Is it really that easy to spot a person struck by the Cupid’s arrow?
I find it rather amusing how you can just tell when someone around you falls for someone. Even the most composed and expressionless of persons are not able to conceal it.
I happened to meet one of my friends – rather two of them – after more than a month recently. We’d been planning and failing to meet since very many days. And then a chance call right after Trupti had got back from the graha-pravesh of her brother’s new flat, had me and my Tejashree driving to her place.
It was a nice fun-filled evening as we all talked almost simultaneously on three very different topics, gobbling idli-chutney side by side, and yet in perfect co-ordination, and also without losing track of what each one of us was talking about. We poured our hearts out, amidst the sound of spoons and plastic bags as we dug into a packet of fresh Chitale bakhar-vadi and a box of kalakand; we talked about who had been up to what recently, and who was bugging who in class, and how we missed sitting next to each other in lectures. We wished we were all doing the same thing in the same college, somewhere far away from home; or that we were roomies in a hostel just so that we could go to different colleges and do different courses and still not lose contact.
Suddenly someone came up with the idea of clicking pictures.
‘But who will click all three of us together?’
‘Arre timer hai na!’ I said, flaunting my new phone which doubled-up as a camera.
‘4 megapixels?’ Trupti inquired.
‘8!’ I exclaimed.
‘Cool!’
We ran around the flat looking for ideal supports to hold my cell in place so that we could all fit into the frame of the picture – problem being the fact that Tejashree and Trupti are both almost the same height, while I am much taller than both of them. Finally after hunting for almost half an hour we had assembled a tall stool, the box of modem, and a mixer-grinder.
‘Mrunal be careful yaar. Your phone is going to topple and fall,’ Tejashree warned me.
‘Jalla tujha tond!’ I remarked and we broke out into peals of laughter. Meanwhile Trupti was humming a song from a latest Salman Khan flick.
‘Oh my God Trupti! That is such an outrageous song!’ I remarked. ‘You’ve heard it?’ I asked, turning to Tejashree.
‘Ya!’ she replied. Then there was silence for a few moments, and Trupti again began singing the same song all over again –
‘Munni badnam hui, darling tere liye…’
Me – ‘Abe oye jhandu balm! Chup kar na yaar…’
Trupti – ‘Aga mi kay karu? Mala pin lagliye tya ganyachi!’
Tejashree – ‘Nahi nahi asa nahi. Kuna sathi jhandu balm jhaliyes te sang adhi!’
Trupti – ‘Arre no one yaar! There is no one in our class worth becoming jhandu balm for…’
Incidentally they then both turned to look at me.
‘Tu kyu itni hans rahi hai?’
I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was in fact blank. But their remark planted a smile on my face anyway.
‘Mi kuthe hastiye,’ I said grinning ear to ear.
Trupti – ‘Meko lagta hai teko koi mil gaya…’ she then went on to do a step from the song. She spread her hands out like Preity Zinta and Hrithik and started singing ‘Koi mil gayaaaaaa!’
I turned to Teju for refuge – ‘Ae ae! Tuppi cha patent! “Meko teko”! Remember?’
Teju mock laughed and then made a grave face – ‘Vishay badalu nako.’
‘Abe yaar kay tumhi doghi…’ I said, now even blushing a little. ‘Koi nahi hai baba!’
‘Arre I’m not saying you are going around with someone! But someone sure has caught your attention recently, hai na? In fact “hai na” kya, I know it for a fact – its written all over your face!’ Teju said.
‘And since when can you read faces?’ I countered her.
‘Vishay badalu nako!’ Tuppu repeated.
I looked at their anticipating faces. Damn. They were my best friends after all; they deserved to know – even though there wasn’t much to tell. And so I went on and told them about the guy who I had noticed recently.
‘See! I knew it! Right when you walked in through the front door I knew you had news!’
‘Eeks Tuppu! “You had news” kay are…’ I said. ‘It’s hardly anything! For all I know he could not even be interested in me.’
‘Ya. Or for all she knows, he could be gay!’ Teju added.
We all burst out laughing.
‘Ae nahi yaar, aise mat bol,’ I said.
‘Haan yaar Teju, aise mat bol – warna uska dil toot jaega!’ Tuppu added.
I made a serious face.
‘Trupti Naik, are you actually sassing your best friend? Don’t you dare sass me!’
‘Hauuuu! Ghabarle mi! Sorry sorry sorry,’ Tuppu mocked me a little more. ‘But I am honestly glad you are over that looser.’
Aha. The ‘ex’ creeps up.
‘Tuppu, he wasn’t a – ’ I said, defending him as was my habit. Tuppu cut me halfway through.
‘Don’t you dare defend him Mrunal. A guy like that can only be a looser, with all his intellectuality or whatever.’
‘Intellectual looser,’ Teju chirped in.
‘Hey! New term!’ Tuppu said.
‘Yes, we have a new term added to our dictionary now! Intellectual looser – a guy – ’
‘Common Teju, be technical. You are writing a definition.’
‘Oh yes! So; intellectual looser – a male Homo sapiens with above average IQ – ’
‘ – but below average EQ.’ I added. Tejashree and Trupti both turned to look at me. And then both suddenly dived towards me and put their arms around my neck. I smiled, hugging them back.
‘That’s the spirit girl. You’ve been wearing black for far too long now; it’s time to shed it.’
And right after that we clicked many pictures. All on timer. (Apparently the stool plus modem box plus mixer assembly worked just perfectly fine and gave us some really good pictures; or shall I say good memories?) We finished all the idlis and the bakhar-vadis and the kalakand. We stayed at Tuppu’s place till almost quarter to nine. And we had a blast. We all logged into our respective facebook accounts and uploaded the pictures pronto. By the time we reached home there were some comments on them too!
‘I am riding with you after so many days!’ Teju said, as we were driving back home on my Activa. She put her arms around me and hugged me – ‘I miss you yaar!’ she said. I put my hand on hers and replied – ‘I miss you too honey’; and it was not far from the truth. I did miss these two stupid idiotic but absolutely loveable girls from my Bachelors, though I had made new friends in my Masters. I thanked God in my mind – of all the things that had changed in my life over the past year, this had not; and it meant a lot to me.
I am happy.
Showing posts with label Close to My Heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Close to My Heart. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
RUGBY VS. ARCHITECTURE
I do not like to start the day with a debate or an argument usually; but today turned out to be different.
As I sat at our dining table having breakfast, mother came and announced –
‘Do you know? Shambhavi has decided to quit rugby.’
‘What? Why?’ I asked, clearly not able to think of one sane reason why a girl in the Potentials list of International Rugby Team would want to quit suddenly; right when she was at the foothill of what could be her pinnacle.
‘She is not able to manage her studies and rugby both.’
Sigh. The age old discussion or career versus sports.
I got into quite an argument with my mother over it – which in retrospect I shouldn’t have, given that Shambhavi is neither my daughter, nor my sister, neither my best friend. She happens to be one of my schoolmates kid sister. But this is an issue very close to my heart.
Even as we have stepped into the 21st century, some thoughts, concepts and beliefs have gripped us so hard – or rather we have held onto them so firmly – that we just can’t seem to be able to dispense them.
Even today a parent is not able to convince her daughter that one can make a career in rugby too – or the parent very conveniently ‘leaves the decision upto’ the child.
Has the daughter really chosen to give up rugby because she can’t cope with studies and rugby together? And maybe she genuinely can’t cope with the two things. But would she have chosen to give up ‘rugby’ if she knew the option of making a ‘career’ in it was open/available, or that her mother would be ok with it?
And we are not talking about any random girl here. We are talking about someone who has dedicated a significant amount of her life to a sport she dearly loves, has crossed every hurdle and passed every level of selection, who has given up movies and get-togethers and maybe even a part of her social life, a boy-friend even, just so that she be able to give rugby time. We are talking here of a girl who has exceled to such a level that she is now part of the Potentials list for the International Rugby Team – a chance to represent a nation’s people for the sport she so dearly loves.
Does one give so much time and energy to something one even has the slightest idea of not being able to pursue further? I don’t think so. Every five years can now be regarded as a generation. And these newer generations are way more liberal, straight forward and free-thinking than we can imagine. Maybe few years ago this would have seemed a ridiculous idea – first the fact that it’s a ‘girl’ we are talking about, and then the fact that it is ‘sports’ we are talking about. But kids today know what they want - from making a career in dance, to becoming a free-lance self-taught photographer, to choosing to study Sports Management in the States.
But just so that their parents are happy, or just so that they don’t have to deal with too much of unnecessary debate, discussion and maybe even quarrels at the end of the day on the dining table, they will chose to travel on the same old road.
I am not trying to say that everyone should go for just exactly what their heart desires, without looking at the practicalities. But definitely a girl of the potential of Shambhavi should not be wasted in a classroom, with 60 other heads to accompany her, learning how to build buildings. No.
I think it is time we revise our concepts about ‘good career’ and ‘bad career’. Had Shambhavi known she could pursue rugby in place of architecture, maybe she would have. Yes we do need to think about money too – and there is nothing wrong in it. There is absolutely nothing wrong in ensuring you are going to be able to fill your stomach and still have cash to buy that beautiful diamond set or that amazing gizmo you saw on your way back home from college or work. But then rugby pays too! Probably more than architecture even! Then why not choose to do the work you love rather than making yourself love the work you do?
Shambhavi has still not taken her final decision… but something tells me she is going to end up quitting rugby. What the poor girl needs right now is just a bit of moral support from her parent and relatives. I know it somehow, just as I know she is going to end up quitting rugby, that she doesn’t really ‘want to’ quit… and till the day she finally decides, I will keep hoping she doesn’t.
As I sat at our dining table having breakfast, mother came and announced –
‘Do you know? Shambhavi has decided to quit rugby.’
‘What? Why?’ I asked, clearly not able to think of one sane reason why a girl in the Potentials list of International Rugby Team would want to quit suddenly; right when she was at the foothill of what could be her pinnacle.
‘She is not able to manage her studies and rugby both.’
Sigh. The age old discussion or career versus sports.
I got into quite an argument with my mother over it – which in retrospect I shouldn’t have, given that Shambhavi is neither my daughter, nor my sister, neither my best friend. She happens to be one of my schoolmates kid sister. But this is an issue very close to my heart.
Even as we have stepped into the 21st century, some thoughts, concepts and beliefs have gripped us so hard – or rather we have held onto them so firmly – that we just can’t seem to be able to dispense them.
Even today a parent is not able to convince her daughter that one can make a career in rugby too – or the parent very conveniently ‘leaves the decision upto’ the child.
Has the daughter really chosen to give up rugby because she can’t cope with studies and rugby together? And maybe she genuinely can’t cope with the two things. But would she have chosen to give up ‘rugby’ if she knew the option of making a ‘career’ in it was open/available, or that her mother would be ok with it?
And we are not talking about any random girl here. We are talking about someone who has dedicated a significant amount of her life to a sport she dearly loves, has crossed every hurdle and passed every level of selection, who has given up movies and get-togethers and maybe even a part of her social life, a boy-friend even, just so that she be able to give rugby time. We are talking here of a girl who has exceled to such a level that she is now part of the Potentials list for the International Rugby Team – a chance to represent a nation’s people for the sport she so dearly loves.
Does one give so much time and energy to something one even has the slightest idea of not being able to pursue further? I don’t think so. Every five years can now be regarded as a generation. And these newer generations are way more liberal, straight forward and free-thinking than we can imagine. Maybe few years ago this would have seemed a ridiculous idea – first the fact that it’s a ‘girl’ we are talking about, and then the fact that it is ‘sports’ we are talking about. But kids today know what they want - from making a career in dance, to becoming a free-lance self-taught photographer, to choosing to study Sports Management in the States.
But just so that their parents are happy, or just so that they don’t have to deal with too much of unnecessary debate, discussion and maybe even quarrels at the end of the day on the dining table, they will chose to travel on the same old road.
I am not trying to say that everyone should go for just exactly what their heart desires, without looking at the practicalities. But definitely a girl of the potential of Shambhavi should not be wasted in a classroom, with 60 other heads to accompany her, learning how to build buildings. No.
I think it is time we revise our concepts about ‘good career’ and ‘bad career’. Had Shambhavi known she could pursue rugby in place of architecture, maybe she would have. Yes we do need to think about money too – and there is nothing wrong in it. There is absolutely nothing wrong in ensuring you are going to be able to fill your stomach and still have cash to buy that beautiful diamond set or that amazing gizmo you saw on your way back home from college or work. But then rugby pays too! Probably more than architecture even! Then why not choose to do the work you love rather than making yourself love the work you do?
Shambhavi has still not taken her final decision… but something tells me she is going to end up quitting rugby. What the poor girl needs right now is just a bit of moral support from her parent and relatives. I know it somehow, just as I know she is going to end up quitting rugby, that she doesn’t really ‘want to’ quit… and till the day she finally decides, I will keep hoping she doesn’t.
Friday, July 9, 2010
25
Woke up with a wonderful feeling yesterday that lingered till my last waking moment before I hit the bed. Mom had gone out to meet her group of friends at Vaishali early morning, and it was only after she got back and rang the bell did I wake up from my slumber. I quickly put on my specs and opened the door for her. she stepped in. I turned around and went into my parents room and lied down next to my father. Mom came and sat next to him on the other side. I raised both my hands and stretched them out, one at each of them, and wished them –
‘Happy 25th Anniversary!’
Both smiled at me and then at each other very sweetly. Mom immediately got out of the bed. I got pissed off.
‘Bas na ga jara… kiti uthlya uthlya kat kat karte?’ (Sit for a while, no! why do you have to hurry into your chores right away?)
‘Tujha Ajja utarnar nahiye warun, swaypak karayala… baghu de mala kay kay karayachaye te!’ (Your grandfather is not going to descend from the heavens to make food! Lemme go and see what to do…)
She walked out of the room before I could further try to persuade her to laze around a little more.
‘Ashi kay arre hi!’ I said to Dad. (Why is she like this?) dad just raised his hand and let it fall right back onto the bed. I gave him a bear hug. Felt like childhood, when I used to get up and out of my bed, and come and sleep with Dad again for a while, every Sunday. Mom came into the bedroom and started complaining, completing the childhood memory.
‘Uth na ata bande, kay challaye?’ (Come on now, get up dearest! Whats going on?)
‘You should be the one hugging him! But since you are not, I am!’ I teased my mom. That finally did the trick and Mom sat down on the bed, laughing. Dad uttered his first words of the day –
‘Chal we’ll celebrate Lazy Day!’
‘Yay!’ I said.
‘Nandu arre jara aajchya divashi tari uth lavkar!’ (Nandu at least get up early today !)
Dad just nodded ‘no’ sleepily. And Mom agreed. Moither was being very easy to convince and coax today! Maybe she too didn’t want to actually cook food today or anything. I seized the opportunity.
‘Ok that’s it! The head of the family has declared it to be a Lazy Day, and so shall it be! I’ll go get eggs and bread. We’ll have nice omelet sandwiches for brunch!’
‘With cheesh!’ Dad added, his eyes still closed.
‘Okies! With cheesh!’ I said, mimicking Dad. About a couple of hours later we were all enjoying hot omelet sandwiches at our dining table.
‘What yaar! Twnty-five years with the same woman!’ Dad said, eyeing Mom out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t you think I should upgrade?’ he asked me.
‘Go and ask barni!’ I said. ‘Barni’ is a nick name we had all given to one of Dad’s very old college friends – Dad had been her romantic interest back in those days. They happened to have met recently at some wedding and were back in touch now.
‘Tereko 25 din bhi she legi na, toh main khud khushi khushi tereko talaq degi!’ Mom announced. (If she can tolerate you even for 25 days, I wil happily divorce you and step out of your way!)
‘No, but you know why I never remember our anniversary, or how many years it has been?’ Dad asked me genuinely. ‘Its because I never had to count…’
I put the sandwich in my hand down in my plate and clapped. ‘Brownie point, Mr Belvalkar!’ I said. Mom leaned in and gave Dad a hug. She served herself another couple of bread slices and went about making her second sandwich, when suddenly she looked at Dad and said –
‘Aila Nandu! Pacchis saal ke baad fir se omelet sandwich yaar!’ (Hey Nandu! Omelet sandwiches again, after 25 years!) And what followed was a Kodak moment. Dad, who is usually quite subtle about his emotions, actually high-fived Mom! And his face was lit up with the happiest smiles I had ever seen on that face, that reflected in his eyes. I looked at the two of them, having their moment, and smiled, satisfied and immensely happy. I wanted to ask Mom what she meant, but I didn’t. It was clear from their expressions that it was a very dear memory and probably also a top secret! And I wished to keep it that way… I continued to devour my sandwich and let them have their moment. Soon brunch was over and Dad had dressed up and was ready to leave.
‘Arre wait! What about dinner?’ I asked Dad just as he was about to step out.
‘If the car arrives, we go to Mainland China… so pray the car arrives!’ Dad said, and pulled the door shut. Me and mom eagerly prayed out new car arrive in the evening, and arrive it did. to complete a perfect day, we went and dined at Mom’s favorite restaurant and had a nice time together, just the three of us after a long long time. I didn’t attend to any friends that day, Dad canceled his Harmonica batches in the evening, and Mom actually asked me to give her a facial at home! – which is so so so unlike her!
We had one of the loveliest dinners we had had in a long time. Mom and Dad were both elated and in a world of their own. I felt a little like an outside, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I felt very happy for the two of them. And I know I am their daughter, but I still silently blessed the two of them in my mind and in my heart. When our drinks arrived we all raised a toast to ‘another twenty-five years of togetherness’… and it was perfect. The last images in my mind before I went to bed that night were of mother waiting for Dad to return in the evening. There was something very different in her eyes, on her face that day. And it was beautiful.
If in another twenty-five years, I can be even half as happy with my husband as Mom and Dad are with each other, I will consider myself blessed. God bless them.
‘Happy 25th Anniversary!’
Both smiled at me and then at each other very sweetly. Mom immediately got out of the bed. I got pissed off.
‘Bas na ga jara… kiti uthlya uthlya kat kat karte?’ (Sit for a while, no! why do you have to hurry into your chores right away?)
‘Tujha Ajja utarnar nahiye warun, swaypak karayala… baghu de mala kay kay karayachaye te!’ (Your grandfather is not going to descend from the heavens to make food! Lemme go and see what to do…)
She walked out of the room before I could further try to persuade her to laze around a little more.
‘Ashi kay arre hi!’ I said to Dad. (Why is she like this?) dad just raised his hand and let it fall right back onto the bed. I gave him a bear hug. Felt like childhood, when I used to get up and out of my bed, and come and sleep with Dad again for a while, every Sunday. Mom came into the bedroom and started complaining, completing the childhood memory.
‘Uth na ata bande, kay challaye?’ (Come on now, get up dearest! Whats going on?)
‘You should be the one hugging him! But since you are not, I am!’ I teased my mom. That finally did the trick and Mom sat down on the bed, laughing. Dad uttered his first words of the day –
‘Chal we’ll celebrate Lazy Day!’
‘Yay!’ I said.
‘Nandu arre jara aajchya divashi tari uth lavkar!’ (Nandu at least get up early today !)
Dad just nodded ‘no’ sleepily. And Mom agreed. Moither was being very easy to convince and coax today! Maybe she too didn’t want to actually cook food today or anything. I seized the opportunity.
‘Ok that’s it! The head of the family has declared it to be a Lazy Day, and so shall it be! I’ll go get eggs and bread. We’ll have nice omelet sandwiches for brunch!’
‘With cheesh!’ Dad added, his eyes still closed.
‘Okies! With cheesh!’ I said, mimicking Dad. About a couple of hours later we were all enjoying hot omelet sandwiches at our dining table.
‘What yaar! Twnty-five years with the same woman!’ Dad said, eyeing Mom out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t you think I should upgrade?’ he asked me.
‘Go and ask barni!’ I said. ‘Barni’ is a nick name we had all given to one of Dad’s very old college friends – Dad had been her romantic interest back in those days. They happened to have met recently at some wedding and were back in touch now.
‘Tereko 25 din bhi she legi na, toh main khud khushi khushi tereko talaq degi!’ Mom announced. (If she can tolerate you even for 25 days, I wil happily divorce you and step out of your way!)
‘No, but you know why I never remember our anniversary, or how many years it has been?’ Dad asked me genuinely. ‘Its because I never had to count…’
I put the sandwich in my hand down in my plate and clapped. ‘Brownie point, Mr Belvalkar!’ I said. Mom leaned in and gave Dad a hug. She served herself another couple of bread slices and went about making her second sandwich, when suddenly she looked at Dad and said –
‘Aila Nandu! Pacchis saal ke baad fir se omelet sandwich yaar!’ (Hey Nandu! Omelet sandwiches again, after 25 years!) And what followed was a Kodak moment. Dad, who is usually quite subtle about his emotions, actually high-fived Mom! And his face was lit up with the happiest smiles I had ever seen on that face, that reflected in his eyes. I looked at the two of them, having their moment, and smiled, satisfied and immensely happy. I wanted to ask Mom what she meant, but I didn’t. It was clear from their expressions that it was a very dear memory and probably also a top secret! And I wished to keep it that way… I continued to devour my sandwich and let them have their moment. Soon brunch was over and Dad had dressed up and was ready to leave.
‘Arre wait! What about dinner?’ I asked Dad just as he was about to step out.
‘If the car arrives, we go to Mainland China… so pray the car arrives!’ Dad said, and pulled the door shut. Me and mom eagerly prayed out new car arrive in the evening, and arrive it did. to complete a perfect day, we went and dined at Mom’s favorite restaurant and had a nice time together, just the three of us after a long long time. I didn’t attend to any friends that day, Dad canceled his Harmonica batches in the evening, and Mom actually asked me to give her a facial at home! – which is so so so unlike her!
We had one of the loveliest dinners we had had in a long time. Mom and Dad were both elated and in a world of their own. I felt a little like an outside, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I felt very happy for the two of them. And I know I am their daughter, but I still silently blessed the two of them in my mind and in my heart. When our drinks arrived we all raised a toast to ‘another twenty-five years of togetherness’… and it was perfect. The last images in my mind before I went to bed that night were of mother waiting for Dad to return in the evening. There was something very different in her eyes, on her face that day. And it was beautiful.
If in another twenty-five years, I can be even half as happy with my husband as Mom and Dad are with each other, I will consider myself blessed. God bless them.
WAKE-UP CALL
Fresh beginnings.
Brand new starts.
Sound so tempting, don’t they?
But are they possible in a place you have spent the last four years in?
I discovered the answer to that today – YES.
Cos the change is not in the place, its buildings, its furniture, the people inhabiting it, the new faces that have invaded it or the old ones that have faded away.
It is not about the people who now suddenly seem too far away.
It is not about the change of attitude of your friends or peers or colleagues or subordinates or seniors; or a lack thereof.
It is never about ‘the without’.
It is always about ‘the within’.
And change ‘within’ can stem from anything and nothing.
A book.
A break-up.
A friend turned foe.
Discovering anew that you don’t really hate that cousin anymore.
Realizing that you are living without something or someone – forget whether you could, should or would.
Doing away with your prejudices – even if only to replace them with new ones.
Or just getting off the wrong side of the bed someday.
Change comes to you when you are ready for it. It won’t before that – no matter how hard you try or struggle. And it won’t fail to when it should – no matter where destiny puts you.
It is nice to know that the opinion of each and every person around you doesn’t really matter or bother you anymore. It is a relief to do away with peoples’ expectations from you – especially people who you had raised and put up on a pedestal. It is never too late to come to realize who really matters in life, who shouldn’t and who never was a part of your world at all.
If you don’t love yourself, who will? How can you even expect someone else to love you when everyday you torture yourself, worry yourself sick about what unnecessary people think about you, give unfair importance to things that are not even sure to be with you in the next moment, burden yourself beyond capacity and reason with your own concepts of right and wrong, worthy and unworthy?
Everybody wakes up to that moment at some point of time, when they realize who’s in, who’s out, what’s more important than what and who they really want to be. What one should do is not shut their eyes and pretend to be asleep when one does truly wake up.
Brand new starts.
Sound so tempting, don’t they?
But are they possible in a place you have spent the last four years in?
I discovered the answer to that today – YES.
Cos the change is not in the place, its buildings, its furniture, the people inhabiting it, the new faces that have invaded it or the old ones that have faded away.
It is not about the people who now suddenly seem too far away.
It is not about the change of attitude of your friends or peers or colleagues or subordinates or seniors; or a lack thereof.
It is never about ‘the without’.
It is always about ‘the within’.
And change ‘within’ can stem from anything and nothing.
A book.
A break-up.
A friend turned foe.
Discovering anew that you don’t really hate that cousin anymore.
Realizing that you are living without something or someone – forget whether you could, should or would.
Doing away with your prejudices – even if only to replace them with new ones.
Or just getting off the wrong side of the bed someday.
Change comes to you when you are ready for it. It won’t before that – no matter how hard you try or struggle. And it won’t fail to when it should – no matter where destiny puts you.
It is nice to know that the opinion of each and every person around you doesn’t really matter or bother you anymore. It is a relief to do away with peoples’ expectations from you – especially people who you had raised and put up on a pedestal. It is never too late to come to realize who really matters in life, who shouldn’t and who never was a part of your world at all.
If you don’t love yourself, who will? How can you even expect someone else to love you when everyday you torture yourself, worry yourself sick about what unnecessary people think about you, give unfair importance to things that are not even sure to be with you in the next moment, burden yourself beyond capacity and reason with your own concepts of right and wrong, worthy and unworthy?
Everybody wakes up to that moment at some point of time, when they realize who’s in, who’s out, what’s more important than what and who they really want to be. What one should do is not shut their eyes and pretend to be asleep when one does truly wake up.
Friday, June 25, 2010
THE LEAP OF FAITH
Today was the third time that I heard the same thing coming from three different friends of mine who'd been through three different situations recently -
I don't let dependency on anyone grow too much.
I smiled. Sometimes thats all that you can do - smile.
I have let dependency on people take its toll on me. I of all people have every reason NOT to let it grow in me.
But even then I really feel for these friends of mine. These cautious friends of mine - with all due respect to them and whatever it is they had to go through to arrive at that conclusion/decision - are NEVER going to know what it is like to totally surrender yourself to someone, something, anything... a situation, a lover, a time, a habit, an enemy, a feeling... for it is not only people we are dependent on. They will probably never know what it is like to put yourself in someone else's hands and then just close your eyes and wait for whatever it is they are going to do with you - toss you out, raise your to their lips and kiss you, or keep you like a rose in a diary... treasured but out of sight.
It takes strength - a lot of it too - to do something like that... to let someone control you completely, even if for a moment... to know that no matter how cautious we are, we are never going to be cautious enough for LIFE... never prepared enough for death - of people, of relationships... we plan and construct and design and strategise for a tomorrow that we do not even know is going to be there. And we still think we've got it all figured out, we've got the answers, the keys, the secrets; so sure we have it all...
Its like the leap of faith in dance... you could never have practiced it enough to be sure your partner is going to be able to catch you when your feet leave the ground. But you still do it, hoping he will... and thats how we are all living life... breathing out every moment, though we are not sure if we are going to be able to breathe in again the next moment...
I don't let dependency on anyone grow too much.
I smiled. Sometimes thats all that you can do - smile.
I have let dependency on people take its toll on me. I of all people have every reason NOT to let it grow in me.
But even then I really feel for these friends of mine. These cautious friends of mine - with all due respect to them and whatever it is they had to go through to arrive at that conclusion/decision - are NEVER going to know what it is like to totally surrender yourself to someone, something, anything... a situation, a lover, a time, a habit, an enemy, a feeling... for it is not only people we are dependent on. They will probably never know what it is like to put yourself in someone else's hands and then just close your eyes and wait for whatever it is they are going to do with you - toss you out, raise your to their lips and kiss you, or keep you like a rose in a diary... treasured but out of sight.
It takes strength - a lot of it too - to do something like that... to let someone control you completely, even if for a moment... to know that no matter how cautious we are, we are never going to be cautious enough for LIFE... never prepared enough for death - of people, of relationships... we plan and construct and design and strategise for a tomorrow that we do not even know is going to be there. And we still think we've got it all figured out, we've got the answers, the keys, the secrets; so sure we have it all...
Its like the leap of faith in dance... you could never have practiced it enough to be sure your partner is going to be able to catch you when your feet leave the ground. But you still do it, hoping he will... and thats how we are all living life... breathing out every moment, though we are not sure if we are going to be able to breathe in again the next moment...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
JENNIFER
This one’s dedicated to the loving memory of Jennifer, the finest female Golden Retriever I have ever come across. I just met her owner – a loveable 65+ Grand-pa by the name Mr. Nandu Kulkarni – a couple of weeks ago, and came to know Jennifer passed away month-and-a-half ago.
Sweetheart, this one goes out to you…
They say a dog can understand upto 500 human words. I don’t know that, and I can’t vouch for it. But this I can say for sure – dogs do understand human emotions perfectly. And they particularly can tell a dog-lover from a non dog-lover.
I used to see Jennifer everyday when I was in school. She was easily the finest female Golden Retriever I had ever come across. Driving to school, parking my bicycle in the parking lot, going up to my classroom on the fourth floor, and then waiting by the window to see Jennifer had become a routine for me. As for Jennifer, her eyes would begin to search for me as soon as Nandu-kaka crossed the street to the side on which my school was. She would look up at my classroom, and would give me a friendly bark everyday – every single day.
It all started one day when Nandu-kaka was stalled close to our school by one of his friends I suppose – and Jennifer had nothing to do. She was sniffing the ground when I reached our classroom and saw her from the window. She might have been 6-7 months old back then. I could make out she was beginning to get restless and wanted to continue with the walk. I decided to entertain her.
I looked around to check no teachers were anywhere within ear-shot, and I whistled.
Jennifer was as if frozen on spot. Not a muscle moving. I smiled. I leaned a little out of the window and whistled again.
This time Jennifer turned to face our school building. Clever bitch! I laughed.
The third time I whistled, Jennifer precisely looked up at the exact window in which I was standing and started barking. That caught Nandu-kaka’s attention. He followed Jennifer and looked up at me. I smiled and waved at him. He smiled back.
‘Such a fine pet you have! What’s her name?’ I asked. It was quite early in the morning and there was practically no one on the road, so I didn’t really have to shout.
‘Jennifer!’ the old man replied.
The incident repeated the next day. But by the third day, I didn’t have to whistle to catch Jenny’s attention. She’d by default look up at my window when Nandu-kaka reached our school.
I started to come a little late to school everyday, in the hope of catching the old man and Jennifer someday. But somehow things just didn’t work out. They’d always come only moments before our school began. But one fine day, I got lucky. I reached school about 20 minutes early – we had to put up some charts and all in the corridors – and was in the parking lot when I heard someone call out – ‘Good morning!’ I turned around and saw Jennifer and the old man. I was so happy! I immediately sat down on my knees and called out –
‘Jennifer!’
She looked at me for a split second, and in the next she was bounding and leaping towards me! She came and crashed right into me and within moments I was slobbered all over! Jennifer was licking my face, my hands – it was crazy! She was barking and jumping and going round in circles around me! And I couldn’t stop laughing.
Dogs can always tell dog-lovers from non dog-lovers.
I had to ride back home that day and change into my other set of school clothes and go back. Obviously the ones I had been wearing went straight into the washing machine. But I was still smiling when I reached school.
I continued to see Jennifer every day till the end of that year. After that I forgot all about her in the summer vacations. But I never saw her after school re-opened.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I met Nandu-kaka. It was great to see him after all these years, and I was surprised to realise we both still remembered each other so perfectly. He told me they had shifted to another part of the city, that’s why I never saw them again. And with that he gave me the news of Jennifer having passed away – peacefully, in her sleep.
That meeting brought back all the memories of Jennifer, and particularly of that day when she licked me all over. It felt nice to know she had not suffered in her last moments. May her soul rest in peace.
Sweetheart, this one goes out to you…
They say a dog can understand upto 500 human words. I don’t know that, and I can’t vouch for it. But this I can say for sure – dogs do understand human emotions perfectly. And they particularly can tell a dog-lover from a non dog-lover.
I used to see Jennifer everyday when I was in school. She was easily the finest female Golden Retriever I had ever come across. Driving to school, parking my bicycle in the parking lot, going up to my classroom on the fourth floor, and then waiting by the window to see Jennifer had become a routine for me. As for Jennifer, her eyes would begin to search for me as soon as Nandu-kaka crossed the street to the side on which my school was. She would look up at my classroom, and would give me a friendly bark everyday – every single day.
It all started one day when Nandu-kaka was stalled close to our school by one of his friends I suppose – and Jennifer had nothing to do. She was sniffing the ground when I reached our classroom and saw her from the window. She might have been 6-7 months old back then. I could make out she was beginning to get restless and wanted to continue with the walk. I decided to entertain her.
I looked around to check no teachers were anywhere within ear-shot, and I whistled.
Jennifer was as if frozen on spot. Not a muscle moving. I smiled. I leaned a little out of the window and whistled again.
This time Jennifer turned to face our school building. Clever bitch! I laughed.
The third time I whistled, Jennifer precisely looked up at the exact window in which I was standing and started barking. That caught Nandu-kaka’s attention. He followed Jennifer and looked up at me. I smiled and waved at him. He smiled back.
‘Such a fine pet you have! What’s her name?’ I asked. It was quite early in the morning and there was practically no one on the road, so I didn’t really have to shout.
‘Jennifer!’ the old man replied.
The incident repeated the next day. But by the third day, I didn’t have to whistle to catch Jenny’s attention. She’d by default look up at my window when Nandu-kaka reached our school.
I started to come a little late to school everyday, in the hope of catching the old man and Jennifer someday. But somehow things just didn’t work out. They’d always come only moments before our school began. But one fine day, I got lucky. I reached school about 20 minutes early – we had to put up some charts and all in the corridors – and was in the parking lot when I heard someone call out – ‘Good morning!’ I turned around and saw Jennifer and the old man. I was so happy! I immediately sat down on my knees and called out –
‘Jennifer!’
She looked at me for a split second, and in the next she was bounding and leaping towards me! She came and crashed right into me and within moments I was slobbered all over! Jennifer was licking my face, my hands – it was crazy! She was barking and jumping and going round in circles around me! And I couldn’t stop laughing.
Dogs can always tell dog-lovers from non dog-lovers.
I had to ride back home that day and change into my other set of school clothes and go back. Obviously the ones I had been wearing went straight into the washing machine. But I was still smiling when I reached school.
I continued to see Jennifer every day till the end of that year. After that I forgot all about her in the summer vacations. But I never saw her after school re-opened.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I met Nandu-kaka. It was great to see him after all these years, and I was surprised to realise we both still remembered each other so perfectly. He told me they had shifted to another part of the city, that’s why I never saw them again. And with that he gave me the news of Jennifer having passed away – peacefully, in her sleep.
That meeting brought back all the memories of Jennifer, and particularly of that day when she licked me all over. It felt nice to know she had not suffered in her last moments. May her soul rest in peace.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
BLANK CALL
Aditya entered the board room and the lights grew dim. Geet was standing in front of him, wearing the bright red skirt, flamenco-like white shirt and black jacket she was wearing when Aditya last saw her. The chorus began.
‘Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa… Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa…’
A tingling sensation ran through my body, and after months and months passing by without a thought of Neel, my mind suddenly floated back to the memory of my calls to Neel when ‘Tum Se Hi’ was his caller tune.
I smiled.
I lingered in the moment for a while. I could almost hear his voice, happy and clear like the morning sun.
‘Hi,’ I would begin.
‘My God! I thought you were dead! Or probably that you thought I was dead. Where’ve you been!’
No matter how often I called Neel; either of us had to be dead, to account for the gap between two calls.
‘I am good, just been busy with college. You say how is office going?’ I would ask him.
‘Ah! Going on…’
‘And how is Sheetal?’
‘Can we talk about you and me before we move on to that subject?’ he would suggest, only a tad angrily. I would laugh.
‘Ok, ok! So how have you been?’
‘Okay-ish man. I told you about our trip?’
‘No… What trip?’
‘Oh all of us from office are planning for a trip to Kanyakumari…’
‘Oh that’s great!’
‘Yeah, but what is not so great is, I have been given the responsibility to make the reservations.’
‘No way! Then I am sure you guys are going no where!’ I’d tease him.
‘Shut up!’ he’d say.
And so we’d go one for at least an hour. Talking rubbish at times, talking things too mature for our respective ages sometimes, and just enjoying the comfortable silence that fell upon the conversation sometimes. Neel. My best friend, albeit an online friend. Frankly, I don’t remember how we bumped into each other. But Neel does still remember… or so I think. Sometimes I feel I live with him, I know so much about him! I’m sure I would be able to find a small ear-ring lost in his apartment if ever I get the chance to be there actually. I could probably draw a map of his apartment for you. Or even a road map all the way from his place to his office, although he is just about more than 1000 kilometers away from him. We talked about the silliest of things. Neel. I feel like something’s gone terribly wrong if I don’t talk to him once every couple of days.
No I haven’t met him in my life ever.
No I am not in love with him.
No he is not a long lost friend.
He is like the best friend I never had. Miles away and yet right next to me when I want him to be. Few can understand the chemistry we share. A lot more ridicule our friendship for the mere fact that we haven’t met each other in person as yet. Right from the day we became friends in fact.
But there is a part of Neel that lives in me, and a part of me that lives in him.
I would tell him anything in this goddamn world if I had to, and not feel scared or insecure or like I maybe ridiculed. I could tell him I don’t ever want to talk to him again and that he was the most heartless person I ever met, and as sure as the sun rises in the east every morning, he would call me the next day, and we’d talk like nothing happened, or like whatever happened happened so long ago, we don’t even remember it. He knew my darkest fears, my deepest secrets. He knew things my mom-dad didn’t know. He knew things I’d not dare to tell my gal-pals about.
He actually knows me inside out… or so I think.
And now its been almost 5 months since our fight. 5 months since we last spoke with each other.
And now that I am listening to this song after all these days, I remember him.
His laugh rings in my ears.
His voice fills my head.
I miss his laugh.
I miss his voice.
I miss him.
I miss the senseless conversations we used to have.
I miss the times when I cried over the phone and he consoled me like no one else could even in person.
I miss the times he got angry at me and shouted at me and then felt bad about it and called me up and apologized.
I miss the times when we spoke till 2 in the night and I cut the call as mom got up and called him again when she went back to bed.
I miss having someone by me who was dearer than the dearest.
As I come back to reality, I realise the song is over, but I’m not in the mood to finish the movie now. I turn the TV off and sit on the sofa with the remote control in my hand for a while. I look at the clock on the wall… its still a while before mom and dad get back from the dinner. The song keeps playing in my mind, and with it my conversations with Neel.
Suddenly I get up from the sofa and dash towards my room. I rummage through a countless number on things lying on my bed and finally find my cell phone. I go to the contacts and type ‘Ne’. But Neel’s name doesn’t appear in the list. My heart sinks deep down in my chest as I remember having deleted his number just a couple of weeks back.
I sigh. I sit heavily on the bed. My eyes start to well.
Out of the blue my old diary pops up in my head. I lift a shoe box thats on the top of my cupboard and put it on my table. I open it and go through my old diaries until I come upon one that’s covered in brown tinted paper. I open the last page of the diary, and my face splits into a wide smile as I see the number.
I take the diary and go sit on my bed again. I pick up the cell phone. I think for a minute and toss it aside. I pick up the cordless and punch in the number. And just as I am about to hit ‘call’ my doorbell rings.
I jump. My heart is racing. I quickly gain control and open the door. Its my neighbour. I remember I had asked her to pick up a parcel that a courier-man left with me when she was out earlier in the day. I give her the parcel. She thanks me and goes back to her apartment. I close the door and go back to my room. I look at the phone and Neel’s number typed onto the screen. I pick up the phone and sit on the bed again. But now I cant bring myself to press the ‘call’ button. I keep staring at the screen for a long time.
I finally hit the ‘call’ button.
The bell rings. I realise Neel no longer has a caller-tune.
I start counting the bells.
I put the phone on the ‘speaker’ mode and put my hands under my lap to prevent myself from cutting the call.
Neel answer’s the call.
‘Hello?’
I take a deep breath. I am scared to exhale. I begin to tremble.
‘Hello, who’s this?’
I open my mouth to say something, but suddenly I feel like I have forgotten to talk. I try to think of something to say. I can’t.
‘Is anybody there?’
Neel’s voice! Hearing his voice after all these days makes me want to burst into tears. It makes me want to scream with joy. But I sit still, not moving a muscle. I have no control over my body and my voice.
There is a long pause. The silence is deafening.
I can hear him breathe – slow and steady.
He begins to say something but stops. I silently pray he’d go on, for even though it was for a nanosecond, I heard his voice – he was going to call out my name.
Please... please...
But he doesn’t go on.
The line goes dead.
I finally breathe out.
My body relaxes.
I unclasp my fingers. They hurt.
I look around.
Lost.
Numb.
I keep staring out of the window, willing myself not to cry. Suddenly the phone rings and shatters the silence. I pick up the cordless and see the number that’s flashing. It doesn’t look familiar. I take a deep breath. I swallow. And in the best voice that I can manage, I answer the call,
‘Hello?’
Silence.
‘I knew it was you…’
Its Neel.
I hold my breath again.
I try to control it, but I can’t. I sniff. Really softly.
But who am I trying to fool? I forget its Neel I am talking to.
He hears the sniff alright. He responds with a sigh.
‘God, I missed you so much…’ he says.
And the tears finally run down my cheeks.
‘Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa… Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa…’
A tingling sensation ran through my body, and after months and months passing by without a thought of Neel, my mind suddenly floated back to the memory of my calls to Neel when ‘Tum Se Hi’ was his caller tune.
I smiled.
I lingered in the moment for a while. I could almost hear his voice, happy and clear like the morning sun.
‘Hi,’ I would begin.
‘My God! I thought you were dead! Or probably that you thought I was dead. Where’ve you been!’
No matter how often I called Neel; either of us had to be dead, to account for the gap between two calls.
‘I am good, just been busy with college. You say how is office going?’ I would ask him.
‘Ah! Going on…’
‘And how is Sheetal?’
‘Can we talk about you and me before we move on to that subject?’ he would suggest, only a tad angrily. I would laugh.
‘Ok, ok! So how have you been?’
‘Okay-ish man. I told you about our trip?’
‘No… What trip?’
‘Oh all of us from office are planning for a trip to Kanyakumari…’
‘Oh that’s great!’
‘Yeah, but what is not so great is, I have been given the responsibility to make the reservations.’
‘No way! Then I am sure you guys are going no where!’ I’d tease him.
‘Shut up!’ he’d say.
And so we’d go one for at least an hour. Talking rubbish at times, talking things too mature for our respective ages sometimes, and just enjoying the comfortable silence that fell upon the conversation sometimes. Neel. My best friend, albeit an online friend. Frankly, I don’t remember how we bumped into each other. But Neel does still remember… or so I think. Sometimes I feel I live with him, I know so much about him! I’m sure I would be able to find a small ear-ring lost in his apartment if ever I get the chance to be there actually. I could probably draw a map of his apartment for you. Or even a road map all the way from his place to his office, although he is just about more than 1000 kilometers away from him. We talked about the silliest of things. Neel. I feel like something’s gone terribly wrong if I don’t talk to him once every couple of days.
No I haven’t met him in my life ever.
No I am not in love with him.
No he is not a long lost friend.
He is like the best friend I never had. Miles away and yet right next to me when I want him to be. Few can understand the chemistry we share. A lot more ridicule our friendship for the mere fact that we haven’t met each other in person as yet. Right from the day we became friends in fact.
But there is a part of Neel that lives in me, and a part of me that lives in him.
I would tell him anything in this goddamn world if I had to, and not feel scared or insecure or like I maybe ridiculed. I could tell him I don’t ever want to talk to him again and that he was the most heartless person I ever met, and as sure as the sun rises in the east every morning, he would call me the next day, and we’d talk like nothing happened, or like whatever happened happened so long ago, we don’t even remember it. He knew my darkest fears, my deepest secrets. He knew things my mom-dad didn’t know. He knew things I’d not dare to tell my gal-pals about.
He actually knows me inside out… or so I think.
And now its been almost 5 months since our fight. 5 months since we last spoke with each other.
And now that I am listening to this song after all these days, I remember him.
His laugh rings in my ears.
His voice fills my head.
I miss his laugh.
I miss his voice.
I miss him.
I miss the senseless conversations we used to have.
I miss the times when I cried over the phone and he consoled me like no one else could even in person.
I miss the times he got angry at me and shouted at me and then felt bad about it and called me up and apologized.
I miss the times when we spoke till 2 in the night and I cut the call as mom got up and called him again when she went back to bed.
I miss having someone by me who was dearer than the dearest.
As I come back to reality, I realise the song is over, but I’m not in the mood to finish the movie now. I turn the TV off and sit on the sofa with the remote control in my hand for a while. I look at the clock on the wall… its still a while before mom and dad get back from the dinner. The song keeps playing in my mind, and with it my conversations with Neel.
Suddenly I get up from the sofa and dash towards my room. I rummage through a countless number on things lying on my bed and finally find my cell phone. I go to the contacts and type ‘Ne’. But Neel’s name doesn’t appear in the list. My heart sinks deep down in my chest as I remember having deleted his number just a couple of weeks back.
I sigh. I sit heavily on the bed. My eyes start to well.
Out of the blue my old diary pops up in my head. I lift a shoe box thats on the top of my cupboard and put it on my table. I open it and go through my old diaries until I come upon one that’s covered in brown tinted paper. I open the last page of the diary, and my face splits into a wide smile as I see the number.
I take the diary and go sit on my bed again. I pick up the cell phone. I think for a minute and toss it aside. I pick up the cordless and punch in the number. And just as I am about to hit ‘call’ my doorbell rings.
I jump. My heart is racing. I quickly gain control and open the door. Its my neighbour. I remember I had asked her to pick up a parcel that a courier-man left with me when she was out earlier in the day. I give her the parcel. She thanks me and goes back to her apartment. I close the door and go back to my room. I look at the phone and Neel’s number typed onto the screen. I pick up the phone and sit on the bed again. But now I cant bring myself to press the ‘call’ button. I keep staring at the screen for a long time.
I finally hit the ‘call’ button.
The bell rings. I realise Neel no longer has a caller-tune.
I start counting the bells.
I put the phone on the ‘speaker’ mode and put my hands under my lap to prevent myself from cutting the call.
Neel answer’s the call.
‘Hello?’
I take a deep breath. I am scared to exhale. I begin to tremble.
‘Hello, who’s this?’
I open my mouth to say something, but suddenly I feel like I have forgotten to talk. I try to think of something to say. I can’t.
‘Is anybody there?’
Neel’s voice! Hearing his voice after all these days makes me want to burst into tears. It makes me want to scream with joy. But I sit still, not moving a muscle. I have no control over my body and my voice.
There is a long pause. The silence is deafening.
I can hear him breathe – slow and steady.
He begins to say something but stops. I silently pray he’d go on, for even though it was for a nanosecond, I heard his voice – he was going to call out my name.
Please... please...
But he doesn’t go on.
The line goes dead.
I finally breathe out.
My body relaxes.
I unclasp my fingers. They hurt.
I look around.
Lost.
Numb.
I keep staring out of the window, willing myself not to cry. Suddenly the phone rings and shatters the silence. I pick up the cordless and see the number that’s flashing. It doesn’t look familiar. I take a deep breath. I swallow. And in the best voice that I can manage, I answer the call,
‘Hello?’
Silence.
‘I knew it was you…’
Its Neel.
I hold my breath again.
I try to control it, but I can’t. I sniff. Really softly.
But who am I trying to fool? I forget its Neel I am talking to.
He hears the sniff alright. He responds with a sigh.
‘God, I missed you so much…’ he says.
And the tears finally run down my cheeks.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
BULLY
I frowned as I got out of the lift and banged the doors shut. Never had I hated going to school so much. But school is not really fun when the biggest bully in the class is made to change places and sit right in front of you. I mean, ya he is the brainiest boy I have seen in my whole life, but, so what?
He was a bully. He is a bully. He will remain a bully.
And I hate bullies. Anyone would actually, especially if you are on the receiving end. I mean ya, being a girl, and him being a boy, I didn’t really suffer much. But God! That didn’t make him any less annoying.
Plus I was about as tall as he was. Maybe that is what made him stay at an arm’s distance from me. But still, there are a number of ways to bully someone. And I was seeing them everyday.
Really. Every single day.
Each day, Monish would enter the class, and catch the first person he could see as his first bakra. And the day would begin with getting some homework done. It would be followed by scrawling the black-board with some stupid stupid cartoon which only he found funny. Of course, the cartoon would carry the artist’s name, and that would be his second bakra for the day. In the recess, no matter how much you tried to hide it, Monish would come to know if there was something yummy anybody had got in his or her lunch box. The periods between the first and the second break would go quite uneventful, and the day would again conclude with one of the teachers probably getting her sari or dress wet as she sat on her chair. And finally, as school came to an end, Monish would run down the stairs, pushing practically anyone who came in his way aside, without much caring to see the consequences.
Really, what went wrong when boys came to fifth grade?
Like many other bullies, Monish had a huge gang of boys who followed him everywhere. They would literally lay their lives down for him I guess, if he asked; they all liked him so much.
Puh-lease!
But my guess is, they were all scared of him.
Oh by the way. I guess I didn’t tell you what he did to me.
He untied my hair.
Everyday.
Without fail.
So what was the big issue?
I had hair that came down to my waist. Mamma would braid them and fold them up and tie them so that I had two short plats that just touched my shoulders. And Monish simply loved to untie them. He took care to not let me notice it, obviously. He would just loosen the knot, and the next time I turned my head, my hair would all come loose and fall on my back.
Boys. They can be irritating, I tell you.
I reached school bang on time. I parked my cycle in the parking area and bounded up the stairs. We had a ‘half day’, since it was the last day of the month. My bag was a little lighter hence, and my tiffin a little interesting. Not the regular poli-bhaji. I had corn and potato sandwiches, my favourite! A part of me was happy, and a part of me was, scared. i didn’t want Monish to eat up my tiffin! Please! At least not today, considering he ate half of it almost everyday.
He liked everything my mom made.
I hate bullies.
I HATE BULLIES!
But today seemed different.
The first four periods went uneventful, and I could see the Monish’s impatience build up. All the teachers had come bang on time too, giving Monish almost no time to plan anything. I feared this was the quiet before a huge storm, but prayed for the best.
Recess came, and my stomach sank. Me and my bench partner Kaustubh both took our tiffins out. I looked around. Monish was not in the classroom. I quickly opened my tiffin and started eating.
Suddenly the table shook.
I looked at Kaustubh. He was banging his tiffin on the edge of the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“My tiffin… it’s not opening,” Kaustubh said, and banged the tiffin on the table again. My tiffin inched towards the edge of the table.
“Arre bang it against the other desk na!” I said. “My tiffin will fall.”
Kaustubh continued banging the tiffin on the table. And with his fifth bang, just as I was about to gather my tiffin Monish entered the classroom.
“Boo!” he shouted.
I looked up.
Kaustubh banged the table again.
And my tiffin fell to the floor with a big clang.
There was a momentary silence, and suddenly everybody burst out laughing.
I looked at the spilled sandwiches.
I looked at Kaustubh. He was laughing. I turned around to hit him, but he quickly got up and ran out of the classroom.
I looked at the sandwiches lying on the floor in a mess. My stomach was rumbling with hunger. I was sure the sound was almost audible to everyone around me. I got down and started cleaning the mess. Suddenly fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. I looked again and again at my empty tiffin and the sandwiches on the floor. The tears kept coming. And just about as suddenly as my tears had appeared, two more hands appeared on the floor beside mine. I looked up.
It was Monish.
I looked at him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was he so mad as to eat food off the floor?
He put the pieces of sandwich into the tiffin in my hand.
“What happened?” he said.
I told him the incident.
Within a few moments, his gang had brought Kaustubh in front of me.
Monish got up and hit Kaustubh.
“Say sorry,” he said, and immediately Kaustubh said ‘sorry’ to me. He helped me clean the rest of my tiffin.
My crying still didn’t stop.
“Why are you crying?” Monish asked, after Kaustubh had cleaned my tiffin. He was standing next to my desk, mute.
I didn’t answer.
“Should I hit him again?” Monish asked.
“No!” I exclaimed.
Monish looked at me.
“Then what?”
I looked down at my tiffin.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
Pronto Monish pulled Kaustubh’s tiffin out of his hands and opened it and held it in front of me.
Mooli ke paranthe.
I didn’t move.
“Eat na! He won’t say anything,” Monish said, glaring at Kaustubh. Kaustubh looked down at the floor.
I didn’t touch the tiffin.
“You don’t like it?” monish asked. I nodded. Monish immediately turned the tiffin upside down. The Paranthe fell to the floor. Kaustubh didn’t budge. Monish opened his tiffin and held it in front of me.
“Eat na!” he said.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
I looked at him
What was wrong with this guy? He wasn’t hungry??? What was he saying? How could that be?
“Really, you eat,” he said. I took a bite from his tiffin.
“Thanks,” I said. He smiled.
“Put it back in my bag after you are done,” he said. “I have to go!” and before I could say anything he had stormed out of the room, faster than he had come in.
Nothing altered much after that day. Monish was still his annoying self. But, I had seen the side of a bully which I had never expected to. And Monish now smiled at me every time we saw each other.
He was a bully. He is a bully. He will remain a bully.
And I hate bullies. Anyone would actually, especially if you are on the receiving end. I mean ya, being a girl, and him being a boy, I didn’t really suffer much. But God! That didn’t make him any less annoying.
Plus I was about as tall as he was. Maybe that is what made him stay at an arm’s distance from me. But still, there are a number of ways to bully someone. And I was seeing them everyday.
Really. Every single day.
Each day, Monish would enter the class, and catch the first person he could see as his first bakra. And the day would begin with getting some homework done. It would be followed by scrawling the black-board with some stupid stupid cartoon which only he found funny. Of course, the cartoon would carry the artist’s name, and that would be his second bakra for the day. In the recess, no matter how much you tried to hide it, Monish would come to know if there was something yummy anybody had got in his or her lunch box. The periods between the first and the second break would go quite uneventful, and the day would again conclude with one of the teachers probably getting her sari or dress wet as she sat on her chair. And finally, as school came to an end, Monish would run down the stairs, pushing practically anyone who came in his way aside, without much caring to see the consequences.
Really, what went wrong when boys came to fifth grade?
Like many other bullies, Monish had a huge gang of boys who followed him everywhere. They would literally lay their lives down for him I guess, if he asked; they all liked him so much.
Puh-lease!
But my guess is, they were all scared of him.
Oh by the way. I guess I didn’t tell you what he did to me.
He untied my hair.
Everyday.
Without fail.
So what was the big issue?
I had hair that came down to my waist. Mamma would braid them and fold them up and tie them so that I had two short plats that just touched my shoulders. And Monish simply loved to untie them. He took care to not let me notice it, obviously. He would just loosen the knot, and the next time I turned my head, my hair would all come loose and fall on my back.
Boys. They can be irritating, I tell you.
I reached school bang on time. I parked my cycle in the parking area and bounded up the stairs. We had a ‘half day’, since it was the last day of the month. My bag was a little lighter hence, and my tiffin a little interesting. Not the regular poli-bhaji. I had corn and potato sandwiches, my favourite! A part of me was happy, and a part of me was, scared. i didn’t want Monish to eat up my tiffin! Please! At least not today, considering he ate half of it almost everyday.
He liked everything my mom made.
I hate bullies.
I HATE BULLIES!
But today seemed different.
The first four periods went uneventful, and I could see the Monish’s impatience build up. All the teachers had come bang on time too, giving Monish almost no time to plan anything. I feared this was the quiet before a huge storm, but prayed for the best.
Recess came, and my stomach sank. Me and my bench partner Kaustubh both took our tiffins out. I looked around. Monish was not in the classroom. I quickly opened my tiffin and started eating.
Suddenly the table shook.
I looked at Kaustubh. He was banging his tiffin on the edge of the table.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“My tiffin… it’s not opening,” Kaustubh said, and banged the tiffin on the table again. My tiffin inched towards the edge of the table.
“Arre bang it against the other desk na!” I said. “My tiffin will fall.”
Kaustubh continued banging the tiffin on the table. And with his fifth bang, just as I was about to gather my tiffin Monish entered the classroom.
“Boo!” he shouted.
I looked up.
Kaustubh banged the table again.
And my tiffin fell to the floor with a big clang.
There was a momentary silence, and suddenly everybody burst out laughing.
I looked at the spilled sandwiches.
I looked at Kaustubh. He was laughing. I turned around to hit him, but he quickly got up and ran out of the classroom.
I looked at the sandwiches lying on the floor in a mess. My stomach was rumbling with hunger. I was sure the sound was almost audible to everyone around me. I got down and started cleaning the mess. Suddenly fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. I looked again and again at my empty tiffin and the sandwiches on the floor. The tears kept coming. And just about as suddenly as my tears had appeared, two more hands appeared on the floor beside mine. I looked up.
It was Monish.
I looked at him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was he so mad as to eat food off the floor?
He put the pieces of sandwich into the tiffin in my hand.
“What happened?” he said.
I told him the incident.
Within a few moments, his gang had brought Kaustubh in front of me.
Monish got up and hit Kaustubh.
“Say sorry,” he said, and immediately Kaustubh said ‘sorry’ to me. He helped me clean the rest of my tiffin.
My crying still didn’t stop.
“Why are you crying?” Monish asked, after Kaustubh had cleaned my tiffin. He was standing next to my desk, mute.
I didn’t answer.
“Should I hit him again?” Monish asked.
“No!” I exclaimed.
Monish looked at me.
“Then what?”
I looked down at my tiffin.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
Pronto Monish pulled Kaustubh’s tiffin out of his hands and opened it and held it in front of me.
Mooli ke paranthe.
I didn’t move.
“Eat na! He won’t say anything,” Monish said, glaring at Kaustubh. Kaustubh looked down at the floor.
I didn’t touch the tiffin.
“You don’t like it?” monish asked. I nodded. Monish immediately turned the tiffin upside down. The Paranthe fell to the floor. Kaustubh didn’t budge. Monish opened his tiffin and held it in front of me.
“Eat na!” he said.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
I looked at him
What was wrong with this guy? He wasn’t hungry??? What was he saying? How could that be?
“Really, you eat,” he said. I took a bite from his tiffin.
“Thanks,” I said. He smiled.
“Put it back in my bag after you are done,” he said. “I have to go!” and before I could say anything he had stormed out of the room, faster than he had come in.
Nothing altered much after that day. Monish was still his annoying self. But, I had seen the side of a bully which I had never expected to. And Monish now smiled at me every time we saw each other.
Friday, May 2, 2008
MOM LOVES ME
I looked down at the floor
Two big fat tears fell on my dress. They blotted it and made it a shade darker___ a strawberry pink from a rose pink.
I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stop the tears from coming. As if rebelling, they came bigger, faster, as I clenched harder.
I tried to swallow; my throat had gone dry in seconds. I tried to breathe, but my nose had choked. I opened my mouth and took deep breaths. I ran a tongue over my lips. They desiccated within splits seconds.
The more you try to avoid something, the more it gets back at you.
A thousand voices screamed inside my head. An army of thousand men, marching… a thousand firecrackers bursting in the sky… a thousand drums beating in perfect synchronization… nothing could have equaled the pandemonium in my head at that moment. Altogether, at once, I went back in time to when I was in seventh-grade… tenth-grade… college… last month… last week… I grew taller, bolder, smarter, wiser, more sensitive, more responsible, more mature…
But Mom was the same.
Judgmental.
Strong-headed.
One-track minded.
Hypercritical.
Insensitive.
Uncaring.
Mom was still the same.
My vision blurred as the tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked. The tears ran down my cheeks.
‘You say my behaviour hurts you. Your behaviour hurts me too.’
The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.
There was a moment of dead silence.
‘But I never say it.’
Pause.
‘Because I don’t like to. And because I love you.’
I had finally found my voice. Thousands of words were on the tip of my mouth, but I clenched my teeth and stopped myself from saying them. ‘Cause I knew myself and I knew that I was capable of inflicting stinging tears by saying fewest of the most vicious words. And I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to learn not to do it.
And still my mother said I didn’t love her.
That I didn’t care for her.
How could she?
My ears felt hot. They were burning, red. The tears kept coming in steady streams.
I tried to think of our best times together.
But they kept coming.
I tried to think of the many times when we had laughed till our stomachs ached and jaws went numb.
But the tears kept coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut again to clear the pool of tears in my eyes. As I opened them I sensed some movement towards my right. I didn’t look up.
Mom came up to me. She put her arms around me.
And all dams broke loose as I heard her whisper in my ear…
‘I’m sorry.’
I put my arms around her and put my head in her bosom and cried.
It felt nice to be held by my mother, in her arms… after all these years…
It felt safe.
It felt secure.
It finally felt like… despite all my faults and the times that I had unknowingly hurt her, Mom still loved me…
Yes. Mom loves me.
Two big fat tears fell on my dress. They blotted it and made it a shade darker___ a strawberry pink from a rose pink.
I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stop the tears from coming. As if rebelling, they came bigger, faster, as I clenched harder.
I tried to swallow; my throat had gone dry in seconds. I tried to breathe, but my nose had choked. I opened my mouth and took deep breaths. I ran a tongue over my lips. They desiccated within splits seconds.
The more you try to avoid something, the more it gets back at you.
A thousand voices screamed inside my head. An army of thousand men, marching… a thousand firecrackers bursting in the sky… a thousand drums beating in perfect synchronization… nothing could have equaled the pandemonium in my head at that moment. Altogether, at once, I went back in time to when I was in seventh-grade… tenth-grade… college… last month… last week… I grew taller, bolder, smarter, wiser, more sensitive, more responsible, more mature…
But Mom was the same.
Judgmental.
Strong-headed.
One-track minded.
Hypercritical.
Insensitive.
Uncaring.
Mom was still the same.
My vision blurred as the tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked. The tears ran down my cheeks.
‘You say my behaviour hurts you. Your behaviour hurts me too.’
The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.
There was a moment of dead silence.
‘But I never say it.’
Pause.
‘Because I don’t like to. And because I love you.’
I had finally found my voice. Thousands of words were on the tip of my mouth, but I clenched my teeth and stopped myself from saying them. ‘Cause I knew myself and I knew that I was capable of inflicting stinging tears by saying fewest of the most vicious words. And I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to learn not to do it.
And still my mother said I didn’t love her.
That I didn’t care for her.
How could she?
My ears felt hot. They were burning, red. The tears kept coming in steady streams.
I tried to think of our best times together.
But they kept coming.
I tried to think of the many times when we had laughed till our stomachs ached and jaws went numb.
But the tears kept coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut again to clear the pool of tears in my eyes. As I opened them I sensed some movement towards my right. I didn’t look up.
Mom came up to me. She put her arms around me.
And all dams broke loose as I heard her whisper in my ear…
‘I’m sorry.’
I put my arms around her and put my head in her bosom and cried.
It felt nice to be held by my mother, in her arms… after all these years…
It felt safe.
It felt secure.
It finally felt like… despite all my faults and the times that I had unknowingly hurt her, Mom still loved me…
Yes. Mom loves me.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A LETTER
DEAR TAI,
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
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