Choosing a sweeter, healthier life

 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! 

 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! 

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. 

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?

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. 

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.

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?

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.

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.

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. 

                         

                                                        source: www.buzzle.com

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.

                                                 

Source: www.styleglow.com

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.

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 daburhoney

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. 

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, honey diet is just what I looked for.

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 honey diet.  I feel energetic and that is a positive sign of a healthy diet.

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.

My mother, my expert

              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.

              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.
                                           
              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.
                                 
                             

collection that keeps growing

             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.
                                         
                                              image courtesy- wallcoo.net

            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!
                                       

what I can draw now

           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.
                                           

                                                       image courtesy-wallcoo.net

          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.

         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!

         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.

         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.
                                         

        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!

       http://godrejexpert.com/single_used_pack.php

Fort Vengeance 2

            Samarth is now online

            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.
         
            "Hi.." she typed in anticipation.
             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.

             "Sorry Mukta, I am a little busy. There are a few complaints I am looking into." he typed some time later.

              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.

         
             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.

            "Dada, so early in the morning! It is so cold here!" Mukta shivered as she spoke.
             It always melted his heart away, the way his sister acted like a small baby.

             "Mukta,  Dinkar Kaka had called. Baba is planning to come tomorrow to Raiji."
             "But why? The elections are a month away!" Mukta questioned.
             "Kaka said it was something confidential. He called us keep us informed. Baba had no plans to let us know about his arrival."
              "Dada do you think it has anything to do with us?" Mukta asked, worried.
              "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."
               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.

               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.
              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.

              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.
              "Mother, Patil is coming."
              A slow smile came to her. The moment had arrived. The Fort shall seek its Vengeance.
             

To be continued

             



             

             
           

Fort Vengeance

          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.

           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.

           '"Sir, there is another case." Ramnath said, letting out a huge sigh.
           "What! This can't be! Where?" Gokhale asked, at once all alert.
           "Near the old fort." Ramnath answered, shaking his head.
           "How is it possible? The guards are everywhere!"
             
            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.
            "Baba, drop me to school. You are wearing uniform, I want my friends to see!"she exclaimed.
             His wife came out, packing his daughter's tiffin into the satchel.
            "Baba is tired. Some other day, today I am dropping you."
             His daughter looked at him with hopes. He was about to give in to her request when  the call came.
             His daughter was crest fallen and it broke his heart to disappoint her, but duty came first.

             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.

            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.

                                   

                                                               Image source
           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.

          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.

         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.

        "Vinod Vichare?" Sardesai raised an eyebrow.
        "No idea", Gokhale shook his head.
        "Check the records."

        Sardesai had a  gut feel that Vinod Vichare was a past student, just like the previous two, Rangnath Kamath and Abhinav Patole.
           
        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.

        "Sardesai, I trusted you to handle this case." Patil shouted at the other end.
         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."
         "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."

           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! Sardesai had a long day ahead. He could do with a large cup of coffee.

          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?

         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?

         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?
        
         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.
      
        Abhinav found murdered at the east end of the college, body hidden in gunny bag, found by Ramnath.

        Vinod found murdered at the north end of the campus, fort stairs, body in open. Found by one of the guards Keshav.

        Sardesai and his team got to their work.

To be continued
           
         
          

Touch of love

                  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.

                  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!

                 "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."
                 "Dada, they will marry her off to someone else. Didn't you take away bhabhi because of the same reason?" Abhi asked.
                  " Just because we did it, does not make it right" Suraj reasoned.
                   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.

                  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!

                 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.

                 "Abhi, we are dropping Priya home. We will think of something else but right now this is the sensible thing to do" Suraj asserted.
                  Priya, who had finally stopped crying, had fresh tears streaming down. Niharika pitied the girl. How hopelessly naive she was!

                  Niharika took to the wheels. Suraj sat beside her. Abhi and Priya stood outside. He was wiping her tears.
                  "Why are you forcing them?" she asked Suraj.
                  " I don't want them to make the same mistake that I made." He said with a straight face.

                   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!

                  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.

                  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.

                 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?

                "It's over isn't it? I was a mistake, right?" She asked him with fear.
                 He took her into his arms.
                 "You aren't a mistake."
                 "But you just said.."
                 "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."

                She looked at him, smiling and hugged him again, breathing in his smell, feeling loved by his touch.
                "Shall we go home?" she asked.
                "No, let's not go home. Let's just run away. Let's take a holiday no one knows about!"

                 The touch was back. The touch of love, the touch of madness.

                

 This post has been in written in collaboration with Parachute’s                    #BringBackTheTouch campaign. You can find more details here: http://www.pblskin.com/ Do check out their beautiful video below

 

 

                
               

               

Childhood revisited

                 
               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.

                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.

                 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.
 
                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 Nataraj dark pencils. 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!

                 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.

                Things as simple as watching Jungle Book on Doordarshan 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!

                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 Parle G biscuit in a hot cup of tea while having a friendly chat in person.
             
                When the only game we played was- OUTSIDE!

                When the only time we shopped was- Birthdays and Diwali

                When we knew no brands and everything new was valued.

                When commodities were limited and emotions endless..

                                                
                                                photo credit- google
               

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

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
             
             

                 

Dear Ma

Dear Ma,

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?"

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.

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!

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.

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?

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!

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?


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.

                                                                                                                                   Your son,
                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                     Mohit


Her hands trembled as she held the letter. What could she answer? She fed the letter to the fireplace.

He would never understand. He did not need to know. 

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! 

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. 

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. 

As the last of the paper turned to ashes, she closed her eyes. If only she could start over again.