Today my husband took me out shopping, after months of my asking. We got back tired after having bought half the mall and dinner at the fancy new place. Both of us were glad the evening had ended. I was dying to get to my lap top but he looked like he wanted to talk. It’s actually a pain to know someone so well that you can know what they want without their having to ask. “Who is rahul?” he asked casually. I could feel the colour rise to my cheeks.
“Just someone I met online”, I tried to make it sound casual. He shrugged and smiled the smile that I once used to love. “Well, he certainly creeps into your conversations a lot these days”
I looked away but actually wanted to tell him that he is the one who kept me going for the last eight months. While you were always too busy.
Rahul and I met on a social networking site. It was uncanny that we liked exactly the same things. His views on most things were exactly mine. We got chatting.
It seemed ok since we lived in different parts of the country. Till date we have not exchanged phone numbers but what we have exchanged is an integral part of our lives.
Rahul is special. There is no attraction or love. Any desire to meet either. Just a bond between two lonely strangers. We both know everything about each other. Maybe the anonymity makes it easier to open up. Maybe the fact that we are not in any relationship makes the expectations and the baggage that comes with it, vanish.
Maybe if we did meet and discovered flaws in each other we would be devastated.
What my always absent husband does not know is that part of my patience with him comes from the fact that I have someone to talk to. Someone who cares to listen, despite having a high profile job himself. Maybe rahul’s wife complains of the same neglect but like I have learnt from her husband, a little bit of selfishness is needed to survive. So I am not complaining.
In fact I am grateful that this stranger has come into my life.
Sure we fight, sulk and call each other names sometimes. Like normal friends do.
We also care a lot. Yet neither of us has voiced the need to be there for each other in the physical sense. Even if you are ill and alone or hurting after a bitter fight with the spouse.
Will this last? I honestly don’t know. I am practical enough to know that it may not.
I can’t afford to lose what we have worrying over what will happen in the future.
Maybe he is part of my life for a reason. A lesson I need to learn. When I learn it he may just vanish. Without a trace.
Today is what I have. And today seeing him pop up on my friends list makes me happy.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Adjustments
The first person I wanted to call when I felt my world crumbling around me, was my mom. I had a great career which I had lost interest in. I had a super marriage and had today discovered that my husband had been cheating on me for the last two years. And who did I want to call? Mrs Alka Shrivastav. The woman, I had hated most of my adult life. Who I hadn’t spoken to for the last two years. It just didn’t make sense. This wasn’t even a situation I could blame her for, or could I?
When I was a teenager, like most of my friends I hated parental control. I rebelled against every rule, I had brilliant grades in school so dad had no issues. Yet mom found fault with me all the time. If bhaiyya and I made the same mistake, I would be yelled at and he’d be forgiven. Her double standards got to me. What made things worse was that my best friend’s mom was so cool and went dancing with us. All my mom did was look sad and scared.
When she made feeble attempts at speaking in English or cooking Chinese food I cringed in embarrassment. I didn’t go out with her any longer and didn’t get friends home. They drooled over her cooking so I made her cook and took food to my friend’s homes.
When I started working I did feel awful about the way I had behaved and for a short while I did work on our fractured relationship. It helped that she was so proud of my achievements as a journalist. She kept every newspaper article I wrote, told everyone about the sarees I got her. I noticed that the only time she smiled in the day was when she opened the morning papers and saw my byline. In a rare moment of togetherness she confessed that it had been her dream to be a journalist. To her credit, she never pushed me to take to writing, it was something I wanted to do.
Yet once I got promoted and busier, we started having problems again. She didn’t approve of my timings, friends, haircut, clothes and the fact that I was now openly smoking. The same oft repeated lectures of how women have to know their limits and adjust. It made my blood boil. Finally I one day asked her what she had achieved by adjusting so much? I knew my father had not been loyal to her, I knew that we kids weren’t exactly proud of her and that she had no time or resources to do what she felt like. For heaven’s sake she couldn’t even go to see her sister whenever she felt like.
The fact that I was a splitting image of my mother, made matters worst. I dreaded inheriting her personality too. I refused to do anything she wanted me to, even if it was good for me. Till date, I don’t eat fruits because she used to insist I eat them. She started showing me pictures of prospective boys and I would tear each one without looking. The same drone about adjustment would come up. The more I read, the more I was convinced that she was jealous of me.
When I met Ronak and we fell in love, I told papa and bhaiyya, not her. When we decided to get married she still got excited and ensured I had a picture perfect wedding. Yet when she again suggested I live with my in-laws and adjust, rather than rent our own place, I lost it. I yelled and said awful things. I refused to speak to her again. We moved to Bombay so I didn’t need to meet her.
Yet today when I was at my lowest I yearned for my mother’s lap and hesitatingly I called her. She sensed that something was amiss before I said a word. I broke down and told her what Ronak had done. She was silent when I wanted her to talk. After what seemed like eternity she only said, “Sunaina, please don’t adjust this time. Don’t make the mistake I did....”
When I was a teenager, like most of my friends I hated parental control. I rebelled against every rule, I had brilliant grades in school so dad had no issues. Yet mom found fault with me all the time. If bhaiyya and I made the same mistake, I would be yelled at and he’d be forgiven. Her double standards got to me. What made things worse was that my best friend’s mom was so cool and went dancing with us. All my mom did was look sad and scared.
When she made feeble attempts at speaking in English or cooking Chinese food I cringed in embarrassment. I didn’t go out with her any longer and didn’t get friends home. They drooled over her cooking so I made her cook and took food to my friend’s homes.
When I started working I did feel awful about the way I had behaved and for a short while I did work on our fractured relationship. It helped that she was so proud of my achievements as a journalist. She kept every newspaper article I wrote, told everyone about the sarees I got her. I noticed that the only time she smiled in the day was when she opened the morning papers and saw my byline. In a rare moment of togetherness she confessed that it had been her dream to be a journalist. To her credit, she never pushed me to take to writing, it was something I wanted to do.
Yet once I got promoted and busier, we started having problems again. She didn’t approve of my timings, friends, haircut, clothes and the fact that I was now openly smoking. The same oft repeated lectures of how women have to know their limits and adjust. It made my blood boil. Finally I one day asked her what she had achieved by adjusting so much? I knew my father had not been loyal to her, I knew that we kids weren’t exactly proud of her and that she had no time or resources to do what she felt like. For heaven’s sake she couldn’t even go to see her sister whenever she felt like.
The fact that I was a splitting image of my mother, made matters worst. I dreaded inheriting her personality too. I refused to do anything she wanted me to, even if it was good for me. Till date, I don’t eat fruits because she used to insist I eat them. She started showing me pictures of prospective boys and I would tear each one without looking. The same drone about adjustment would come up. The more I read, the more I was convinced that she was jealous of me.
When I met Ronak and we fell in love, I told papa and bhaiyya, not her. When we decided to get married she still got excited and ensured I had a picture perfect wedding. Yet when she again suggested I live with my in-laws and adjust, rather than rent our own place, I lost it. I yelled and said awful things. I refused to speak to her again. We moved to Bombay so I didn’t need to meet her.
Yet today when I was at my lowest I yearned for my mother’s lap and hesitatingly I called her. She sensed that something was amiss before I said a word. I broke down and told her what Ronak had done. She was silent when I wanted her to talk. After what seemed like eternity she only said, “Sunaina, please don’t adjust this time. Don’t make the mistake I did....”
outlaws
Kusum and I were really the best of buddies. And as we flopped onto the sofa in the restaurant, with tons of shopping bags we must have looked like some silly school girls. Well, we were anything but that! Kusum was a 62 year old successful surgeon and I, Kamna am a 30 year old investment banker. She lived in delhi, I in Bombay and we were currently catching up in Bangalore.
We couldn’t stand each other’s guts the first day we set eyes on each other. Yet we knew we couldn’t wish each other way since we loved the same man. Her son and my to-be husband, Sankalp. The concept of a mother in law scared the daylights out of me. Kusum was also sceptical of me, since I was from a different city, came from another part of the country and above all, she would have to share her son with me.
Post the wedding we made an effort, both of us did. Neither of us wanted sankalp to feel like he had to take sides. To kusum’s credit she never said anything to my husband to colour his perception about me. I can’t confess to the same, I did crib to him at times that she didn’t like me. Once she was with us in delhi and sankalp had to suddenly travel abroad, it was just the two of us for a weekend. We bonded and how! We loved the same books and movies. We had such fun singing songs! I taught her a couple of Punjabi dishes, she bought me gorgeous handlooms sarees. I got tips on how to handle a man, she got advise on safe investments.
After that sankalp said he felt left out whenever the three of us were together! I turned to her and not my mom when I had a miscarriage. She told me about an interesting man she had met and asked me not to tell her son.
We spoke pretty often but as I took on more responsibilities at work, time was a huge constraint. Sankalp was rising fast at work too. We barely saw each other. The time we decided to take a break and go to see mom, she told us to go to goa instead and spend some time with each other.
When I got to know about sankalp’s affair, the first person I confided in was Kusum. It was the ugliest time in my life. For four months I was begging and pleading with my husband to not walk out. Finally kusum asked me to let go and not demean myself any more.
I was devastated and so was she. She tried very hard to make her son see sense but he was too smitten to care. Before leaving he accused me of turning his mom against him. I felt sorry for him. Work was a great help. My family of course blamed me in their ignorance. Kusum was the only one who stood rock solid by me.
We met and never spoke about sankalp or his new love. Our relationship made it through the storm that wrecked my marriage.
It’s been two years now. Of course she and sankalp have made peace. She can’t stand his lover but only mentions it in passing. She keeps me persuading me to find love again. I tell her I will be fine by myself, just like she has been.
At the restaurant, after yet another giggle fit, we realised how loud we had been and immediately got sheepish. A lady, who had been observing us, walked up and said she wished she had a daughter like me. Kusum held my hand and said “Not everyone is as blessed”
We couldn’t stand each other’s guts the first day we set eyes on each other. Yet we knew we couldn’t wish each other way since we loved the same man. Her son and my to-be husband, Sankalp. The concept of a mother in law scared the daylights out of me. Kusum was also sceptical of me, since I was from a different city, came from another part of the country and above all, she would have to share her son with me.
Post the wedding we made an effort, both of us did. Neither of us wanted sankalp to feel like he had to take sides. To kusum’s credit she never said anything to my husband to colour his perception about me. I can’t confess to the same, I did crib to him at times that she didn’t like me. Once she was with us in delhi and sankalp had to suddenly travel abroad, it was just the two of us for a weekend. We bonded and how! We loved the same books and movies. We had such fun singing songs! I taught her a couple of Punjabi dishes, she bought me gorgeous handlooms sarees. I got tips on how to handle a man, she got advise on safe investments.
After that sankalp said he felt left out whenever the three of us were together! I turned to her and not my mom when I had a miscarriage. She told me about an interesting man she had met and asked me not to tell her son.
We spoke pretty often but as I took on more responsibilities at work, time was a huge constraint. Sankalp was rising fast at work too. We barely saw each other. The time we decided to take a break and go to see mom, she told us to go to goa instead and spend some time with each other.
When I got to know about sankalp’s affair, the first person I confided in was Kusum. It was the ugliest time in my life. For four months I was begging and pleading with my husband to not walk out. Finally kusum asked me to let go and not demean myself any more.
I was devastated and so was she. She tried very hard to make her son see sense but he was too smitten to care. Before leaving he accused me of turning his mom against him. I felt sorry for him. Work was a great help. My family of course blamed me in their ignorance. Kusum was the only one who stood rock solid by me.
We met and never spoke about sankalp or his new love. Our relationship made it through the storm that wrecked my marriage.
It’s been two years now. Of course she and sankalp have made peace. She can’t stand his lover but only mentions it in passing. She keeps me persuading me to find love again. I tell her I will be fine by myself, just like she has been.
At the restaurant, after yet another giggle fit, we realised how loud we had been and immediately got sheepish. A lady, who had been observing us, walked up and said she wished she had a daughter like me. Kusum held my hand and said “Not everyone is as blessed”
not just a mother
Fixing myself a cup of chamomile tea, my favourite singer serenading me on the stereo and a blank canvas becokining...this was life. As I stared out of the french windows I couldn’t help smiling. The simple joys of life were so attainable, why did it take me 60 years to realise that?
Till 3 years ago I was just Mrs Sharma and Bindi, Bela and Bhupesh’s mother. I was very happy and content. I had been a great wife and a wonderful mother and I knew that. Life was a roller coaster and I didn’t have the controls. My husband was rising fast in his career and was soon a prominent lawyer. Bringing up the kids was something I did almost singlehandedly. From pta meetings to illnesses. Birthday parties to keeping a check on their reading material, I didn’t have a moment to spare. It was only when they fared well in academics or won accolades in other spheres did I feel like it was all worth it.
Before I knew it they had grown up and didn’t need me too much. Of course I was still involved in their lives but to the extent they allowed. Bhupesh came to America for higher studies, Bindi got busy with her banking career and Bela was stuck to the computer and excelling in graphic design. I did set the rules at home but there wasn’t really much to do. Till it was time to get them married, first Bindi got a good match and then Bela married the neighbour’s son.
What happened next was painful. Opportunities and dreams led them all one by one to America and soon it was just the two of us. How much could you talk on the phone? I got net savvy so I could chat with the children but it really wasn’t the same. I kept telling Kapil to slow down and plan a holiday to see the kids but you know how husbands can be. We just kept postponing our retirement and peaceful holiday plans. Then one day he was gone...just like that. The first heart attack proved fatal. I was devastated and despite the kids insisting I stayed back in Bombay.
In a couple of months I realised how utterly lonely I was. Other than my family, I had nothing, no career, no friends, no hobbies. I was too old to start again and soon I found myself watching trite television soaps and hated myself for doing that.
A year later, I gave in to the kids and agreed to move to Philadelphia. Bhupesh was marrying Clara and it was my first real exposure to a foreigner. She was a lovely child and spoilt me silly. Her mother Karen and I became friends. We were the same age but so utterly different. I honestly didn’t like her smoking, drinking friends who used cuss words so calmly. Yet something she said made me think. She said “Vidya, why don’t you just get a life? The kids don’t need us any longer”
So I stopped badgering my children and their spouses to make me grand children. Instead I started doing things that I had always wanted to but never had the time for. I went for walks, visited art galleries and museums and realised I loved it. Soon I was taking the tube and going by myself. It was such a high to do that. Thankfully none of my kids laughed when I told them that. Instead they set up a studio for me in the basement of Bhupesh’s house.
Finally I could spend time doing what I felt like, without feeling guilty. For practical reasons I took to wearing jeans...and that was so so liberating. Like becoming another person. The first time I applied for an art competition online and was called in, it felt almost as good as it did when Bela topped in college.
I was now at art workshops every wednseday and I was known as Vidya there. Just plain Vidya. Karen came to visit and said she had never seen anyone transform so much in six months. When I sold my first painting and got paid for it, I could have danced on the streets. I took the kids out to dinner and on Sunday I organised lunch for children at the orphanage.
My kids are so proud of me and I suspect they are also relieved that they don’t need to baby sit me any longer. Sixty and single is not such a scary space you know...
Till 3 years ago I was just Mrs Sharma and Bindi, Bela and Bhupesh’s mother. I was very happy and content. I had been a great wife and a wonderful mother and I knew that. Life was a roller coaster and I didn’t have the controls. My husband was rising fast in his career and was soon a prominent lawyer. Bringing up the kids was something I did almost singlehandedly. From pta meetings to illnesses. Birthday parties to keeping a check on their reading material, I didn’t have a moment to spare. It was only when they fared well in academics or won accolades in other spheres did I feel like it was all worth it.
Before I knew it they had grown up and didn’t need me too much. Of course I was still involved in their lives but to the extent they allowed. Bhupesh came to America for higher studies, Bindi got busy with her banking career and Bela was stuck to the computer and excelling in graphic design. I did set the rules at home but there wasn’t really much to do. Till it was time to get them married, first Bindi got a good match and then Bela married the neighbour’s son.
What happened next was painful. Opportunities and dreams led them all one by one to America and soon it was just the two of us. How much could you talk on the phone? I got net savvy so I could chat with the children but it really wasn’t the same. I kept telling Kapil to slow down and plan a holiday to see the kids but you know how husbands can be. We just kept postponing our retirement and peaceful holiday plans. Then one day he was gone...just like that. The first heart attack proved fatal. I was devastated and despite the kids insisting I stayed back in Bombay.
In a couple of months I realised how utterly lonely I was. Other than my family, I had nothing, no career, no friends, no hobbies. I was too old to start again and soon I found myself watching trite television soaps and hated myself for doing that.
A year later, I gave in to the kids and agreed to move to Philadelphia. Bhupesh was marrying Clara and it was my first real exposure to a foreigner. She was a lovely child and spoilt me silly. Her mother Karen and I became friends. We were the same age but so utterly different. I honestly didn’t like her smoking, drinking friends who used cuss words so calmly. Yet something she said made me think. She said “Vidya, why don’t you just get a life? The kids don’t need us any longer”
So I stopped badgering my children and their spouses to make me grand children. Instead I started doing things that I had always wanted to but never had the time for. I went for walks, visited art galleries and museums and realised I loved it. Soon I was taking the tube and going by myself. It was such a high to do that. Thankfully none of my kids laughed when I told them that. Instead they set up a studio for me in the basement of Bhupesh’s house.
Finally I could spend time doing what I felt like, without feeling guilty. For practical reasons I took to wearing jeans...and that was so so liberating. Like becoming another person. The first time I applied for an art competition online and was called in, it felt almost as good as it did when Bela topped in college.
I was now at art workshops every wednseday and I was known as Vidya there. Just plain Vidya. Karen came to visit and said she had never seen anyone transform so much in six months. When I sold my first painting and got paid for it, I could have danced on the streets. I took the kids out to dinner and on Sunday I organised lunch for children at the orphanage.
My kids are so proud of me and I suspect they are also relieved that they don’t need to baby sit me any longer. Sixty and single is not such a scary space you know...
Saturday, July 3, 2010
इतेफाक से
The first time I saw her she was leaning against a bench and laughing at me. Ok, I agree I was overreacting to a situation that nobody could do anything about. I was mad at a local in the scenic hill station because I had not been warned that it could start raining on a perfectly sunny day.
I had come to chail, a couple of days ago, to clear my head. Didn’t want to meet anyone I knew or anyone who remotely had led a city bread life. No plu’s- people like us. Yet this woman who was an epitome of grace and beauty even at her age, was clearly someone who was moneyed, classy and well educated. I was intrigued.
I followed her and she walked quite a distance before she turned into a cottage with a white wooden gate. She looked back at me and gestured that I come in. I was embarrassed and awkward but she waited for me smiling. I went in, the house was cozy and classy. Wooden flooring, a fireplace, plush rugs, antique silver, comfortable sofas and overlooking a beautifully tended garden. Without asking she walked into the kitchen and came back with mugs of steaming hot chocolate. It was divine and I felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t experienced in years. Riya Ghosh, is what she offered as an introduction. Bookcases lined with books intrigued me and as if reading my thoughts she said that both she and her husband loved to read. They had different tastes so hence she had an eclectic mix.
Over the next couple of hours and four rounds of coffee riya knew all about my life. I couldn’t believe how much I had shared with a rank stranger. She smiled and said perhaps it was easier because I didn’t know her. But it wasn’t that. She had a peace that was rare. Now i needed to know her views on my life. I had ranted and told her all about how I was about to call off my wedding with Ronak who I had been dating for the last four years. I loved him immensely yet his irritating family, his lack of ambition and his laid back attitude was driving me up the wall. I wanted more out of life and I wasn’t willing to compromise.
She asked me to forgive him and forgive myself and build a wonderful life together. I looked at her angry and she asked me to go back to the hotel and come the next day. I mumbled something and walked away, sure that I wouldn’t be coming back.
Yet all night I thought about her forgiving myself stance that I did not get and wanted to meet her again to know more. I also needed to more about her life. So I went back. She had a picnic basket ready, like she was expecting me. We went to a brook nearby and sat there for hours, she had an awesome voice and we sang to the birds. It was so wonderful and healing. When I got back to my room I realised I hadn’t asked her a thing. It was so magical just being with her.
I went to see her everyday for the next two weeks. Always after eleven because before that she taught local children and looked into her correspondence. Soon I got to know that included mentoring phd students who were studying comparative world religions. A subject she was an expert on. Each time asked about her life, she would smile and say she would tell me some day.
And one day she did. Told me what had happened over the last 70 summers of her life. She told me about her childhood and youth in Amritsar where she lived in a progressive Punjabi family. She grew up with her grandparents since her father was in the army and her parents kept getting posted to places that didn’t have good schools. How she met and fell in love with Inder, who was from a huge land owning family. How they dreamt of a future together, how they met on the terrace, how they wrote poetry for each other. How he had decided to rebel against the family and marry her as soon as she turned eighteen. How his family would disown him but they had already found a piece of land they would till and live on. She came to chail for the first time with him and they decided to live here when they were old...
Inder got killed by terrorists one evening. Just like that, to prove a point to rich families that were not coughing up money to support their cause. Riya didn’t know who she could cry in front of. Other than the two of them no one knew of their wonderful love and future planned out.
Riya moved to delhi and did brilliantly in academics. Her parents fretted over her wedding and she always said no. Till Major ranjan ghosh was decided upon by her father. He had known him since he first joined the army and was a liberal, understanding man. He would let riya work and she had no reason to say no. She married Ranjan and was the dutiful wife who never felt any love for her husband. Ranjan sensed that and gradually over the years, the mundane humdrum of marriage made her get used to Ranjan. He was a wonderful patient man, a solider with an artistic temperament. A writer who only let his wife read what he wrote. She fell in love with him but unlike Inder this was a mature, deep, calm love. They never had children and after a point never missed them. They were just so happy together, cooking, reading, gardening, listening to music. She still celebrated Inder’s birthday every year and Ranjan never objected.
Post retirement ranjan wanted a quiet place in the hills and chail beckoned. They bought a plot and hoped to leave the nomadic life at some point. But ranjan had a sudden heart attack and passed away. Riya was alone but not bereft. That was Riya. The memories of having been loved so completely by two wonderful men had given her a lifetime of memories to live by. That is what she was doing. Happily, grateful for what she got and not resentful of what she didn’t have.
I felt so small compared to her and yet she never told me what I should do in my life. She was just who she was and if someone could get inspired by her, so be it. She never went out of chail so she didn’t attend our wedding but every summer ronak and I come and spend some time with her in chail. We would always go back rejuvenated and when she kissed me on the forehead before we left and blessed me, I felt truly blessed.
I had come to chail, a couple of days ago, to clear my head. Didn’t want to meet anyone I knew or anyone who remotely had led a city bread life. No plu’s- people like us. Yet this woman who was an epitome of grace and beauty even at her age, was clearly someone who was moneyed, classy and well educated. I was intrigued.
I followed her and she walked quite a distance before she turned into a cottage with a white wooden gate. She looked back at me and gestured that I come in. I was embarrassed and awkward but she waited for me smiling. I went in, the house was cozy and classy. Wooden flooring, a fireplace, plush rugs, antique silver, comfortable sofas and overlooking a beautifully tended garden. Without asking she walked into the kitchen and came back with mugs of steaming hot chocolate. It was divine and I felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t experienced in years. Riya Ghosh, is what she offered as an introduction. Bookcases lined with books intrigued me and as if reading my thoughts she said that both she and her husband loved to read. They had different tastes so hence she had an eclectic mix.
Over the next couple of hours and four rounds of coffee riya knew all about my life. I couldn’t believe how much I had shared with a rank stranger. She smiled and said perhaps it was easier because I didn’t know her. But it wasn’t that. She had a peace that was rare. Now i needed to know her views on my life. I had ranted and told her all about how I was about to call off my wedding with Ronak who I had been dating for the last four years. I loved him immensely yet his irritating family, his lack of ambition and his laid back attitude was driving me up the wall. I wanted more out of life and I wasn’t willing to compromise.
She asked me to forgive him and forgive myself and build a wonderful life together. I looked at her angry and she asked me to go back to the hotel and come the next day. I mumbled something and walked away, sure that I wouldn’t be coming back.
Yet all night I thought about her forgiving myself stance that I did not get and wanted to meet her again to know more. I also needed to more about her life. So I went back. She had a picnic basket ready, like she was expecting me. We went to a brook nearby and sat there for hours, she had an awesome voice and we sang to the birds. It was so wonderful and healing. When I got back to my room I realised I hadn’t asked her a thing. It was so magical just being with her.
I went to see her everyday for the next two weeks. Always after eleven because before that she taught local children and looked into her correspondence. Soon I got to know that included mentoring phd students who were studying comparative world religions. A subject she was an expert on. Each time asked about her life, she would smile and say she would tell me some day.
And one day she did. Told me what had happened over the last 70 summers of her life. She told me about her childhood and youth in Amritsar where she lived in a progressive Punjabi family. She grew up with her grandparents since her father was in the army and her parents kept getting posted to places that didn’t have good schools. How she met and fell in love with Inder, who was from a huge land owning family. How they dreamt of a future together, how they met on the terrace, how they wrote poetry for each other. How he had decided to rebel against the family and marry her as soon as she turned eighteen. How his family would disown him but they had already found a piece of land they would till and live on. She came to chail for the first time with him and they decided to live here when they were old...
Inder got killed by terrorists one evening. Just like that, to prove a point to rich families that were not coughing up money to support their cause. Riya didn’t know who she could cry in front of. Other than the two of them no one knew of their wonderful love and future planned out.
Riya moved to delhi and did brilliantly in academics. Her parents fretted over her wedding and she always said no. Till Major ranjan ghosh was decided upon by her father. He had known him since he first joined the army and was a liberal, understanding man. He would let riya work and she had no reason to say no. She married Ranjan and was the dutiful wife who never felt any love for her husband. Ranjan sensed that and gradually over the years, the mundane humdrum of marriage made her get used to Ranjan. He was a wonderful patient man, a solider with an artistic temperament. A writer who only let his wife read what he wrote. She fell in love with him but unlike Inder this was a mature, deep, calm love. They never had children and after a point never missed them. They were just so happy together, cooking, reading, gardening, listening to music. She still celebrated Inder’s birthday every year and Ranjan never objected.
Post retirement ranjan wanted a quiet place in the hills and chail beckoned. They bought a plot and hoped to leave the nomadic life at some point. But ranjan had a sudden heart attack and passed away. Riya was alone but not bereft. That was Riya. The memories of having been loved so completely by two wonderful men had given her a lifetime of memories to live by. That is what she was doing. Happily, grateful for what she got and not resentful of what she didn’t have.
I felt so small compared to her and yet she never told me what I should do in my life. She was just who she was and if someone could get inspired by her, so be it. She never went out of chail so she didn’t attend our wedding but every summer ronak and I come and spend some time with her in chail. We would always go back rejuvenated and when she kissed me on the forehead before we left and blessed me, I felt truly blessed.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
ONE AMAZING THING
I changed my clothes thrice and checked myself in the mirror a hundred times. All this to meet someone over coffee. Hadn’t done that in ages and was actually amused. Probably the last time I did actually do that was years ago for a coffee with the same man!
We had been on and off for the longest time, till I called it off and moved on. Another city, another country and finally another man... Now that I was back home for good, someone mentioned him and I was curious. Thought it was ok to meet up again once...for old times’ sake.
I thought I had reached early but the truth is I didn’t recognise him. He had aged so much. Some stilted polite conversation. His same brusque manner getting under my skin.
The one amazing thing is that I could cut my losses and move again!
We had been on and off for the longest time, till I called it off and moved on. Another city, another country and finally another man... Now that I was back home for good, someone mentioned him and I was curious. Thought it was ok to meet up again once...for old times’ sake.
I thought I had reached early but the truth is I didn’t recognise him. He had aged so much. Some stilted polite conversation. His same brusque manner getting under my skin.
The one amazing thing is that I could cut my losses and move again!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Airport
Shweta looked sad
She never thought she would reach this point
Waiting for a flight to get back home scared her
The same stony silence from people she had to call family
The same having to weigh each word before uttering it
Living like your walking on eggshells is so tough
And sudhir’s indifference made it worse
Was this the guy she had fought with her family and friends to marry
4 months into the marriage and all she felt was regret
How she wished she was on a flight to anywhere other than Bombay
Saira had eyes that spoke
And right now they screamed in pain
She felt like such a failure
She was such a nerd at the interview she had waited so long for
She sounded like a bumbling idiot even to herself
She would now go back a failure
Her friends would try to console her while sniggering
Her mother will get another chance to point out how dumb she was
And she would go back to the job she detested
She wondered if by wishing she could make her plane crash
But knowing her luck she doubted she could even manage that
I don’t know if she was called shweta or saira
But the girl sitting across me at the airport lounge had very sad brown eyes….
She never thought she would reach this point
Waiting for a flight to get back home scared her
The same stony silence from people she had to call family
The same having to weigh each word before uttering it
Living like your walking on eggshells is so tough
And sudhir’s indifference made it worse
Was this the guy she had fought with her family and friends to marry
4 months into the marriage and all she felt was regret
How she wished she was on a flight to anywhere other than Bombay
Saira had eyes that spoke
And right now they screamed in pain
She felt like such a failure
She was such a nerd at the interview she had waited so long for
She sounded like a bumbling idiot even to herself
She would now go back a failure
Her friends would try to console her while sniggering
Her mother will get another chance to point out how dumb she was
And she would go back to the job she detested
She wondered if by wishing she could make her plane crash
But knowing her luck she doubted she could even manage that
I don’t know if she was called shweta or saira
But the girl sitting across me at the airport lounge had very sad brown eyes….
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