking sites. Everyone has been flashing the toothless grin of childhood on facebook for Children's Day. For once, the duck face and pouts are given a rest. Like everyone else, I too had my profile picture changed to a cuter version of myself. Poring over the pictures makes me transported to another time. A time of carefree abandon and innocence.<br />
<br />
When I was in primary school, Children's day was celebrated with much gusto. We were allowed to wear "any dress" as against the boring school uniform and it used to be a half working day. Regular classes weren't conducted and we were made to read essays about the relevance of the day. Music and games occupied us.<br />
<br />
I never liked going to school. I wasn't the one who cried everyday on the way to school, yet it was something that was a chore that had to be ticked off. On one particular day I just put my step down. I just wasn't in the mood to go. That day happened to be an important day as we were going to be photographed for the school id card. So I was dropped to school against my wish. I entered the compound and decided that I don't care about the id card! Off I ran on to the streets with two school guards at my heel. Thankfully, my aunt hadn't left already and she took me back home, crying all the way. Don't get me wrong. It was she who was crying. I was happy to go home, leaving the guards panting at the gate. I faced the music in the evening when Dad came to know of my behavior but that is another story.<br />
<br />
The only part about going to school that I liked was, stationary. It was much later that I enjoyed the company of humans! Stationary was my treasure. The fresh stock of non dust erasers, the smell of new notebooks, the neatly brown-covered textbooks, and the long, red and black stripped <b>Nataraj dark pencils</b>. I had an obsession with pencils. I loved and kept them sharp at all times. My pencil boxes usually turned black very soon with all the lead I was sharpening!<br />
<br />
The best days of my childhood were the ones I spent at home. Sundays were the days I looked forward to, for that was when my parents were home.<br />
<br />
Things as simple as watching Jungle Book on <b>Doordarshan </b>or comprehending Malgudi days together was a high. Cable often was unsteady and Doordarshan brought in some of the best series of those times. How could I forget Shaktiman which had my friends in awe. Personally, I thought it to be an idiotic series but I kept mum. I have no knowledge of cartoons or superhumans. For me Malgudi Days, Jungle Book, Lion King, Hocapontus, Zorro, these were the series!<br />
<br />
How happy and content childhood is! Perhaps a lack of choice made it all so enjoyable. We did not have 100s of channels to surf and yet had good series to entertain. We did not have various cream biscuits endorsed by superstars. On a lazy evening, nothing felt as good as dipping <b>Parle G biscuit</b> in a hot cup of tea while having a friendly chat in person.<br />
<br />
When the only game we played was- OUTSIDE!<br />
<br />
When the only time we shopped was- Birthdays and Diwali<br />
<br />
When we knew no brands and everything new was valued.<br />
<br />
When commodities were limited and emotions endless..<br />
<br />
<img 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" 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photo credit- google<br />
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P.S : First time, I haven't written a story for WOW prompt. The three words just brought so much of childhood memories that I couldn't help but write it down :D<br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">This post is a part of <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/category/write-over-the-weekend-wow" style="color: #b85b5a; text-decoration: none;" target="_self" title="Write Over the Weekend">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/" style="color: #b85b5a; text-decoration: none;" target="_self" title="Indian Bloggers">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda.</strong><br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-51019761795570567692014-11-09T19:54:00.001+05:302014-11-09T19:54:28.026+05:30Dear Ma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear Ma,<br />
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It feels strange writing to you. Now, after so many years of silence between us. It must be equally awkward for you to open a letter addressed to you. In the times of smartphone, I had to choose this mode to reach to you. I am sure both Keshav Da and Shobit da call you often. How long has it been Ma? Do you even remember my voice? I could not muster the courage to call you up and have you ask me, "May I know who is speaking?"<br />
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By now you must be wondering why I have written to you. To be frank, I have no idea. I have come a long way from home Ma. I live in the city of dreams that is constantly on the move. The hustle of the city is just what I needed to comfort my vagabond soul. I have always been looking to belong and in this city where no one cares about anybody's business, I finally belong. My job is taking me places and I am constantly surrounded with people. Yet on days when I have had a tiring schedule and try to sleep, I have a hollowness in me. It feels like a hole that is deep in my chest and it refuses to cease. I toss and turn in darkness, trying to draw happiness from the past and all I can see is you.<br />
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I see Baba and dadas playing in the garden and you sitting at the doorstep, sometimes cleaning the rice. Remember the day when Keshav da was hit by my ball? You rushed to pick him up and nursed him, giving a cursory glance at me. I thought you would shout at me but you walked away with him. Yet another day when I was playing by myself, I slipped and hit my head. You saw me hurt but instead rushed inside. It was Baba who took me to a doctor. Did you hide away purposely Ma? Did you think I would die and you would let that happen? I was just 6 years old then and that day, while my wounds were being taken care of, a larger one had cut through me. I wondered if I was adopted!<br />
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I know I am not adopted Ma. No one could make that mistake. The uncanny resemblance of our grey eyes, the pointed nose, and that grin which so rarely broke in my presence. No, nobody has so much of your features other than me. In a way, I always had more of you in me than Baba. Maybe it was our similar traits that led to the detachment. You kept your distance from me, and although I ached for your love, I obstinately waited for you to melt. It was pointless. You lacked the warmth that a mother would possess for a child born to her.<br />
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I often went on a self evaluation trip to identify what was it that was making you repel me. I excelled at studies, but while the teachers were full of praise, you sat grimly through the open houses. You never came to any of the functions where I was performing. While the crowd cheered at my dialogues, my vacant eyes searched for you among the spectators. I erupted into spurts of jealousy when you bestowed your attention of Dadas. Many a times, I thought that you had exhausted your source of love on them. What had they done to possess that?<br />
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I know I am burying out dead facts. It will not bring those days of my childhood. The childhood, that I spent deprived of motherly affection. The childhood that I spent devoid of emotions from you. Baba was never the one for words. It made him awkward to express feelings. Even though he did everything in his capacity to give me a normal childhood, I knew he was as clueless about your indifference as I was. With Baba's death, the chord had snapped. I could no longer live in that house where I was not welcome. When I decided to move out, I had a bleak hope that you would hold me back. What a fool I was! I could hardly control my tears all the way towards the station. You stood stone like, with no word. When did you actually stop talking to me Ma? I don't even remember! Perhaps as early as I started school!<br />
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There is a lot that I could talk about but 25 years of silence is hard to bridge. I am all set to start a new life here. I have chosen my life partner and I have been lucky enough to have someone who loves me with all her heart. Perhaps the burden of past would make it impossible to step into a fresh tomorrow. How will I ever be able to explain my relationship with you? It would be a nagging question in all I do. Why was I the abandoned one?<br />
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I want a closure to this Ma. I know it is too late for things to change. I have convinced myself that you will never be receptive to my pleas. A mother knows it all, but do you Ma? Do you know what I went through? Do you feel my pain? I want to know what made you this way? I do not want to hold any bitterness back. Writing this is making me feel lighter in a way. The truth would finally put my wandering soul at peace with itself.<br />
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Your son,<br />
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Mohit<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Her hands trembled as she held the letter. What could she answer? She fed the letter to the fireplace.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">He would never understand. He did not need to know. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">She had never wanted another child. She had done all she could to abort him. She had consumed all the household remedies and had been relieved when she bled. Yet, 4 months later, the bump showed and she felt the kick. She was in for a shock when she discovered she was pregnant. She was bleeding courtesy the side effects of the herbs she was taking. Her child was unharmed, alive and kicking! </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">It took her a long time to accept the truth. When he was born hale and hearty, she scrutinized his every move. She knew something was wrong with him! How could he be so healthy, after all the ways she had tried to abort him. She had never come to accept him as her own. He was like a monster who had fed on her. She was convinced that something would claim his life sooner or later and she was not ready to face it. Knowing that she would be responsible for the abnormality. In a twisted way, she had felt she would be spared if she was detached. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">He did not need her, No. But she did love him. Unknown to him, she checked on him every night. The day he fell, she was scared to death. She had run away to fetch the first aid. It did not occur to her to pick him up first. When he returned with his father from the dispensary, she had been on her toe all the time , unable to sleep. When he left the house, she was frightened about the world he was going to be exposed to. She wasn't the one to hold back. Not him. He deserved all that she had tried to deprive him of. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">As the last of the paper turned to ashes, she closed her eyes. If only she could start over again. </span></div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-62599221231245721072014-10-26T21:23:00.001+05:302014-10-26T21:39:36.868+05:30Memoirs of darkness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
( Fiction written in first person)<br />
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"Don't worry darling, I am there in the next room" he patted my cheeks affectionately. I had urged him to keep the lights on. Darkness terrified me. Terrified was an understatement. Darkness crippled me. He reassured me, like every night. He pulled the sheets over me and before he closed the door, he gently switched the light off. I shut my eyes tightly. I could hear him sitting on his table in the other room.<br />
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I tried counting like he had told me to. One..two.. three.. Each count was an effort.<br />
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Within me, the darkness crept. I felt entangled in a web, unable to breathe, unable to move. I had no control over my limbs. Each muscle felt heavy and every reflex ceased. It was that time of the night when darkness devoured me. I could feel it slithering up my legs, panting and moving over me. It covered my mouth and left me gasping for air.<br />
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I could never recollect what made hurt me so much. Why my thighs ached every morning, why my body felt so sore. My dreams were vague, like murky pictures retrieved from old albums. I could never see darkness. In my mind's eye, it was a figure dark and over powering. I felt duller than the day before. I pressurized myself to remember what it looked like.<br />
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Father never understood. He woke me up every morning with a glass of lime. It made the headache better. When I told him about the aches, he simply gave me painkillers. When I spoke of my nightmares, I felt him pull my hair with more force than he usually does while tying my hair for school. He did not like me talking to anyone about nightmares. He told me every child has nightmares and it goes away with age. He felt that it was my imagination and if I put in positive thoughts, it would all stop. <br />
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I wished Mother was alive. She would not have panicked so much on seeing blood on my skirt. Father did not talk to me for days. He was embarrassed. Kathy told me that fathers don't discuss about these things. It is always the mother who talks about it. Kathy was my only friend at school. Other kids found me weird. They bullied me for being weak in studies. Kathy helped me study and in that way she was the only person I talked to other than Father. Kathy's mother was a teacher at our school.<br />
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Father was right. Nightmares did go with age. I did not encounter them much after I started bleeding. I felt more enthusiastic about life and sharper. I slowly began to feel more energetic and my body was turning more agile. I did not feel sore so often.<br />
<br />
I began to hate milk. Father forced me to drink milk every day after dinner. He would get very cross if I skipped it. I would do it to please him earlier but milk made me feel nauseous. I began to avoid it and it resulted in argument with Father. I did not understand why he made such a huge fuss out of it. It was normal for kids my age to assert themselves. Kathy's mother told me that teenagers don't often gel well with their parents. It was just a phase and I would no longer be as close to father as I had been. It was my hormones and nothing else. I seemed to get into a fight with almost everyone except Kathy. I was no longer bullied. It gave me a strange sense of confidence.<br />
<br />
One night, I fooled Father into believing that I had finished my glass of milk. I had drained it down the sink when he had gone to attend a call. I started doing it every night.<br />
<br />
Just like every night, Father came to tuck me in. I heard him sitting on his desk and the tap on his keyboard. Sleep eluded me. I counted one..two.. three.. I was nearing on two hundred when I dozed off.<br />
<br />
I felt the darkness settle over me. The warm slithering along my legs, to my chest. I woke up with a start. I thought my muscles would not move. I forcefully kicked my leg. I heard a sharp cry. My legs had worked! I ran and switched on the light. Darkness was my father...<br />
<br />
My father! Oh how I had forgotten, my step Father. The respectable Doctor who had fought for my custody against my drunken biological father. The Father, who had made me drink the numbing milk for so many years and made me suffer.<br />
<br />
I left the home to live in another city. I never saw him again. Once a year, I got a sum of money that mother left behind. Perhaps I should have taken an action. I did not. I could not face the man who was my father by the day and darkness by the night.<br />
<br />
Darkness numbs me. My body becomes rigid, unable to move. Only this time, they are really nightmares.. <br />
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-71778603442178897012014-09-16T11:50:00.001+05:302014-09-16T11:50:30.213+05:30Too busy?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A few days back, I got a text from a friend of mine asking me, "Do you get no time at all for blogging? Just 3 posts in last 3 months!" I had just switched on my phone after a long day at work and did not know what to reply to it. Not having access to phone at work is a boon and a bane at the same time. I am completely switched off from the world outside for 10 hours everyday. Watsapp no more opens with 300 messages from 5 contacts. It is hardly 5 or 6 messages of some relevance. Small chats are things of the past. <div>
Another friend asked, "What happened to your writing" and I knew it was time to write something lest it spread the message that I have given up writing! No, everyday work cannot deter the spirit of writing! </div>
<div>
What have I been up to? For starters, I work in the second shift. Getting up is a struggle and putting on the running shoe is an every day effort. For last 2 days, the sun has been coming up earlier than usual marking the end of a season. When it is not running, it is a 15 min workout that happens with as much motivation as I can gather. Exercise has become mandatory after the recent health issues and sedentary life style. </div>
<div>
While work has been taking a large chunk of my life, books are back in my life. Reading had been slow in the past few months but travelling gives me lot of time to catch up on my reading. My love affair with books is at an all time high. The good part of earning is that you can buy the books. The library subscription is temporarily cancelled as I am finding more and more books that are for keeps! I am currently reading the Memoirs of a Geisha and I cannot thank Pradeeta enough for listing this book. I am totally engrossed in this book.</div>
<div>
Writing has taken a back seat, with only the monthly post I do for Life Monthly magazine. Stories need plotting. A few ideas are brewing. What happened to my writing? I have never been the kind of blogger who can write posts on a go. I need time to put it all together and I never write unless I feel like it. I have tried posting for the sake of updating the blog and those stories haven't lived up to my own expectations. To be fair to my own levels, I do not write unless it has shaped up already in my mind. On that note, I hope to be back with stories very soon.</div>
<div>
I am clueless about what is happening on blogsphere. Blog hopping has gone down considerably courtesy no access to phone. I have stopped bothering about contests for now. I am waiting to read the blogs as I see some interesting posts up. </div>
<div>
Until then, happy blogging</div>
</div>
maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-56301939211266900922014-08-03T18:09:00.001+05:302014-08-03T18:23:02.663+05:30Love that lasts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She glanced at the clock for the 7th time in 15 minutes. Her eyes were fixed at the door when she wasn't checking the time. Dressed in a starched purple sari, her hair combed and styled into a bun, a red bindi on her forehead, she personified elegance. I had never seen her going about with disheveled hair or unorganized in anyway. She was always poised and calm. The house reflected every bit of the character of people living in it. They had minimum furniture- just a cupboard, a coffee table, a bed, 2 chairs and a computer table. Colorful cushions were placed neatly on the bed, the sheets matching with the cushions and pillow cover. A TV was fixed on the wall. An old radio, placed in a wall unit, played hymns or old soulful songs. Books were orderly arranged in a shelf which was frequently dusted. The kitchen was always spic and span. Everything about the house was in sync with the people living in it.<br />
<br />
She sprang to life as the door bell rang. He stood at the door, completely drenched. They both burst into laughter. I missed the joke. Never once did she shout at him for not being on time or not informing her. She was just relieved and genuinely happy to see him. He went to dry himself. Humming an old song, he came back from the kitchen with three cups of coffee. She blushed. She blushed like a 16 yr old just asked for a date by her crush. She was 67 that year and he was 73. They had been married for 50 years!<br />
<br />
"Were you both always like this?" I asked shyly. The question had been on my mind for many months. She was my teacher and the couple had taken a liking to me. Even after she had stopped taking classes, she had continued teaching me. We talked about so many things but I refrained from asking this question. I wondered about it every time I saw her accompany him to the door when he went out. They would hold hands sometimes at the door. In the midst of our class, he would sometimes bring coffee or lemonade. I often thought it was just his excuse to see her as she was busy explaining the context of a prose to me. Some evenings I would find them watching an old movie or simply playing snake and ladders. They were like the epitome of harmony.<br />
<br />
"No. You would be shocked to hear our story" he said.<br />
"I was actually married against my wish." she eyed him.<br />
I was all ears for the story!<br />
<br />
She was 16 when her parents fixed her marriage with him. She was furious at her parents. She cursed her relatives, who had mounted pressure on her family to get her married. She did not want to go to another village and cook and clean for a stranger. She was one of the few girls who had completed school. She wanted to spend her time reading and teaching. She wanted to experience love like those in the books. All her dreams were shattered. She cried and pleaded to cancel the wedding. To console her, she was even allowed to see the man. An old picture of a lanky teenage boy with hints of moustache was presented to her. It only added to her woes. On the day of her wedding, she cried like no bride ever cried!<br />
<br />
She was petrified of what awaited her. On her wedding night, she waited in a dark room, with only a small lamp. It was that night when she saw her husband for the first time. He was taller and more muscular than the picture that she had seen. His face looked matured and she had to admit he was handsome. He did not strike a conversation with her. Perhaps he had sensed her regret. He went out of the room and did not return until the next morning.<br />
<br />
The house was full of guests for days. Summer had stretched for a long time. She kept herself busy with housework. Her husband stayed aloof and even though it had initially relieved her, it was now making her curious. Wasn't she pretty? Why did he not want to talk to her? Her in-laws had started commenting already. Distant relatives went as far as to blame her entry as inauspicious. Rains were delayed and fields were dry. She resented her husband for not being there to support her.<br />
<br />
The floor got hotter as the day passed. It was impossible to lie on the floor in the afternoon after the chores were done. She would sit under the large banyan tree and read. He would come in the afternoon for his meal, his clothes dirty with all the work in the fields. He would too sit under the tree to eat and then join the younger cousins in their games. They sometimes spoke, almost always arguing about something. She began looking forward to his company and stealthily saw him playing with the kids.<br />
<br />
She was fuming since the news reached her. She was his wife! How can she not know it yet? It was his mother who told her that he was going to the city. He was leaving her back. She did not know why she was so mad at him. He did not come in the afternoon. Every minute, that she passed without him, was making her more angry.<br />
<br />
"Why did you even come home?" she shouted at him when he came into the room at night.<br />
"What happened?" he was shocked to hear her tone.<br />
"Oh, nothing!" she turned her back.<br />
"Will you tell me what the matter is?"<br />
"No, just go away. Go away and don't come back. Leave me all alone here." She was sobbing.<br />
He was amused by this whole sequence.<br />
"You don't care about me. You go to the city and make a new life. Go away right now."<br />
"I m going away right now. My train is leaving in an hour."he said softly.<br />
"What? When were you going to tell me?" She felt an unknown ache.<br />
"I could not say goodbye to you. I haven't felt this way before. I have to go to the city and look for a job. The fields are not going to suffice anyway. I know you want to read. I would like it if you study further. I m not going to be a hindrance to you anymore."<br />
"What if I tell you I don't want you to go?" she asked, blood rushing to her cheeks.<br />
"I will have to go."<br />
In that one hour, they were more man and wife than they had been in the months since their marriage.<b> And that night, it rained.</b> He promised to write to her every week and send for her as soon as he was settled. With a heavy heart, they parted.<br />
<br />
The year that followed was the toughest year of their lives. She was no more isolated in the house. The rains had washed away the talk of bad luck around her. She took active interest in the house and pleased everyone. She religiously wrote everyday and waited for the postman for letters. He worked day and night to make a living. The only solace, were the letters. Their love bloomed and for that one year, she was living the life of a novel character. And there was nothing that she hated more! Every day of an ordinary life with him was more eventful that the drama of separation. Perhaps it is that one year of desperation that made them skeptical in each other's absence in years to come.<br />
<br />
There was no letter from him that week. She was getting restless and beginning to worry. There were no telephones then. The monsoon had been merciful that year.<br />
He came home without any hint. She was not at all prepared to meet him. She looked like a beggar as she had dressed in old clothes to clean the storage room for grains. She was embarrassed when he looked at her. She had read that city women dressed well all the time, like in the movies. Here he had come to see her after a year and what a state she was in! Since that day, she always woke up early and saw to it that she always looked like the lady of the house.<br />
<br />
She was waiting for the talk with family to get over so she could have him all for herself. She cried as he hugged her. Things were going to be fine. He promised her that they would no longer be apart. A promise that he held on to, diligently. They had never been apart even for a day after that. He always took her along if work needed him to travel. They moved to the city the next week.<br />
<br />
A lot had happened in the 50 years. She completed her studies. She took up a teaching job. They had two daughters. He switched jobs. They faced harsh times. They prospered. Their daughters got married. He and she, both got retired. The only thing that remained constant was their companionship. And it continues to be. A story that started reluctantly and continues in the twilight years.<br />
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<img src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR_R9ulgCVD6qK_IwFjJL-vsrIUpv9GmhRhNMxdu0ukOM8ngBHj" /><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">This post is a part of <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/category/write-over-the-weekend-wow" style="color: #b85b5a; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Write Over the Weekend">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/" style="color: #b85b5a; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Indian Bloggers">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda.</strong><br />
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<img src="http://blog.blogadda.com/media/2012/09/write-over-the-weekend-blogadda.jpg" /><br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-15223546453960136162014-06-30T11:41:00.001+05:302014-07-02T19:43:56.372+05:30Food makes me happy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was on the 9th episode of House M.D, when the phone rang. I jumped to get the phone. For last 2 weeks, I was waiting for a call from the company. Days rolled by, but there was no news about the joining date. I had decided to divert my attention from the whole issue by watching TV series one after the other.<br />
The number flashing on the screen was unknown. I picked it up, hoping it was THE CALL.<br />
<br />
"Hello" I said calmly.<br />
"Hey! What's up?" said the female voice on the other side.<br />
"Who's this?" I said in a disappointed tone. I knew this was not the call I was waiting for.<br />
"This is Shruthi, you idiot! I m calling from Mom's phone. No balance in mine, as usual."<br />
<br />
The plan was made. I did not want to talk about all that was happening. I simply wanted to take my mind off it. She suggested we all meet for pot lunch.<br />
"What is a pot lunch?" I asked ignorantly.<br />
"Well, pot lunch means we all get food from our homes and meet for lunch. Each one brings a special dish and we all finish it up."<br />
"Oh! Well, I will do the baking stuff. Who else is coming?"<br />
<br />
It was too humid for June. With our food bags, we walked gingerly down the narrow lane that took us to Dalia's apartment. Our clothes stuck to our backs. Malavika, Shruthi and I were too fatigued by the time we were at her door. We had been up early to get the dishes ready.<br />
<br />
We settled on the sofa as soon as we entered. The air condition seemed like a divine blessing. Dalia's parents were away so it was just the four of us. Dalia, who had disappeared into the kitchen, came back with a tray containing four glasses and large jug.<br />
<br />
The jug was crystal clear and the sparkling drink inside was making me even more thirsty. The mint leaves and lemon slices had settled at the bottom of the jug and ice cubes were melting away. The vision was refreshing.<br />
"I tried to make virgin mojito at home" Dalia said gleefully.<br />
I offered to pour the drink. I was surprised by the lightness of the jug. It looked heavier that it was!<br />
<br />
As the flavor of mint and lime made us cool and relaxed, the fatigue was getting away. She had even added a little jaljira.<br />
"Wow, this is just like the one we get at KFC!" remarked Shruthi.<br />
<br />
When the four of us meet, there is no limitation to what we talk of. Weird facts, movies, clothes, lingerie, actors, college romance, tv series, books and everything under the sun is discussed. Time just flies!<br />
<br />
" I m hungry. Let's get the dishes out." Malavika said.<br />
"Oh crap.. I had kept the pizza out like that. The cheese must have melted away" Shruthi panicked.<br />
"Don't worry. I put it in the fridge" Dalia said, as we followed her into the kitchen.<br />
<br />
The kitchen was spic and span. Definitely her mother's work! A clear glass gourmet, containing biryani ,was on the counter. Dalia put the gas on and placed the gourmet on it.<br />
"Dalia!!! Are you supposed to heat that way?" Malavika shrieked.<br />
"Don't worry. This wont break or anything. It is borosil."<br />
"What? You mean borosilicate? Type 1 glass that we use for injectibles!" I was amused.<br />
"Yea, yea I know you know pharmaceutics. This is that type 1 glass. Can withstand temperature and won't leach. Totally safe." she added.<br />
"Duh! I know type 1 glass is safe. That is why we use it for injectibles!" Shruthi said.<br />
"Enough of pharmaceutics guys! This thing is just so convenient! You can cook in it and heat in it and best thing is that you can see what is in it from outside. I can see all the layers of biryani! Looks yummmy!" said Malavika.<br />
<br />
Malavika had brought pasta. Dalia put it in a set of bowls and put it in the microwave. Out came the pasta, hot and delicious. It was fusilli pasta, spiral and in colors of green, red, and white. It looked mouth-watering. Malavika grated cheese to use it as a topping.<br />
<br />
Dalia retrieved the pizza from fridge. She had put the 2 pizzas in plates.<br />
" Put it in the microwave pan for sometime." Shruthi suggested.<br />
" These are microwavable plates. I will put these directly in the microwave and we are ready to eat!" Dalia quipped.<br />
"This is superb! I made the dough myself. I think this plate can be used to make even the pizza dough, right?" Shruthi was in awe of the pizza plate.<br />
"Yes. You can make the dough in the plate, use the plate to serve and even reheat in the same plate."<br />
"Saves a lot of dish washing!" joked Malavika.<br />
<br />
My stomach was grumbling already. The food looked so irresistible, adorned in those beautiful crockery. Borosil was adding on to the aesthetic value of food.<br />
<br />
The tangy, saucy, savory pasta was finished effortlessly. The rich flavors of biryani was relished slowly. The biryani was exotic with the right amount of spice and tender meat and served with raita. The scrumptious pizza, with cheese dripping through it, was ambrosial. The virgin mojito kept company throughout the meal. It was a good thing that she had made it in excess because we were totally mad over it!<br />
<br />
After the meal, I took out my special dish. Brownies! I had made it a little hard with walnut in it. We ordered vanilla ice cream from a nearby shop. Dalia had chocolate sauce in the house.<br />
We put the brownies in the little katories and added a scoop of vanilla ice cream and topped it with chocolate sauce. It was heaven for the sweet tooth! The brownie had turned out rich and chocolaty. A little coffee powder, that I had used, had given it a great aroma and the vanilla and chocolate sauce were a great combination with brownies. Those little katories were the cutest of the borosil variety I had seen that day!<br />
<br />
Great company, delicious food and beautiful crockery had made it an awesome pot lunch.<br />
<br />
"We should do it again!" Malavika said.<br />
"Definitely. Before that, I want to know where you got this mind blowing crockery from?" I asked.<br />
" Ordered it online! Go to <a href="http://www.myborosil.com/"><span style="color: purple;">www.myborosil.com</span> </a>and you can get a range of microwavable, trendsetting utensils and also appliances." Dalia said.<br />
<br />
I came home that day, a lot happier and full. I checked out the site and indeed it was tempting to purchase all of their products!<br />
<br />
Won't you love it if you got your virgin mojito in a<span style="color: purple;"> <a href="http://www.myborosil.com/product/vision-jug-set">jug</a> </span>like this?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55U5Bym2McyeO9k8XgV28RxskFV1Z1SSOIcIODoUpJ59EA6TBP0zOEPBVCIXjAe1QVjjZVZ7mYY6WeTB0J0i0zDWwZqZAtlZmGAUeqSNfxuE8ZHBRkzmzooWJzLN-hVbf4yWG7mjevGs/s1600/jug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55U5Bym2McyeO9k8XgV28RxskFV1Z1SSOIcIODoUpJ59EA6TBP0zOEPBVCIXjAe1QVjjZVZ7mYY6WeTB0J0i0zDWwZqZAtlZmGAUeqSNfxuE8ZHBRkzmzooWJzLN-hVbf4yWG7mjevGs/s1600/jug.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
What could make a biryani even more sumptuous? Maybe a<a href="http://www.myborosil.com/product/gourmet-cook-serve_3"> <span style="color: purple;">gourmet</span></a> like this?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLm9uGleVP3UP7Pz_W1Xh-0sR92GO_aQsUz1Kpp0NMQxLdWWW-loYqQx1qSAoDrbLEz4r1V0UEKjknexfJVWIyxeR_8SInoCeNS3P1MzOovWiDDGJM82Gsc48G-kuBBIh6nfBltS9YFRQ/s1600/gourmet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLm9uGleVP3UP7Pz_W1Xh-0sR92GO_aQsUz1Kpp0NMQxLdWWW-loYqQx1qSAoDrbLEz4r1V0UEKjknexfJVWIyxeR_8SInoCeNS3P1MzOovWiDDGJM82Gsc48G-kuBBIh6nfBltS9YFRQ/s1600/gourmet.jpg" /></a></div>
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Can pizza seduce the taste buds more? Maybe a <a href="http://www.myborosil.com/product/pizza-plate"><span style="color: purple;">pizza plate</span></a> could! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwbcWy0kDMNrjT0TT8DdMAR6zKPIg8HEwTkhypWQpFfwxKClFM2J3W1N89K7rUjy8cWr_Hsz6PHjp6sZWggZlLThyaHaywScO98EqrMslw5efYMdSSKNdN-mGipBn946FMeBZKF4zOHg/s1600/piza+plate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwbcWy0kDMNrjT0TT8DdMAR6zKPIg8HEwTkhypWQpFfwxKClFM2J3W1N89K7rUjy8cWr_Hsz6PHjp6sZWggZlLThyaHaywScO98EqrMslw5efYMdSSKNdN-mGipBn946FMeBZKF4zOHg/s1600/piza+plate.jpg" /></a></div>
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I would love my desserts in<span style="color: purple;"> <a href="http://www.myborosil.com/product/large-glass-katories">this</a>. </span>Won't you?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6z5iTi_RWYgogKXIHApP2G3P25tk8qBjNiR2DFvKl8EMV_iHAJR1e38ptmSLj9giSG8yzIRH7oRy6GYTTLCE0rlO8VjhtNwZ8ZANu1kJCwlMMJy1zqC34XeSwycv8-MYoGzeRftGrVxA/s1600/katories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6z5iTi_RWYgogKXIHApP2G3P25tk8qBjNiR2DFvKl8EMV_iHAJR1e38ptmSLj9giSG8yzIRH7oRy6GYTTLCE0rlO8VjhtNwZ8ZANu1kJCwlMMJy1zqC34XeSwycv8-MYoGzeRftGrVxA/s1600/katories.jpg" /></a> </div>
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Bon appetit says the<span style="color: purple;"> <a href="http://www.myborosil.com/product/mixing-bowl">bowl</a></span></div>
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-84679023485433436272014-06-01T22:31:00.001+05:302014-06-02T07:48:46.914+05:30My father, my role model<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
From the time I have been able to comprehend speech, I have been told that I am his carbon copy. I would take great pride in being my father's replica. Of course, he was the cutest person in the family and his complexion was unmatched. Short necked, dimple chinned, chubby and fair, I had his features to the T. He is the first person I ever tried to emulate.<br />
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A role model is someone who constantly makes you want to keep your standards high. My father is that person for me. I could never bear to be bad in front of him. From Monday to Friday, I would be in care of my grandparents. My father would come to pick me up on his way home. He would carry me in his arms, be it rain or storm, and listen to my endless chatters and answer my unending questions. Sometimes my grandparents would complain to him about how naughty I have been through the day, but he would never believe it. In his care on Saturdays, I would be the most well behaved and disciplined kid ever!<br />
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On Saturdays, he would take me to a restaurant and make me eat dosa with spoon and fork. It was my first lesson on table manners. Saturdays were also the days when he himself cooked, bitter-gourd being the vegetable of the day. Of course, wasting food was the biggest No in his presence. I gulped down even bitter-gourd. I would get rewarded in the evening, when he would take me to see an elephant or take me to the park and let me play to my heart's content. I learnt to respect food early in my childhood due his rules.<br />
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If it were left to me, I would have never opened a book. It was he who made me sit and study for the spelling test. I was so petrified of being asked questions that I would sometimes hide in the bathroom. He would know my tricks and get me back to study. Those forceful hours seemed too less when I would come back home with a 10/10 in my spelling test. The red stars along with the 'very good' written by my teacher would make my father so happy. Soon I developed a liking for praise and the zeal to excel in studies. The coming years saw me as a topper in most subjects. All through the years, one thing would ring in my ears. My father's words- <b>"You can create miracles if you put your heart to it."</b><br />
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My father personifies perseverance for me. For about a decade he gave exam for promotion but when you are from general category and not in the fittest form, you can give up hope. He tried every year with equal interest. Sometimes we would get fed up of him spreading his books around and trying to read every holiday. His patience paid off and today when I flash my white pass while travelling, it fills me with pride and respect. It is the fruit of his hard work that today he is a gazetted officer with the railways, and every time I say that my father is a law officer, I think of all those years he tried!<br />
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I get often teased for being too sincere and not being the one to bend rules. My father had instilled a deep sense of responsibility for duty and civic behavior in me. His dedication to work has rubbed on to me. He is a man of honor. Never in his years of service has he been tempted to take to unlawful ways. He often tells,"<b> It is easy to make money through wrong means and then lose it all through bad karma</b>."<br />
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My father has always given importance to the upbringing of me and my brother. Both of us owe our humility and manners to him. If it hadn't been his fear in us, we would have not been the way we are. No matter how much he loves us, he would never let go of his principles and never spare us the rod. His stare would be enough to have us correct ourselves.<br />
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shades darker now :P </div>
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Role models have a considerable effect on self-confidence. My father inculcated in me a feeling of self-worth. He encouraged me to form my own views and voice them without fear. He taught me to be an independent thinker and not give in to pressure. My choice was always given importance and because of that, today, when I stand in front of people and speak, I do not fear the eyes that bore into mine. I can look people straight in the eye and talk. It is now that I have joined the corporate world that I realize the importance of this trait.<br />
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Role models give you strength and courage. They have your back even when they aren't always supportive. My career choices have been like that. I have erred, I have faltered, I have given in to depression, I have fought back and stood strong. I can proudly say that I held strong when the temptations were too forceful. I have held on to my integrity and individuality when the pressure to mix was too high. It was all because I knew that no matter what happened, he would be on my side.<br />
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He has a few mantras which he always follows.<br />
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1. A family that eats together, stays together.<br />
2. No matter how late you get, always come back home.<br />
3. Talk to the family.<br />
4. Be there to listen to your loved ones.<br />
5. Don't be in a hurry to get anywhere.<br />
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There is a reason why role models are called role models. They actually shape us into what we are. They give us dreams and aspirations and hope. It is everything that my Father contributed in my life and continues to do.<br />
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maithilihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13026338900563080890noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1229254277767053534.post-80060538487961943852014-05-25T20:40:00.000+05:302014-05-25T20:47:20.790+05:30Magic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The kind of love that makes you give up everything, only to realize what you truly want.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> The kind of love that plunges you down the valley of depression, only to see the rebirth of hope.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> The kind of love that drains the life out of you, only to run passion through your veins.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> The kind of love that defeats you, only to make you stronger</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> IT was that kind of love and a little more.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"> And yet she lost herself to it, only to find a little more of herself..</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="color: #37404e;"> </span><span style="color: #351c75;"> She wrote the status and clicked on post. She was in the happiest phase of her life. She had been through a lot in the last 7 years, and now life was finally smiling benevolently on her. She had, at one point of time, given up hope of happiness from relationships. She dreaded to trust anyone. It wasn't like she had a huge group of friends. She had always restricted her inner circle to a handful of people. She was cordial and helpful but when it came to depending on anyone, she took a few steps back. Life had taught her a harsh lesson. She wouldn't risk placing herself at the mercy of another person. She wouldn't ever give anyone the licence to destroy her peace. Sometimes, one person is enough to teach you all the lessons of life and for her, it had been her best friend.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">The last time she met her, she had freed herself from all her feelings. No more would she wonder what went wrong. No more would she feel incompetent to handle friendships. No more would she feel that pain. She had played the scene so many times in her mind. It was a rehearsal that kept revising every time she learnt something new. When she had finally met her once 'best friend', she had melted. She had wanted to go back to the old times. She wanted nothing more than having a 'best friend'. How lucky are the people who can claim that they have a best friend! </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Today, as she got so many likes and comments on her status, she was suddenly filled with a void. This was not how she had once dreamed of her life. Her life had always included her best friend. How she had imagined that her best friend would be by her side when she got married! Human bonds are so fragile and yet the memories are so relentless. They would keep coming back, long after you decide to dump them. For 7 years she had managed to live without pouring out her feelings to anyone. Why did she long for a quite evening on the terrace with her best friend? Why did she think of those long walks they had, discussing life's weird questions? Perhaps there was something that she couldn't replace nor forget.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">In a forlorn cyber cafe, she read the status and smiled. "Always the lucky one," she thought to herself. She wondered if she missed her. She had done her wrong and no amount of regret would ever do her right. What had possessed her to feel animosity with her? What had made her want to hurt her best friend so much? She had known it all along that she would have been hurt but the degree of damage that she had done was unimaginable for her. The last time she met her, her words had been a tight slap on her face. Every word filled with emotion had been a whip on her heart. Her own problems and insecurities had seemed trivial in front of the wound that her friend had so openly shown her. But then, emotions and words had always been her forte. She, on her part, had been tongue tied and confused. She had left her side and life had spiraled down ever since. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">They had been best of friends. She had felt that life had always been a little more favorable to her best friend. She was the one who had to struggle for everything while it came easy to her friend. Her friend got good grades without much efforts because she had an higher aptitude, while she toiled day and night to get a distinction. They both read a lot and yet the gift of words was with her friend. No matter how much she read, they wouldn't come to her. It was like magic. Her friend could conjure words like magic. She had the right words for every occasion. She called on words like they were her servants. She attracted people with the way she talked. It had been genuine admiration at first, which turned bitter with every passing day. Her friend hadn't been very attractive and yet when she fell in love, the object of her affections felt equally attracted to her. She had been happy for her friend but had felt alone. What was it about her? What was the magic that she possessed? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">When it had gotten too much for her to bear, she had withdrawn. The more she pushed her away, the closer she tried to come. She was suffocated and irritated and then one fine day, she simply broke all ties with her. With that, the magic ended. She was deshielded right then, but never realized. It was a downhill path from there. From flunking her year at college to falling in the trap of online chats. She made one mistake after the other. Without giving it a thought, she befriended a boy from another community. Without thinking of the consequences, she went ahead with dating him because he was the first person to show an interest. Just like that she ended up marrying him. Life had turned topsy-turvy. Who was to guess that she would one day be living in such poverty? Who was to ever imagine that she would have to face such adversities to feed herself two meals a day? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"It's close to one hour, do you want to extend your session?" the bored owner of the cafe asked. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"No," she answered and logged off. The monthly visit to cyber cafe was a luxury she allowed herself. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It had dawned on her what the magic was. The magic was love. The magic was friendship. How lucky she had been to have a best friend! If only she had not parted her ways, she would have been basking in that magic. Her friend attracted people not because she was good looking or had the gift of words, but because she loved a lot. Her last meeting had made her think. Had she hurt her so much that she had forgotten her magic? Perhaps not. She still loved and trusted at least one person. Her status had made that apparent. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Indeed, the magic was love. Even after knowing everything, her friend had tried to call her back. She wanted her to go back to the magical world of love. She wanted her to go back to her parents and start afresh. She wanted to listen to her friend, but the magic was lost on her. Things were much more complicated and beyond her control. The best thing that she could do was to stay away from her best friend. Time washes away the hurt, but the memories stay on and in such memories, the magic lives on. As if by magic, she felt somewhere that her friend was missing her too. </span></div>
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