The sun was beaming right thought the cracks in the window. Mr. Sharma tried to open his eyes, but he was too tired to get up. He closed them again tight, pulled the sheets to his face and slept off again. His sleep was disturbed once again by the chitter-chatter of people and the banging of utensils. Irritated, he got up. It was an everyday story. Charu, their care-taker, just didn’t seem to understand that they need a lot of rest at their age. Nonetheless, she was a lovely girl and did everything to keep them all very happy. Mr. Sharma was looking forward to the day as it was special; it was their new home-mate’s birthday. She had been here for a month, but she had gotten along with everyone so well that they felt she had been there forever. The thought of her bought a smile to Sharmaji’s (as she calls him) wrinkled face. He leaned forward and with weary hands picked up his glasses and carefully put them on.
He got up to do his morning ritual, tea with friends and listening to the morning news. The news was very important today as they would know who won the India v/s Australia match last night. They couldn’t watch it till the end mainly because of their health. India lost again, sighed Sharma ji, Gupta ji also looked disappointed which he showed by slurping his tea even harder. They were then joined by the ladies who had been in the kitchen helping Mrs. Mishra who insisted at making dinner for everyone for her birthday. All other ladies wanted to help her but she persisted to make it with least help from them. The ladies chit-chatted for a while about the family soap they were watching these days and the men joined in. It was one thing that everyone in Anand Nivas did together; they watched the show from 7-8 after dinner every week from Monday to Friday. It helped to keep them occupied and there were no fights over channels at least for that one hour.
Mr. Sharma got up to go to the kitchen to keep his cup, as he picked up his stick to walk. He was a not a very short man but due to age his back had bent a little. Though he was old and weary, he was fitter than most men in the house. He was also the most respected one in the house and the one who maintained the entire budget. Whatever money that the children sent to their parents was kept with Sharmaji, and used to buy all the household groceries and medicines. Some of them have been there for a long time, the oldest was Anand-bhai, who was attaining his 90s and was bed ridden most of the time. People there used to cry and miss their homes, but Mr. Sharma had never cried. He was certain that he had done all he could for his son, who in turn returned back his gratitude by keeping him away from his new bungalow and sent him money to show how he misses his father. His son came to visit him once, but Mr. Sharma refused to meet him, and he never came back. But he was always empathetic towards others when they were upset.
Mrs. Mishra was in the kitchen cooking paneer and dal for everyone. She was a good cook and was taking care of the amount of oil and masala she puts so everyone can eat it. She was a short woman with orange brown hair, due to regular use of mehendi. She had milky white skin and big brown eyes. Everyone in the home thought that she would have been very pretty in her childhood, which when someone told her she blushed. Her wrinkled skin turning a little pink was still a treat to the eyes. She was sad today as it was the first time she was spending her birthday away from her house, the house that her husband made with his mediocre salary and hard work. She did not show her sadness to anyone fearing they might feel bad as well. She also missed her deceased husband today, but she was used to living without him by now, as it had been 18 years after his death. She wrote a diary entry every day, ever since she came in the welcoming refuge of Sharmaji’s “Ajar-Ghar”; they were basically daily letters addressed to Late Mr. Mishra. Sharmaji walked into the kitchen while she was still lost in thought, and he asks in an authoritative tone, “what is for dinner?” Mrs. Mishra smiled and in a polite tone says, “Find out yourself in the evening.”
The arrangement of cake, balloons and the gift was done by Sharmaji himself, everyone kept teasing him, and later tried to help him, but he wouldn’t listen. He knew she liked black-forest cake, he had asked her that a long time back. He remembered. He also remembered the face of her speechless son when he was asked the same question. However, he was most proud of the gift he had arranged for her: a shawl. He knew she would look nice in it. She came in the room in the evening while all old people were ready to surprise her. They chanted the birthday song to a surprised and wet-faced old lady smiling from ear-to-ear. She cut the cake and loved the shawl. She wore it the entire night. The food she cooked was amazing, everyone liked it. It reminded Sharmaji of his wife’s cooking. After the dinner, most of them went back to their rooms, but the rest sat there and chatted. Sharmaji and Mrs. Mishra went out and sat in the garden outside, while Sharmaji switched on his favorite tape recorder which had old Hindi songs. Both of them sat there talking and singing along with Rafi and Lata.
It was the first time in her ‘life’ that someone planned a surprise for her, ever since Mr. Mishra passed away… the word ‘life’ took a new meaning there for her… a meaning unknown to any human outside the little world in that house. I just can’t wait to write tonight’s letter, thought Mrs. Mishra as she smoothed her hands over the embroidered borders of her new shawl.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
just another day
It was a bright sunny day. She wiped the sweat off her face. Just another Sunday… she switched on the TV to see the morning news. The same old stories… She thought to herself, to hear about rapes, murders and even scams right in the morning… made her sick. She moved on to a soap-channel… the same old series which she once liked, but today something made her feel cranky. She switched off, completely disgusted with it, and went to check on the kids… they were fast asleep. She didn’t want to wake them up early as it was the only holiday they had.
Life was very monotonous. The same old routine had followed through the past 20 years of her married life. She had done everything, tried to talk… She even consulted a doctor. She read books and magazines to find ways to spice up the dull marriage. They did not talk at all anymore except for about the kids. She had thought of leaving him but then she stayed for the kids, scared that it might have a bad impact on them when they were young, but now she thought of it as a hustle. He was now more like a roommate than a husband. She started doubting even her love for him, maybe it was not there. Maybe now she is just used to him. She had started to fantasize about other men, and wished her life was like her friend’s. All of them seemed to be happy.
He used to spend a lot of time abroad or on tours, she almost felt as if she lived alone with her kids. Surprisingly she doesn’t even miss him and his presence in the house sometimes irritates her. She had started enjoying the independence too much. He was on an official trip overseas even now and was expected to come anytime this week. He told her the date but she had not bothered to remember.
Something felt odd, as she checked the gas knob thrice since morning. Still feeling uneasy she went in her room and lied down, tried to go back to sleep again, pushing her thoughts away, but sleep wouldn’t come. She took out her drawing board, stuck a paper, threw some colours on the board from the palette and started making random things. She smiled to herself as a thought came to her mind, “Ajeet doesn’t even know that I started painting again.” Earlier she would be upset, even thought that he might be dating someone else. Now she just didn’t care. She just got upset when the kids asked her about their father missing all the college functions. She was mad at him because of the kids, she wanted him to atleast take care of them but he kept running from that also. To her he wasn’t a good husband; neither was he a good father.
She was irritated now.She thought over the years she had become tougher and wiser, but she knew at the bottom of the well of her heart was just a pool of frustration, anger and depression. The only people who made her feel wanted were her kids. She tried talking to her mother, it didn’t help. “You are over reacting” she said. Even her office friends seemed to misunderstand her. Soon she gave up; she had even stopped discussing her life with anyone. There was no use anyway.
She went back to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast.She wanted to make her kids feel satisfied… make them feel special. She made their favourite sandwich and knew they would be happy to eat them. The phone rang; she picked up still dreaming about the expressions of her kids. Before she could say anything, the caller said, in a shivering tone. “Your husband has had an accident, he is serious…” but she could not hear more as the phone slipped down from her hand. A tear trickled down on her cheek; she did love him after all. The doorbell rang. It was Ajeet. The phone call was not for her. He was alive, and suddenly she was so happy to see his face. She hugged him tight as he entered, she did not have the heart to tell him about the call. She slowly said “I love you”… he heard and said “ok”.
She was back in the well of her heart… irritated again by his reply.He could have said “me too” Grr… Angry and hollow, she went to the kitchen to make tea for him,thinking she will leave him as soon as the kids settle down.
Life was very monotonous. The same old routine had followed through the past 20 years of her married life. She had done everything, tried to talk… She even consulted a doctor. She read books and magazines to find ways to spice up the dull marriage. They did not talk at all anymore except for about the kids. She had thought of leaving him but then she stayed for the kids, scared that it might have a bad impact on them when they were young, but now she thought of it as a hustle. He was now more like a roommate than a husband. She started doubting even her love for him, maybe it was not there. Maybe now she is just used to him. She had started to fantasize about other men, and wished her life was like her friend’s. All of them seemed to be happy.
He used to spend a lot of time abroad or on tours, she almost felt as if she lived alone with her kids. Surprisingly she doesn’t even miss him and his presence in the house sometimes irritates her. She had started enjoying the independence too much. He was on an official trip overseas even now and was expected to come anytime this week. He told her the date but she had not bothered to remember.
Something felt odd, as she checked the gas knob thrice since morning. Still feeling uneasy she went in her room and lied down, tried to go back to sleep again, pushing her thoughts away, but sleep wouldn’t come. She took out her drawing board, stuck a paper, threw some colours on the board from the palette and started making random things. She smiled to herself as a thought came to her mind, “Ajeet doesn’t even know that I started painting again.” Earlier she would be upset, even thought that he might be dating someone else. Now she just didn’t care. She just got upset when the kids asked her about their father missing all the college functions. She was mad at him because of the kids, she wanted him to atleast take care of them but he kept running from that also. To her he wasn’t a good husband; neither was he a good father.
She was irritated now.She thought over the years she had become tougher and wiser, but she knew at the bottom of the well of her heart was just a pool of frustration, anger and depression. The only people who made her feel wanted were her kids. She tried talking to her mother, it didn’t help. “You are over reacting” she said. Even her office friends seemed to misunderstand her. Soon she gave up; she had even stopped discussing her life with anyone. There was no use anyway.
She went back to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast.She wanted to make her kids feel satisfied… make them feel special. She made their favourite sandwich and knew they would be happy to eat them. The phone rang; she picked up still dreaming about the expressions of her kids. Before she could say anything, the caller said, in a shivering tone. “Your husband has had an accident, he is serious…” but she could not hear more as the phone slipped down from her hand. A tear trickled down on her cheek; she did love him after all. The doorbell rang. It was Ajeet. The phone call was not for her. He was alive, and suddenly she was so happy to see his face. She hugged him tight as he entered, she did not have the heart to tell him about the call. She slowly said “I love you”… he heard and said “ok”.
She was back in the well of her heart… irritated again by his reply.He could have said “me too” Grr… Angry and hollow, she went to the kitchen to make tea for him,thinking she will leave him as soon as the kids settle down.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Of dreams and damages
I was a normal village girl when I first came to town. The tall buildings, big cars and the street-light hues caught my attention, like I was some five-year old. Unlike my place, there were way too many people here. And not only the number but the fashion of people baffled me; I wondered for a long while initially whether girls wore jeans and pants instead of suits forgetfully, or wear shorter skirts exposing long ‘baits’ for perverted eyes. The place was reeling like a movie every day, enhancing the image I had in mind when I was in the bus on my way here. And best of all, I felt like a fairy-tale girl, lost in a big city, who was sure that dreams do come true. How could I not believe that? Coming here was a dream that I had seen with my eyes closed so many times, it had me convinced that I was prepared for the challenges I might have to face.
I joined work at a call centre. I had passed my 12th class with 95%, and was the pride of my village when I left to be the biggest star from my hometown. Being the only girl in my village who knew English well, my parents were extremely proud of me. Not only was I most that certain my good communication skills in such a foreign language would be the most useful talent I could yield, but I was most fascinated to do a job that applied my said skills. I also got admission in a B.A. (P) course in a college under the University of Delhi. My heart swelled up when I got my first paycheck and earned my college fees myself. I called up everyone back home to share the news, even promised to send some money back if I managed my expenses well. I took up a place on rent with two other girls – Laila and Nisha. We all were in the same course, for which I was a bit glad that I might get help with my studies. We had our differences, but they were nice to me and fairly shared the household chores.
As classes started I got busy with work and college, and the only time I saw my flat mates was on weekends. Every Saturday I made it a point to revise my course material for the previous week and catch up with the assignments. I was a happy and content life. One weekend I was reading my notes when I heard Laila call out to me. She and Nisha were all dressed up in shiny, skimpy clothing. They were going to a club in the night and wanted me to join in. I had never seen a club, wasn’t even sure what it meant. I agreed but wasn’t sure what to wear, so Nisha gave me one of her dresses. It was a knee-length dress; I was very uncomfortable when both Laila and Nisha comforted me. They taught me how to drink vodka shots with a lemon to ‘ease off the hardness’ when you drink it. I didn’t understand what it meant until I tried. I enjoyed it still, because I trusted my friends and it made them happy. The club was nice, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of couples making out, and I bet they had no clue how uncomfortable they made me feel. Somehow I felt at ease, as people were only interested in themselves. Everyone was drinking, smoking and dancing to the tunes of recent Bollywood tracks. I am not a very good dancer but I had a lot fun. I never saw how time flew by but the party ended late in the night.
This became the new routine for every weekend. We started to keep in touch with the people we used to meet in clubs – no fun without them. And before I could blink, my friend-circle broadened. My life was going so fast that it was difficult to keep a track of time. Happy in the change, I had started to drink all kinds of liquor, even smoking weed. I hardly realized that I had made 5 boyfriends and made out with a zillion random people. Life wasn’t bad at all. My friends supported me in whatever I did. Soon exams came and I was struggling through the books which I hadn’t seen in the entire year. I was not able to understand a bit also as I wasn’t familiar with the lectures. I skipped most of them as I had to meet friends, go for shopping or plan for parties. I failed two of my modules, but my friends consoled me saying it is fine – such great friends I have. I attended many lectures stoned or drunk – it was fun.
Now, I am in an asylum, they say I am crazy, all I need is some cocaine, but they say no to that – can’t they understand? Or was I lost? They don’t even let me meet my mother. I want to tell her that I am sorry for not being around when baba died. I will surely tell her that I don’t like this place when I meet her. I want to go back to the village… with all the green trees, and the smell of muddy soil, and freshly cut crops… and help her with the cooking. They don’t love me here anymore. They don’t even give me good food; just medicines. I am scared they might kill me one day. I am not mad; maybe am becoming now, now that they give me shocks. When I try to run and dance they tie me to the bed and sometimes put me to sleep. I struggle really hard but they don’t let me go. The nurse yesterday told me she would let me go but she wanted something in return. She touched me everywhere. At first I didn’t get it but then she started pushing her body on me. Her rough hands were hurting me but I couldn’t stop her. I was sure today that she would bring ma along with her. But she came today also, alone. She hurt me; put something in me from behind. I bled but it felt worth it, because maybe… I get to see my mother tomorrow.
I joined work at a call centre. I had passed my 12th class with 95%, and was the pride of my village when I left to be the biggest star from my hometown. Being the only girl in my village who knew English well, my parents were extremely proud of me. Not only was I most that certain my good communication skills in such a foreign language would be the most useful talent I could yield, but I was most fascinated to do a job that applied my said skills. I also got admission in a B.A. (P) course in a college under the University of Delhi. My heart swelled up when I got my first paycheck and earned my college fees myself. I called up everyone back home to share the news, even promised to send some money back if I managed my expenses well. I took up a place on rent with two other girls – Laila and Nisha. We all were in the same course, for which I was a bit glad that I might get help with my studies. We had our differences, but they were nice to me and fairly shared the household chores.
As classes started I got busy with work and college, and the only time I saw my flat mates was on weekends. Every Saturday I made it a point to revise my course material for the previous week and catch up with the assignments. I was a happy and content life. One weekend I was reading my notes when I heard Laila call out to me. She and Nisha were all dressed up in shiny, skimpy clothing. They were going to a club in the night and wanted me to join in. I had never seen a club, wasn’t even sure what it meant. I agreed but wasn’t sure what to wear, so Nisha gave me one of her dresses. It was a knee-length dress; I was very uncomfortable when both Laila and Nisha comforted me. They taught me how to drink vodka shots with a lemon to ‘ease off the hardness’ when you drink it. I didn’t understand what it meant until I tried. I enjoyed it still, because I trusted my friends and it made them happy. The club was nice, everyone was dressed up. There were a lot of couples making out, and I bet they had no clue how uncomfortable they made me feel. Somehow I felt at ease, as people were only interested in themselves. Everyone was drinking, smoking and dancing to the tunes of recent Bollywood tracks. I am not a very good dancer but I had a lot fun. I never saw how time flew by but the party ended late in the night.
This became the new routine for every weekend. We started to keep in touch with the people we used to meet in clubs – no fun without them. And before I could blink, my friend-circle broadened. My life was going so fast that it was difficult to keep a track of time. Happy in the change, I had started to drink all kinds of liquor, even smoking weed. I hardly realized that I had made 5 boyfriends and made out with a zillion random people. Life wasn’t bad at all. My friends supported me in whatever I did. Soon exams came and I was struggling through the books which I hadn’t seen in the entire year. I was not able to understand a bit also as I wasn’t familiar with the lectures. I skipped most of them as I had to meet friends, go for shopping or plan for parties. I failed two of my modules, but my friends consoled me saying it is fine – such great friends I have. I attended many lectures stoned or drunk – it was fun.
Now, I am in an asylum, they say I am crazy, all I need is some cocaine, but they say no to that – can’t they understand? Or was I lost? They don’t even let me meet my mother. I want to tell her that I am sorry for not being around when baba died. I will surely tell her that I don’t like this place when I meet her. I want to go back to the village… with all the green trees, and the smell of muddy soil, and freshly cut crops… and help her with the cooking. They don’t love me here anymore. They don’t even give me good food; just medicines. I am scared they might kill me one day. I am not mad; maybe am becoming now, now that they give me shocks. When I try to run and dance they tie me to the bed and sometimes put me to sleep. I struggle really hard but they don’t let me go. The nurse yesterday told me she would let me go but she wanted something in return. She touched me everywhere. At first I didn’t get it but then she started pushing her body on me. Her rough hands were hurting me but I couldn’t stop her. I was sure today that she would bring ma along with her. But she came today also, alone. She hurt me; put something in me from behind. I bled but it felt worth it, because maybe… I get to see my mother tomorrow.
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