Arranged with love

The other day I was penning down my details in Tanishq membership form. My mother was busy at the billing counter  as she bought me a nice pearl necklace as my wedding present.  I'm stuck up at a particularly spooky question. Single? Married? wot do I tick? I am neither single nor married...I'm engaged to be married. I hung up my pen midair pensive in thought...a dreamy expression clouding my face, a gentle smile playing over my lips.

I felt thankful to all those guys who rejected my alliance and felt sorry about those whom I had to reject. My partner search had been a roller coaster ride. Nevertheless I enjoyed it. Many a times I had to meet guys, their parents, grandparents, siblings, their neighbours and their-their neighbours. CRAP.  It was such a dumb charade. I go thru it with a rather water-droplet-on-a-lotus-petal agility.

So wen i saw Nagesh's picture I thought "Handsome....but..."

The big day arrived and I wore a simple cotton saree and 'NO' jewellery. I expected a horde of relatives  and a charade as usual.  But wen i saw him in casuals , accompanied only by his brother, I thought "COOL".  Dad took his brother on a walk (The idea is to provide us some privacy) but mom wouldn't take the cue. She spoke about Jagan And YSRCP of all things. I rolled my eyes in a kind of 'God-save-us' expression. He caught my eye and gave me an all-understanding-smile. My maternal aunt, bless her, called just in time and engaged my mom for a good quarter hour.

"Tell me about yourself" he said breathing in the air of liberty.

"I am a paediatrician working as asst prof at a renowned med college. I have plans to run a personal clinic at some point of my life..." i went on with my well rehearsed spiel with a monotonous tone.

"That's not wot I meant. Ur profile told me all of that stuff. Tell me about YOURSELF" he cleared.

"ummm"  I smiled. I could appreciate his efforts to make me feel at ease.  "I'm a jack of all traits, master of none. I enjoy music, blogging and  painting"

"So U R an artist" he said eyeing my paintings hung over the textured wall.

"I'm just an amateur...but yes! Painting is my passion" I confessed.

"I love travelling" he doled out.

"Oh really! where have you been to?" I asked chirpily abandoning the 'Speak-as-little-as-u-can' of the brides.

"All over the south. you name the place" he said suavely.

"I had been to Hampi. Did u?"

"yes"

"Mahabalipuram?"

"yes"

"Hoganakkal?"

"Oh yes!! Its such a beauty. Infact we have been to all the exotic places in and around banglore." And  the conversation is wheeled gently to all areneas  and I was told all that i need to know.  I could make out that he is a fun loving and adventurous person. He has one of those ever-smiling faces I have seen.  He is a open book.  He made no effort to hide his feelings for me.

Finally I asked the inevitable question. "why me?" 

"I always wished to get married to a confident and independent woman. Till date I met brides-to-be who adopted wot we call a mould behaviour. wearing pattu sarees, flowers and jewels, speaking scantily, smiling scarcely. Ha ha haaa... You are definitely not one of them. I liked you for being wot u R! "

I made him a cup of green tea  thinking  "He is good but...". Wen the dates were fixed and alliance finalized I thought "Is this happening really? or Am I picturing it in my head?"

 

I was in a sort of suspended animation wen we exchanged rings and vows.  I looked at him with wild disbelieving eyes at the bethoral eve. "This is how arranged marriages are meant to be...you will fall in love...slowly...but surely" my friends enlightened me.

Well! My friends have been true to their words.  There are no more BUT's butting in. I'm having my share of blushes and flushes, Skipped beats and butterflies in my tummy. Life has never been better. Infact off late  wen somebody enquires if it is an arranged marriage or love marriage, I reply "Arranged with love"

"Day dreaming?" My mothers mockery brought me back to the task of form filling. I smiled and ticked married in the application form with a happy and content heart.

Well! That's how I met my future husband and we started our voyage of marriage.

Neel - The Fighter

Neel is a fighter. He has always been. He is a born gifted. But today is the first of the days when he lost a fight defiantly…..against himself. 'What the hell is wrong with me?' he pondered hunch backed. 'what is it that they call me now-a-days? Ran-chor-das? The one who turned his back on a battle? The one who choose flight over fight?'

Wedged between the cerulean skies and the turquoise waters, he brooded over his voyage from Brindavan to Dwaraka. It was as adventurous as challenging. Chills and thrills running down his spine he cried theatrically 'Can't they see I'm still fighting? The toughest of the battles? One on one. Against oneself?' Dwaraka ignored his rhetorical question and welcomed him with splayed arms. Lest! It lacked the warmth of his mothers hug.

Thinking of the red eyed fierce yashoda made the sparse hair on his neck stand out. How he wished he could see her cloud of anger melt in to a shower of smiles when he poured out one of those Appealing-innocent-wide eyed-faces. He squeezed his eyes shut, searching his beloved mother against the purple of his eyelids. He could almost smell the rain lashed greens and mosses. He could almost hear the bubbling of the muddy brown waters of yamuna. He could almost see the buffalo heads, the zebras, the cats and the tigers . Yet he could never feel the gentle touch of his yashoda mayya.

Irked by the train of his thoughts Neel shot open his eyes to admire and acclimatize his new edifice. Dwaraka is an architectural marvel. Its tailored to his taste with ingenious engineering.  The polished walls mirrored his face. The scintillating crystal gravel, embedded golden pebbles, Grandiose airs, sculptured archways, Gardens twined with Golden moneywort, whole wide roads and squares, parks and pools what not? One can say it’s like an all encompassing ray of light which beholds a thousand brilliant dazzling rainbows. An 'ALL-IN-ONE'.

The pythonic walls hugging the city offered the best defense to his kingdom, yet it crushed him with claustrophobia. The waters here are serene and tranquil yet they sunk him to the depths of desolation. The parks of Dwaraka are decorous with the civilized crop of coffee leaf anubias yet he preferred to run amok in the wilder woods of giant leaf anubias tailed by Bala, sharp as a shark and Sudhama, slower than the snail. 'Life is too comfortable, like a throne of thorns, without the jabbing and ribbing of your friends'.

He missed them all. Bala, Sudhama, Gopi, Gopika, Gauri, Ruby, Molly, Marigold. His love 'Radhika' most of all. He has no words to describe her. Her long sliver hairs, her gold-sparkling skin, her divine Angelic eyes. GOD! She is one of a kind. She is an Angel.

The Neel chuckled at the memory of how he stole peeks at her, hiding behind the willow weed, while she is in the pool with her sakhis, blissfully unaware of the stalker. And when he was caught in the act, he thought she would look daggers at him but….but she smiled…that very sweet smile which he could never forget.

It is her smile that makes him go crazy. Especially the one that blooms on pouted out lips after a lover's tiff. He knew the sure way to piss off Radha is kissing Gauri. Radha would predictably throw a tantrum and sulk behind a bush of mermaid weeds. Neel would sing, melodiously melancholic, How-his-body-is-lifeless-without-his-soul-RADHA. It takes all his charm to cajole her out of her self-imposed exile but in the end it's worth it.

Neel wheezed a sigh which rippled through the waters like the notes of a flute. He guessed Radha might be at her favorite Mer weeds, with the black widow, her heart bleeding for him. He is sure that even the clown could never make her smile again. He pictured her tears flooding the brimful yamuna. He knows he could never see those eyes again. Never wipe her tears. Never…

Neel blinked convulsively at the huge set of eyes that gazed back at him through the skies. He recognized those eyes only too well but what he couldn't comprehend is a 'HOW?' He is too ecstatic at the moment to engage his mind with what the world calls logic. It feels surreal. He could feel the aura of love in the very airs of Dwaraka. He could feel her presence like she is omni-present.

"Hello Neel! welcome to Aqua Dwaraka" he heard a voice from the skies. He fluttered searching the skies. "you must be hungry. Aren't you Neel?" she asked gently again. "Here you go". Chunks of food showered down the skies. Neel ignored the red and green balls floating on the waters. "Oh! lost appetite?" said the melodious voice again. "I see. I think I know what you want Mr. Neel. I'll get you some company. How about an angel fish?"

Introducing the cast:

Neel : My blue fighter fish.

Yashoda : Red fighter fish.

Brindavan : The open roofed, moss walled, muddy water tank at the pet store.

Yamuna: The hose that filled the tank with running water.

Dwaraka: My aquarium

Bala/ Balaram : Bala shark.

sudhama: Red head turtle

Radha: Silver Angel fish.

Gopikas : Multi colored, florid tailed, slithe Gappy fishes

Rosy: Rosy barb

Ruby: Ruby barb

Molly: 24-carrot gold molly

Marigold: marigold sword tail, Marigold wag tail.

Gouri: Dwarf Gourami, Honey Gourami, Moon light Gourami, kissing gourami.

Others:  Tigerbarb, zebra barb, cat fish, Buffalo head fish.

             Black widow fish, blind cave fish, Bleeding heart tetra, clown loach.

             white cloud mountain minnow, Emperor fish.

Aquarium plants: Mermaid weed, golden money wort, coffee leaf anubias, gaint anubias, willow moss.

Thanks to Shirlie sharpe for the info on fishes and her splendid catalogue of fishes.

http://freshaquarium.about.com/od/fishespecies/tp/profiles.htm

With ghee, cashews and love

I am hardly aware of the culinary skills of Nala and Bheema but my dad is a gastronome. He is definitely the best alpha male chef on the planet. His uncanny abilities at cooking  were discovered accidentally when my mother made a well-deserved-long-visit to her home town when my grand dad took to illness. I assured her that I'll take good care of dad. After all I'm adept at cooking in the doll house. The real kitchen should be no different.

We bid a bye to the teary eyed mom and opened the doors to freedom. No mom at home translates to no home work, no tuition, no early-to-bed, no No-TV. YES! Life cannot get any kinder. I realized that the blissful three lettered "YES" is no match to the duelling duo "NO".

"Dad! can I go out and play?"

"YES"

"Dad! Can I watch this movie?

"YES"

"Dad! can I go to the panipuri pushcart?"

"YES"

"Dad! can I bunk school?"

"YES"

I wonder he half-listens before the "Yes" plays on his lips. I was so engrossed in feeling the wind beneath my wings that I hardly missed mom until its time for dinner. No! The aroma of the delicacies didn't tease my nostrils. No! The steam spewing food wasn't served on a platter. No! My taste buds weren't bathed in the holy nectar.

"Dad! I'm Famished. Lets cook the dinner" I suggested the obvious. Dad folded his lungi to knee length in a 'Rajini' like style and jumped in to action at once.

"Close the front door and veil the windows of the veranda. Just in case my colleagues drop by" he winked. I caught up with him immediately and added in an extra loud voice that would get carried to my neighbors who are blissfully of my mother's absence "MOMMMM! YOU COULD USE MY HELP WITH THE VEGGIES" .  He grinned at my pretense and nodded his approval, passing on the basket of vegetables.

"I don’t fancy to eat ladies fingers. You better be careful with that knife" he exuded sarcasm.  I giggled sycophantically and chopped carrots leaving behind 2 centimetered stumps for the fear of inflicting a cut on my finely manicured fingers. 

"What next?" I asked rubbing my palms with infectious enthusiasm.

"Beet roots" he added.

"And then?

"Beans"

"what are we in for?" I inquired.

"Veg pulav" he made it sound in a really mouth watering way. " Pulav's are meant for  special occasions. Isn't it? let's celebrate your mom's-day-out with delicacies"

I chopped everything but for the onions which he did with blearily tearful eyes. I was cursing the assault on my senses when the aroma of ghee and cashews took me off guard so badly that I chomped on my phantom meal with my nose, twitching for more.

I could hardly wait as the cooker screeched the whistles as if I were famished for eons.  I gorged a spoonful of the steam spewing rice burning the tip of my tongue in the process. But never mind, I enjoyed the meal. 

"Dad! You are simply super human. You are 'The Rajinikanth'. You are the god of the gourmets". Dad seemed to have better satiety with my flattery laden admiration than with his meal.

I woke up the next day with a standard 'I-HATE-TO-DRINK-MILK' grimace but my face lit up no sooner than dad brewed a kaju-badam-kheer. Mom's deadly Idlee were were no match to his Panner  Dosa. My lunch box is packed with an epicurean meal which captivated all the foodies at school. Thanks to dad and internet, in the better part of the week  I got to taste Strawberry shake, Double ka meetha, Papdi chat, Mushroom matter curry, Panner 65, chicken lolipops, golden fried prawns and what not? 

When mom returned home after a week she squeezed me in to a hug and asked "You look famished! My Baby! How did he cook?"

I smiled and said "with ghee, cashews and lots of love".

Tiny doctor - sturdy patient.

Abhi decided to play doctor-patient with his dear dad.  His dad, in one of his cheerful moods,  was too willing to oblige. Abhi borrowed a steth, B.P app, syringe, few sheets of pills, a book and a pen.  Finally he set up his 'shop' on the dining table drumming his fingers impatiently as he waited for his patient. His dad crawled in a bad shape.

"Daactar! please save me daactar" he moaned.

" No No. Don’t varry. I'm here" Abhi reassured with the aura of Hippocrates. His dad took a seat.

"Wot happened to you?" Abhi inquired in a voice laced with genuine concern.

"My stomach is like a stone dactaar" he complained clutching his tummy with a painful grimace.

"Did u do potty?" the little doctor fired a question at the point blank.

"O yes doc. Twice" his sturdy patient replied triumphantly.

"ok den. let me press your tummy and check wot is vrong inside" the doc declared in a grave tone.

"Ah…oh…hee…hooo hooo hoooo" his uncooperative patient wriggled on the sofa, which is the state-of-art-couch-for-the-time-being.

"vait. I'm not going to hart you. Nor teekle you. I pramise" the lil doc assured with a great deal of patience. It was of no use. The Hee Hee's and Hoo Hoo's continued.

"If you donth stop movin I will give u an in-jac-chain" he threatened . It worked.

"Oh! I see! you have a fatty leever" abhi explained to his patient with wide expressive eyes.

"Oh! Fatty liver? will I die doctor?" his dad asked pouring out innocent faces.

"No NO No. you silly boy. I wheel save you" the doc promised. He immediately referred to the Bollywood times,  the supposed-to-be-medical encyclopedia and declared "you need a leever trans-plan-tation".

wasting no time he sliced open his patients tummy, pulled out the 'leever' washed it under the tap before replacing it and suturing it insitu.

"wow Daactar! You did a miracle. you saved my life" an overwhelmed patient praised the doc.  The humble Doc , not letting the praise get in to head, scribbled down few meds on the prescription pad and handed it over to his only patient.

"Now go home and donth come back ageen and ageen. Donth eat junk food. okay? Then your stomak will not become like a stone ageen" abhi advised somberly.

"sure doc. I'll keep that in mind. whatz your fee?"

"Ummmm Fee?" Abhi gave it a  thought. "lets us go to the ice-keam shop. you can pay my feez there"  he replied with a cheek stretching grin. I guess this naughty doc's idea of healthy food is toffee's and ice creams while fruits n vegetables form the junk. 

(Based on a true life conversation between my 4yr old nephew and his dad.)

Caterpillars and Butterflies

                                                               

                                                                  Caterpillars 
                                                              A patients disgust!

I like doctors no better than I like caterpillars and cockroaches.  Now don’t give me that supercilious 'you-better-realize-they-are-angels-in-disguise' look. I know they aren't all creeps. Nevertheless they give me creeps. They may be angels in disguise but they do disgust. All that they dispel  is stinking pills and pricking needles. I say why not have an apple a day and keep them away?

Even a caterpillar would turn in to a beautiful butterfly someday. But once a doctor, always a doctor. I guess one has to undergo a reverse metamorphosis to become a doctor. They have to shed away their primals like fear, anxiety, love, hurt, anger and grief to become one of those mask faced maestros.  I mean, I can never pull out a straight face and say "I'm sorry. we did our best but we lost your child". They are empathetic, but not sympathetic. They never stand in our shoes. They understand our pain, but they never feel it. How did they become so godamn mechanical? O yea! I get it. They aren't human. They are Angels-in-disguise. Wire rimmed spectacled, starch pressed dressed, well combed-oily haired, Honey coated-artificially smiled angels-in-disguise.

Forget about mourning on someone's death day, they have no idea how to rejoice on their own birthday. I pity the doctors. They save many lives but they have no "life" in their own life. They need a heeling as badly as their patients do.

                                                               

                                                               Butterflies 
                                                       A doctors anguish!

Hospitals stink. But so does the patients. They are PATIENTS but they lack PATIENCE. No one in their sane mind likes to pay a visit to a hospital except a doctor. For us, it's like home. Hospitals ooze negative vibes. They are dump yards of emotions. They are the cocoons spun with  Pain, anxiety, anticipation, fear and hurt. They womb  a Patient creeping on his fours until he comes out with flying colors.

The struggle ends here. Either the person rests in peace forever or he renervates and rejuvenates. When we save them, we are deemed gods. When we fail we are blood suckers. But we are neither Demi-gods, nor demons. we are HUMANS. we are just one among the lot. Nothing more, nothing less. We work with precision not perception. We understand your pain but we can't stand your pain. And that is why we work to fix it.

Yes! we know that it hurts when we sting those needles. We prefer not to showcase it on our face. Not after the millions and trillions of pricks we witness each day.  What are we here for if not to inject life in a dying person? What are we here for if not to draw out the disease and vial it for the labs?

Won't a tumbling toddler believe his mom when she says "Its-alrite. you-are-fine"? we tell the same to a whining patient and he calls us liars. And guess what the mamma's reward us with?  "Eat your food or else the doc gives you a shot".  Why threaten your children with the shots? why tell them the needles are bad? Why don’t we grow up before we bring them up? Why don’t we trust our doc before we hopelessly give up?

Secret recipe

"ouch! Its spicy" my daughter complained with tears flooding her eyes and juices flooding her mouth as she tried the new cuisine.  

"Mom! Make it sweeter" my son implored holding out a tin of jiggery.  

"Nah! Dad is a diabetic. I'll make it tangy" I announced tersely adding liberal amounts of tamarind juice.

"Woman! which school did u go to? you seem not to have any idea how bitter it is and yet you call it sour?" my husband commented.

"But I haven't added much of the Neem inflorescence which is 'The key' ingredient" I objected without picking my nerves at the insult. "By the way didn’t your school teach of the vermicidal effects of Neem?" I added in a false sweet voice.

"There should have been more nectar in the dish than in your sarcasm" he swiftly emptied the bottle of the honey.

"Now that’s a disaster" hassled to the core, I necked them out of the kitchen crying "too many cooks spoil the broth"

"But mom. I boasted you are the best chef on the planet when I invited my friends. Please live up to the reputation" my son pleaded through the hinges of the closed door.

"I'm not here to make a fruit salad.  Its Ugadi pachadi (pickle) and one can't ignore the traditional recipe" I retorted without turning back. I leaned on the kitchen counter as I recollected my grandmother's secret recipe.

                                      *                              *                                *                                 *

"Ammu! Ugadi marks the beginning of the Telugu calendar. It falls on a chaitra sudda padyami day when the star Aswini takes precidence" she explained elaborately.  "It's our belief that what goes around this day, comes around this year. so my child! Make sure you live the best out of this day".

"I'll ingrain it in my mind Ammamma (maternal grandmother) but serve me more of thet delicious Ugadi pachadi" I chirped like the koko bird preched on the branches of the florid neem tree.

"Here you go" she added generous amounts of the sweet-sour-chilli-bitter pickle to my cup.

"ummmmmmmmm" I groaned relishing it. My nose crinkled and the corners of my eyes creased with pleasure lines as I gorged on the tangy bits of raw mango bated in the tamarind-honey syrup.

"Like it?" she asked affectionately stroking the side of my cheek.

"Finger licking good but for those Neem flowers" I complained coyly.  "Why don’t you alter the recipe?" I suggested wryly.

"well! If you keenly decipher , there is a good lot of philosophy in it. It is a shadruchi pakam. There are 6 tastes in it. Sweet symbolizes love & affection. Salt signifies the strength of victory. Sour for excitement. Umami for jealousy. Chilly for the red-hot-temper and the bitter neems portray the bitterness of life" she added knowledgably.

"Yea! I understand but why don't we choose only happiness?"  I persisted.

"I wish we could" Ammamma said with a long sigh "but one can appreciate the light only when he suffered the dark. Love attracts hurt. victory attracts jealousy. They are simply complimentary to each other. One should learn to hit a balance - The state of Stitapragnata" she talked in jargon. " Never pray not to have troubles Ammu. Pray for the strength to fight them. Embrace whatever comes your way and you'll be happy forever" she concluded to a huge round of applause from her only audience.

                                           *                              *                                *                                 *

Falling back to the present day, I thought  "I'll bring up my children to the state of stitapragnata ammamma. I promise. How I wish they are blessed with all the happiness of this world!" That instant I realized my grandmother wished me the same yet she taught me to be prepared to face the challenges fate throws at our face.

Right now the challenge poking me right in the eye is my son's prove-ur-culinary-expertise. With no second thought I folded my sleeves to quench the raving appetites of those 10+ teenagers my son invited home, with rasmalai's and samosas.

Very punny

I was riding high on the first day of my carrier as a doctor. I wore a serene lemon yellow chudidaar and a pressed white overall exuding the charisma of the sun god. A chick-lit raspberry colored bling stethoscope made sure all the eyes in the ward are pinned on me. I walked confidently past the rows of beds, my feet hardly touching the floor. to say I'm happy would be quit an understatement.  

I confidently picked up the case sheet of Apparao, a patient recovering from hepatic encephalopathy due to cirrhosis of liver and poured over the details.

"sister sister. mee tho koncham personal ga matladaccha?" I heard Apparao's son address me. Sister. May I talk to you in private?

The shimmering halo around my head popped inaudibly as if someone poked it with a pin. Damn these illiterates. They consider every female of the hospital fraternity to be a nurse and every male, a doctor. How I wish I could educate them! I thundered at him "kallu kanipinchadam leda babu? coat vesukunnanu. steth vesukunnanu. doctor ki sister ki teda teliyadam leda?" Can't You see man? I wore a white coat. I wore a steth. Don’t you know the difference between a doctor and a nurse?

He looked as if he swallowed a googly but recovered within no time and replied "Nenu doctor-sister lo sister analedu sister. Brother-sister lo sister annanu sister" he let out his parrot words.  I did not mean the sister of the doctor-sister. I meant the sister of the brother-sister. Nevertheless I choose to believe him and his intentions cos it fed my ego. I inquired why he requested a private conversation with me once we were sure that the coast is clear of eavesdroppers. "sister! maa nanna ni taagudu maana mani meere warning ivvali sister" he implored. Please warn my father to quit alcoholism.

Feeling important, I took to the task of counselling this alcoholic and convincing him for de-addiction therapy. "chudandi Apparao garu. meeru arogyam ga vundali ante meeru mandhu maaneyali" I doled out on a one ponit agenda. Look Mr.Apparao. if you want to lead a healthy life u have to quit drinking.

A surprised Apparao look at me in the eye and inquired "adenti doctoramma? mandulu vesukuntene kada jabbu taggedi? arogyam ga vundedi?" what doctor? How can I be healthy if I stop drinking medicines?  I noticed that he held a cup of oral glycerol mixed with fruit juice close to his lips as I delivered my ultra short spiel on alcholosim. 

"Nenu mandula shop lo mandu manamanadam ledu. kallu dukanam lo mandu manamantunnanu" I replied stoically. I didn’t ask you to quit drinking from a medical shop. I asked you to quit drinking from a wine shop.

Pcch! I was the only one in the whole of the medicine ward shooting blazing looks. Everyone else is in stitches and rolling on their beds laughing out loud. 

Priced Possession

"whatz  ur priced possession?" our pompous English teacher asked me in one of her hi-fi accents when I was a 6 yr old.  Within no time my mind zeroed on my kiddy bank. I have a fistful of coins but 'is it good enough?' nagged a thought. I answered her with pride jutting my chest "My mother's jewelry box."  She smiled and said in a surprisingly soothing tone "Priced possessions aren't all glittery & pricey. In fact they are priceless like the insurmountable hugs n kisses of your beloved mom". I did not quite understand what she meant but I like the way she said whatever she said.

As of now I'm  60 years young (yes! For  some queer reason I never grew old). Even today I stand my claim that my mother's jewelry box is my priced possession. Not that it boxed diamonds & sapphires, rubies & emaralds, but it treasured far more valuable memories.  you see, it hoarded my mother's concern and care, wit and humor, her  sacrifice, her pain, most important of all, her love. won't you gorgeous ladies out there like to have a peek in to my mother's jewelry box?

Cradled in the intricately carved sandal wood box are my itsy-bitsy golden bangles (custom made from my Grandmother's golden pendent when I was born)  and my mother's melodiously tinkling glass bangles which served the best BGM (back ground music) to my bed time lullabies. I still remember how shamelessly delighted I was when one of them gets accidentally broken, adding a few more pieces of glass to my handmade kaleidoscope.  It encased the multicolored bling beads I wore around my neck as a toddler. I recited my un-two-thee's and led-bue-geen's rolling those beads between my fingers. It cushioned the sliver anklets I wore while dancing to my mother's sa-pa-sa's. It nested safely those red n black holy threads with a 'sajivini carrying Bajarangbali's taveez that were tied to my arm as my mom nursed me through a terrible chicken pox.  It housed the pearl ear rings I earned from my mother as a reward to my academic brilliance.

Hidden in the heart of the box are the mangalsutr which she wore till the last day of baba's life and the diamond nose ring which she wore till the last day of her life. Talking of her mangalsutr ripples a few more memories I hold close to my heart. In one of my teen tantrums I fussed about a pimple while primping myself in the mirror. No amount of reassurance from my mother convinced me that I'm beautiful. She  said the true beauty of a woman is enhanced by three jewels. "A sindhoor bhara maang, A neck twined with the kaali moti" she said placing a plastic sindhoor box and a chain of black beads in my hands.

 "And the third?" I inquired with zeal.

"The third and the most important of all  is a SMILE" she glorified. From that day I stopped complaining and started complying.  I continued to spend  hours with my mirror but wondering how I would look with the sindhoor and mangalsutr, while a smiled played on my lips.

I never knew how time soared from my sixteen's to sixty's but what I'm sure of is that not a single day passed by without recalling her words. Had she not said those words, my tears might have flushed my happiness. Had she not said those words, my face might have been creased by more than laughter lines. Had she not said those words, I would have had nothing to share with you today. So dearies, Stop worrying and start smiling. Cos there is nothing in this world like a smile which can outshine the pearls n the diamonds. Nothing like a smile which can outshine the sunshine.

Where ever-U-Go-I-Follow - 2 (boys version)

                                                    Where ever-U-Go-I-Follow - 2  ( Boys version.)

(Please read the girls version before you read this!)

Who said women are hard to understand? They are open books but written in a foreign language. It's her eyes that do the saying.  It only takes a master mind, a little of practice and patience to read it.

Like most of the guys of my age I proclaim that being in a relation is such a waste of time, money and freedom but I can't help picturing myself in a stable relation when a damn hot damsel gives me a pass.  I noticed this stop-looker  walking blithely on the pavement, her feet hardly touching the ground, her ringlets veiling and un-veiling her face.  Her Nike jacket did its best to hide those shapely curves but alas! One could easily make out that she's quiet statuesque.

She almost walked past the mall I was shopping at but quiet unexpectedly, she turned her heels and walked past those sliding glass doors, all twinkle eyed and jewel smiled. And <DANG>we were face to face in the blink of a sec. I realized my lips stretched in to an automatic smile and I must be looking quiet like a moron….but dude, she didn’t think so. she smiled back sweetly as she walked past me. It took me a couple of seconds to rein my senses. I dropped the truck load of stationary I was carrying (DUDE! Don’t give me that supercilious look. Being a freshman of B.E architecture, we do need a truck load of stationary) on the billing desk and weighed my options.

One -Be somber, gather my pick and walk out of the mall like an unshakable saint, which I'm not. Two-Go ahead and find out if the aag doono taraf barabar lagi huyi hai. I feigned forgetting some record sheets and made an excuse to percolate in to the mall. I leafed through few sheets of handmade paper when I met her eye across the row of books. She is startled by my sudden apparition. Honestly I was a bundle of nerves myself. I had a nagging suspicion that it's too early to take off and make a move on her. So, I hesitated to go for an one-to-one, but lurked in the shadows, beating-around-the-bush.

 I gave her my most appealing smile. Though she never smiled back she hand combed her hair  primping herself to feast my eyes. Well! That ain't a bad start. I brushed my hand through my hair mirroring her but she disappeared. I paced quickly to the rack of books where I saw her the last. She is just gone in a whiff of smoke. Dude! Aren't we too big for this Hide-n-seek? I'm not the chori-chori-chupke-chupke types. I'm in the pyaar-kiya-toh-darna-kya club.

I ran all over the store only to discover her picking a gift for me, the kissing bears or was she making me a suggestion? well! I don’t mind giving it a try.  When I appeared out of the blues discovering her plans, she threw a tantrum and sulked in the women's arena. I appraised her with an 'Angels-don’t-need-diamonds-to-sparkle' look.  She teased me back with a 'You-are-such-a-cheepo' look. I laughed to myself.

She dissolved the invisible wall between us. It wasn’t like we met a few minutes ago. It was as if we belonged to each other all along. We went on a make-believe shopping spree. I dwelled in the aroma of her presence as she  shopped some household groceries like a dutiful wife. She picked up everything thoughtfully right from mosquito repellents (so that our nights aren't bothered) to baby diapers. I'm convinced she would make a great mother for my kids.

Popping the bubble of  the 'Happy family' in my head, she handed me over the basket and asked me to get it billed. WTF! Do make-believe husbands pay real bills? I collected the basket and walked to the billing counter like a zombie.  I'll take her number, she I'll ask me to get it recharged. I'll take her out on a date, she'll make me pay the bill.  I'll take her on a ride, she will ask me for more. WTF! the petrol charges are on an all time hike.  After all my peers weren't wrong when they said being in a relation is such a waste of time, money and freedom. 

I'm enlightened of the perks and jerks of love life as I paid my first bill and emptied my pockets. I slipped out of the store somberly like an unshakable saint and left behind the girl that could have been my future wife.

wherever-u-go-I-follow - 1 (Girls version)

I'm sure this happened to most of you guys, but I bet, not the way it happened to me. So, I guess it's worth sharing. 

Like most women I claim that I'm not much of a shopaholic but I do a window shopping when I have nothing better to do. I was having a stroll on a forlorn autumn dusk, tucking my hands in the pockets of my Nike jacket, playing hide-N-Seek with the moon lit shadows on the pavement . I love it when the breeze caresses my cheeks pushing away the stray strands of hair that bothered me. I was so engrossed in my own world that I hardly noticed the towering shopping mall until I was standing right under its nose. Bunches of plastic roses of all colors, huggie-bears, Swarovski crystals, porcelain dolls,  coffee mugs showcased in the mall begged me to come and have a peek at them. I walked in to the store, all twinkle eyed and jewel smiled.

No sooner than I stepped in to the store, I was face-to-face with this jeans clad sales person carrying a truck load of stationary. He split in to an ear to ear grin like a eager beaver, who waited all his life for this very moment in his life. I smiled a courteous smile and walked my way in to the books section of the store. I was ogling at a pile of Mills-N-Boons when I noticed that I'm being stalked.  What for? I questioned myself.  The very sales rep who welcomed me with a daisy fresh smile now tailed me cautiously as if he were an undercover agent and I were a Kleptomaniac.  Do I look like a thief? or Is he the kind of person who takes his job way far too seriously?

He looked every bit of those showy kinds. He wore a glittering gold chain, Denim jeans with a white polo tee, some sports shoe and most important of all, a cocky smile, which of course is now laced with a little of vacillation and suspicion. What does he think of himself? James Bond in disguise? In fact reading his face was like rapidly flipping through the pages of a ghatiya (boring) thriller.  Kabhi nervous, kabhi suspicious, kabhi hesitant toh kabhi cheesy. 

I didn’t showcase the surging annoyance on my face lest he might validate his faulty allegations.  Instead I pulled out my hands from the pockets of my jacket and brushed them through my hair with etiquette while my insides howled  'How the hell am I supposed to choose the most romantic pick with a nosy stalker snooping around?'  

I decided to give him a loose. I ducked behind the racks trying my best to hide myself from this unwanted escort, but no luck. He followed me pug faced like the hutch-dog with a BGM (Back ground music) "you and I, and the beautiful world…..green grass, blue sky and the beautiful world".

I stared at him in a 'why-don’t-you-go-and-mind-your-own-business' manner while I moved on to the next segment. I gawked wide mouth at the marble Taj-mahal, the musical jewel box with a dancing couple, the kissing bears, and laughing Buddha. He was in pursue with his obsessive 'where-ever-you-go-I-follow' stand.

I sauntered in the women's wing intriguing to lose the trail. He waited patiently as I spent my time checking out the bilng jewelry. In fact he seemed to check me out top-to-toe perhaps for a red-flag-sign. I'm infuriated and insulted by all of this haunting. I'm not stuffing my pockets doggie. Stop licking me with your looks. I threw him a really dirty look. It worked just a itsy bit but nevertheless stopped him from tailing me.

I grew tired of this hide-n-seek and tried to ignore him. He seemed to be encouraged if not differed by my change of attitude. I walked to the rack of soaps, he followed. To the pastes and brushes, he followed.  To the scorch bites, mosquito repellents, toilet cleaners and sanitary pads. Yea!  you guessed it right. He followed.

I braced my pride and decided to buy something. I turned around on my heels and paced to the groceries. I scooped a Maggie packet , kurkure, Haldiram's Khatta-meetha and a bunch of chocolates in my shopping basket. Hello! For your information, I'm not window shopping either! I handed him the basket and asked him to get it billed. His face fell as if I did the very unexpected thing. Ah! I get it! He must have placed a bet that I'm window shopping. You see, he was wrong. I smiled graciously enjoying the confused look on his face. How much did you lose Johnny?  I walked suavely  to the billing counter, my ego placated, my eyes serene and my pride esteemed. It no longer mattered weather he trailed me or not.  

At the billing counter I found my take-away's sitting cozily in a paper bag, my bill paid and stamped.

"who paid my bill?" I thundered on the cashier. Unlike my escort he wore an orange tee and a cap

"your consort" he replied casually.

"what? " I yelled.

"your male companion madam" his colleague explained. He too wore a orange tee and a cap. "The person who walked by your side" he added. I gawped for I-Don’t-know-how-much time and all that I managed after that was an inaudible "SHIT".   

Why the hell haven't i noticed that the jeans wala flirt never wore the orange tee n the cap?

                                           

Man evolved from monkeys

Is your kid a naughty-witty-cutie? I bet he/she is! I mean it when I say each kid is unique. I love the way they pop out their twinkling eyes and ask mind blowing questions, pouring innocent faces.  At times you would be so tongue tied that either you laugh out or walk out.  I had many of those tongue-in-cheek moments with my 4 yr old daughter  Jaaji (Jasmine)

Each night I tuck her under her quilt and read out bed time stories. But she needs a new story each day. I could never satisfy her ever-demanding-appetite-of-stories. Off late we are in to a rapid-fire round of questions before her catnap. She asks me "Mommy! who lives above the sky?"

I casually answer  "God"

"Doesn’t god do pee-pee or poo-poo?" she adds innocently.

"No" I reply without hesitation.

"why not? where do you think the rain comes from?" her dad adds malevolently. He hardly helps me with the household chores and gets on to my nerves with those extra cheesy lines.  I threw him a nasty look and patiently explained her how water evaporates to form clouds and rains.

"Mommieeee! where do babies come from?" she comes up with a fresh topic the next day.

"God gift wrapped you in a pink ribbon and gave it to me" I said fondly stroking her cheek.

"And the name of the god is Dad" he adds with a grin pausing the rapid punching of keys on his lap-top.

"But Aarnav told me that the doctor gave him his sister in a hospital" she inquires. Her dad rolls on his couch with laughter.

I don’t have a choice but to tell her a carefully tailored version of how babies grow in a mothers tummy and how a doctor operates to bring them in to this world.  She is over whelmed when she heard the story, kissed me and said "Is that why you cried with tummy pain yesterday momie? Am I going to have a baby sister?" How can I explain her that the pain was not due to 'having a baby' but rather due to 'not having a baby'.

I decided that I had enough of this viva-voce. So one fine day I passed the buck to her dad and declared myself a holiday. I made myself comfortable on the beanbag with a cup of fruit salad.

"Daddy! why do all boys have a tail in the front?" she asked blinking her groggy eyes.

"A what?" her dads jaw dropped. It was my turn to roar with tumultuous laughter as I said "because man evolved from monkeys".

That day her dad realized as children grow up, we need to grow wiser and older parenting them.

My dear terrorist - A poem

                                                               

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist

come, slit my throat,

like a slaughter goat,

but expect not

blood to flood

cos its love and love and

love and love that floods.

Love, which u deserved,

yet deprived.

Love of which u were

hungry & thirsty,

and made u take decisions

hasty and nasty.

yes! Its Love that floods in ur blood,

and every drop your mother has shed,

and every drop of milk u were fed.

but expect not

to clench thy thirst,

with thy bloody fists

cos love divine can't be handled in bloody bottles unlike wine.

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist,

come shoot me dead,

to earn your bread.

but expect not your hunger to die

cos hunger dies with thy own death not thy neighbors.

A lot can happen over a cup of coffee

                                          

I sat sharing a cappuccino with the person who was my prospect groom until a week ago.  With great mutual regret we had to call off the alliance as our horoscopes didn’t match. My orthodox mom declared "you guys are like two parallel tracks of a train which never meet".  I'm not an atheist but I'm not a great believer of these horoscopes either . His profile is quiet impressive but it's just a profile. Not a person. I've never met this guy. The point is mom could have been absolutely right.

I said 'That’s the end'  to myself  and kicked back to life only to receive a mail from him saying "why don’t we meet for a cup of coffee?". Now I had to brain storm and spell check 'Perhaps it is an AND, not  END'.

He is a team lead in an MNC in Bangalore. I'm a maiden graduate from Geethams, vizag.  Now, where do we meet to have this pricey cup of cappuccino? He chivalrously offered to fly to vizag and so be it. We decided to meet at the chocolate room overseeing the picturesque R.K beach.  

"why have you got yourself in to this mess? You don’t even know him. The alliance is on the rocks and yet….UFFF! you must be crazy" I accused my mirror. I looked ordinary, just like any other day, but for the excitement twinkling in my eyes. 

"Exactly! you don’t know him. So, go meet him and get to know him" my mirror baffled me. I decided not to primp myself. No facial. No hair cut. No creams and no brushes. I'll present as-I-am.

"what can possibly change over a cup of coffee?" I asked myself a question which echoed through the tunnels of my heart . A lot can happen over a cup of coffee. The tag line of CCD (Café coffee day) tantalized me with quixotic possibilities.

All that he said is he never met someone with such a 'you-are-so-just-like-me' vibe  and is looking forward to have an one-to-one intellectual talk. That’s something to think about and I said yes! After all my teacher taught me that birds with like feathers flock together.

Talking of like feathers, we have a lot in common. Apart from the similar upbringing and socio-economic strata, both of us are cancarians. Both of us are Jack-of-all-traits-master-of-none. He plays guitar and I violin. He sketches portraits while I paint on canvas. Both of us are huge fans of Sachin Tendulkar, A.R.Rehman and Hrithik roshan. We like the same color, same fruit, same genera of books and movies. Phew! And yet our horoscopes claim that we are parallel tracks of a train. And here I'm, sharing a cappuccino with the person who was my prospect groom until a week ago. 

He is tall, dark and handsome. He is all that any girl dreams for. I looked at him in the eye, yet my heart never skipped a beat. He smiled, I never blushed. We shook hands, yet my nerves didn’t tingle and jingle. My feet were firmly planted to the ground.  The day appeared like just-another-beautiful-day-of-January. Jan never metamorphosed in to an over whelming June. And I understood why people say it's always green on the other side.

He is impressive but not expressive. He is Calm but not cool. He is admirable but not amicable. He might be august (majestic) but I'm the December. (Honestly I didn’t mean that I'm the daughter of the italic god Faunus who is named December or 'the great one'. I just meant I'm the type of person who would curl my toes under my quilt until ten on a good winter morning)  He loves to jog, while I'm a lazy butt. He detests the junk and quotes "few moments on lips and forever on hips" while I chomp on my garlic bread with extra cheese.  I indeed realized we are not even the tracks of the same train but of different ones.

The day after my first and last date, I got up before my mom and fixed her a cup of coffee.  After all, the other night I learnt that 'A lot can happen over a cup of coffee.'

                                          

Something fishy

                                                          

I'm head over heels in love with this guy Swas, for the past 3 yrs. There is something fishy about this guy.  I delude that I know him perfectly well. yet he surprises me each new day with something more. He owns half a dozen cars and loves to give me a ride in his favorite red BMW. He is handsome, witty and can charm any woman with his mesmerizing smile and coax her to give what he wants. Yet I'm the only woman in his life apart from his mother and grandmother. But let me warn you ladies, he isn't as naïve as his innocent face claims. At times he breaks in to one of those eye narrowing, nose wrinkling cat-shire-smiles when a particularly naughty thought brain wires him.

I'm sure you would love to know what I meant by  'Naughty'. No! It's not how we planned to hoodwink everybody at home to go biking  on the beach road.  It's not how he stole kisses and hugs from me. It's not how he got to sleep with me. It is about how he made my mother  erupt in to pearls of laughter and kiss him until his face blushed deep red.

The other day my mother was gobbling on a tangy fish curry and spicy chicken wings when swas parked his BMW on our dining table and asked "wot are you eating granny?"

"I'm eating fish kanna. Do you want some?" my mother dutifully replied. Swas being the only veggie in our clan, puckered his nose and said "Donth eat it"

A Dazzled mom asked "why?"

Swas patiently replied "Hen are for laying eggs. Not eating".

"what?" exclaimed my mom totally taken aback.

"And Fisses are fore swimming in da vater" he continued as if he was never interrupted. He picked a banana from the fruit basket and added knowledgeably "fruits are fore eating".

My mother did a double back and then broke in to pearls of laughter. she kissed him until he ran for his life screaming "Momie! Save me. Granny is doing notty things to me".

That day I rushed to a nearby pet store to buy him a fish bowl and a gold fish.  He loved to spend hours by the side of his fish bowl, pouting his lips and imitating his "Goldie".  Each day he would wake up eagerly to feed the fish and watch him chomp those tiny red and green colored balls in a gulp. He learnt how to care for others and the joy of serving the ones who depended on him. But when it is time to leave Goldie and go to school he would throw a nasty tantrum and his mother gives me a Why-the-hell-did-you-buy-this-fish? look. I would ease my guilt with a "What are aunts for? if not to cuddle their 3 yr old nephews!"

One day his school teacher called up his mom to complain that he doesn’t do what he was asked to.  He knows every rhyme by heart, but doesn’t sing with his peers. He says "No disturb" when the teacher interrupts his play and asks him to recite alphabets or numbers. He hardly sits in his chair when the rest of the class is in a post-lunch-nap.  He sings Jana gana mana atop of his voice while everyone is  in a deep slumber.  The list just goes on and on.

His drawing teacher has come up with this particular incident. She handed out a drawing sheet with a sturdy little fish sketched on it and asked the class to color it.  Swas corrected his neighbor Megha who picked the wrong crayon and gave her a 'This-is-how-you-are-supposed-to-do-it' demo. But he never touched his own drawing sheet. In fact he simply pouted his lips and talked to his sheet in a gibberish-fish-language. when the teacher  asked him why he failed to crayon his fish, he gave her what I said you 'A-eye-puckering, nose-wrinkling, cat-shire-smile' and said "How can I color it miss? The fiss is swimming and I can't catch it"

Amazed, the teacher said "Either he is a jerk or he is too intelligent for his age". I broke in to a fit of laughter and said to my sulking sister-in-law that if swas were a citizen of united states of America, he would have been  celebrated for his "lateral thinking". He would have hit the news papers and the T.V screens but alas he is not so appreciated here, right in his home and by his mom. This made her chill and somewhat smile. The day went down in the odyssey of his terrible twos and horrible threes but each day, he comes up with something new.

Now folks, isn't there something fishy about this guy?