Cursing his fate, he laid still on the slightly wet grass. It was the only time he was not judged. The dimly lit sky was calm and helped him fulfill all his inhibitions that were not acceptable to the world and will never be. He stood up scanned the place satisfactorily. Then opened his small bag pack took out a dupatta and the long hair wig which he stole from his mothers dresser. He tied the dupatta around his thin legs like a saree and placed the wig properly on his head. The night was beautiful; he hummed his favorite tune and started to sway. His long locks swayed with the wind, while he ran his hands every once in a while on his hair to make sure it doesn’t fall off. The people who knew him wouldn’t be shocked by this; it was just that no one actually knew him. Nobody understood what he felt and why.
Life was very confusing for Ranjan till the day he was told by his father that he was born a hermaphrodite. His father was a sarpanch of the village, everyone respected him. His pride would have suffered, so both his parents decided to have an operation and Ranjan would grow like a man. However, as he grew up, his female inside him wanted to be free. He once wore his mom’s necklace to the village mela, like his other girl-friends, and when he returned he was hit by a belt by his father while his mother cursed her fate to give birth to such a ‘thing’. He enjoyed sitting and gossiping more than playing with the boys. Everyone made fun of him. Girls dint want a guy around when they were talking, and he was very bad at cricket so the boys used to call her a girl. He used to stay at home and stare out of the window most of the time. At night, the only time he was not monitored, he used to sneak out of the house and put makeup like his mother sometimes wear her night gown and dance like a girl.
Ranjan was not allowed to attend the community school as he once borrowed a skirt from his female friends to try on and see how he looks. The news reached his father who freaked out and hit Ranjan with a stick between his legs to remind him he was no more a woman after the operation. Ranjan had a lot of questions to ask from everyone, but he knew all he would get is scolding and curses, but no answers. As he was grew further up, his chest started to take shape. On seeing this, his mother used to tie a big cloth around his chest, so tight that it used to hurt him. He used to cry in pain and begged her to loosen it a little, at least when he is in the house. But she was scared the maid might tell people around about their little secret. He was hitting puberty and his parents were scared that they wouldn’t be able to hide it for a long time.
It was a normal morning and Ranjan got up late. He felt sick and his stomach was aching badly. He went to take a bath and his mom tied the cloth around him as routine. He couldn’t eat much for breakfast, to which his parents thought he was just being difficult. They told him that they have done a favor on him to let them live with them. He knew his parents did not love him; they were just fulfilling a social obligation by keeping him with them. Ranjan felt tired and lied down for an afternoon nap hoping the pain would go away. It did indeed, but he never got up.
It was later diagnosed that the kid started his menstrual flow but the blood could not come out as the opening wasn’t there anymore due to the operation he had as a kid. The blood accumulated inside and the kid died due to complications. His funeral was quick in the morning. There was no crying in the house. By Nightfall, Ranjan’s parents started to discuss of having a new baby. They decided to adopt this time, avoiding the risk.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Flowers on a wreath
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
life-file folder-ed
All these years of my life, I have assumed that one day I will get my perfect fit – the one who will come and sweep me off my feet. I was always living fine expecting “an arranged setting” of marriage, believed like many other Indian girls that marriage changes everything. Parents will choose the perfect guy and he will sweep me off from my feet over a few cups of coffee. Love will happen, followed by a perfect married life.
But in this chase of finding the right person, whom I am very sure everyone finds someday, we keep meeting a lot of wrong people. Your first day in office, you are nervous and then the scariest part comes – your introduction to the team, the people you will be working with every day. You are overwhelmed but you chose your words wisely; ‘Hope they like me… what if they think I am stupid… Shit I didn’t brush up Excel, Power-point… they might ask me something… what if I don’t know?’ A mind full of questions and there, you hear a faint ‘Hey’, you hush it away with the other thoughts in you head. “I said hello.” ‘Oh my god, someone actually said that! Embarrassing… Why am I so lost all the time? Bad day! Why God… why me?’ I turned behind and replied softly still staring at the floor, not even sure if my voice reached his ears. I raised my eyes to see if he was angry. He was a mediocre looking boy of around my age, not very tall, would be around few inches taller than me. He wore a nice blue shirt but it was shabbily tucked in, sleeves folded, a normal physique but a warm friendly smile on his face, which was a relief. He told me his name was L. L started a friendly conversation, and with that a sense of calmness dawned over me. Did he do it intentionally; did he know that I was nervous? Whatever, I am just glad he is in my team.’ Friends told me I should be careful. These people appear to be pleasant, but they end up being rude when it comes to work. Still, I shooed away such voices in my head and started to stare at my computer screen. Poof! I received a request from him on my chat window to join him for lunch in the canteen, along with his other friends at 12. It was my first day. The thought of meeting new people was scary, but I calmed down told myself that they were his friends. As the clock stuck noon, I went down, all excited now. I met a few more people, some from my team, and others from different departments. They seemed welcoming; we laughed while we finished our lunch and then went out for an ice-cream. Soon I was able to join them in the jokes they cracked. My life painted itself perfect on the very first day – an amazing job, a good set of friends, a friendly team; people would die to be in my place.
Getting up early was a problem for the first few days, but soon I got used to it. Everyone treated me nicely, once or twice I got scolded by my mentor but that was fine. I enjoyed my job. Soon it will be the end of the month. I had a long list of things I wanted to buy with m first salary. Life was dreamy. My talks with L increased every day. When the office-time of 9 to 5 wasn’t enough, we kicked-off with the exchange of messages on the way back. This was not all. We started to meet often to grab a quick bite before a movie on weekends. Soon we became a pair of good friends, or had already become one long back. I had other friends in office, but he was becoming the one person that I could trust with everything. He was the one to comfort me when I was low, and was there for me when I wanted to dance on happy news.
Before long, I was asked to go to US for a project. I did not know how long it would take; it could take a year, or maybe longer. On the day before I was leaving, L disclosed that he liked me. I was confused, and I never felt that way for him ever, not even close. But the fear of losing a good friend scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to hurt him. I tried to explain and tried to go back being what we were. I went to the States and the conversations continued. But the new life wasn't as much fun. I was away from everything I loved, work was not going well, and I started having frequent fights with my close friends, even L. No one seemed to understand. 'If I don’t like him why do I expect so much from him? Why should he be here with me? Bloody hell, I don’t care whatever he has to be. Argh! I am so confused about my feelings. Maybe I don’t care. I am just in this ‘phase’… but he does like me. Maybe this time he is busy. Next time he will be there.'
Moreover, there were a lot of chances. But fights grew, and so did the distances. Everyone seemed to be wrong. 'Or maybe I became rude and arrogant'. It was my fault, but no one was there to sit with me to tell me that the phase will pass soon. I went back home after a year and soon he did something that broke me. I could not trust him any more. He had become aloof. Maybe I was too late to like him back, and maybe he found someone else in this time. Maybe they just say that “love happens for good” and never mean it. Maybe it is just all pain and no happiness. Now, what do I take from this? Did he never like me? Did he lie to me? All blank questions ricocheted with empty answers.
I just fail to understand, how can anyone so different from the guy of your dreams, whom you think is not the right guy for sure, get so close to hurt you. And the pain is worse than that, given by the closest friend. Now I changed my work place, not scared of meeting a shrewd boss or a horrible team, but terrified to meet that smiling face.
But in this chase of finding the right person, whom I am very sure everyone finds someday, we keep meeting a lot of wrong people. Your first day in office, you are nervous and then the scariest part comes – your introduction to the team, the people you will be working with every day. You are overwhelmed but you chose your words wisely; ‘Hope they like me… what if they think I am stupid… Shit I didn’t brush up Excel, Power-point… they might ask me something… what if I don’t know?’ A mind full of questions and there, you hear a faint ‘Hey’, you hush it away with the other thoughts in you head. “I said hello.” ‘Oh my god, someone actually said that! Embarrassing… Why am I so lost all the time? Bad day! Why God… why me?’ I turned behind and replied softly still staring at the floor, not even sure if my voice reached his ears. I raised my eyes to see if he was angry. He was a mediocre looking boy of around my age, not very tall, would be around few inches taller than me. He wore a nice blue shirt but it was shabbily tucked in, sleeves folded, a normal physique but a warm friendly smile on his face, which was a relief. He told me his name was L. L started a friendly conversation, and with that a sense of calmness dawned over me. Did he do it intentionally; did he know that I was nervous? Whatever, I am just glad he is in my team.’ Friends told me I should be careful. These people appear to be pleasant, but they end up being rude when it comes to work. Still, I shooed away such voices in my head and started to stare at my computer screen. Poof! I received a request from him on my chat window to join him for lunch in the canteen, along with his other friends at 12. It was my first day. The thought of meeting new people was scary, but I calmed down told myself that they were his friends. As the clock stuck noon, I went down, all excited now. I met a few more people, some from my team, and others from different departments. They seemed welcoming; we laughed while we finished our lunch and then went out for an ice-cream. Soon I was able to join them in the jokes they cracked. My life painted itself perfect on the very first day – an amazing job, a good set of friends, a friendly team; people would die to be in my place.
Getting up early was a problem for the first few days, but soon I got used to it. Everyone treated me nicely, once or twice I got scolded by my mentor but that was fine. I enjoyed my job. Soon it will be the end of the month. I had a long list of things I wanted to buy with m first salary. Life was dreamy. My talks with L increased every day. When the office-time of 9 to 5 wasn’t enough, we kicked-off with the exchange of messages on the way back. This was not all. We started to meet often to grab a quick bite before a movie on weekends. Soon we became a pair of good friends, or had already become one long back. I had other friends in office, but he was becoming the one person that I could trust with everything. He was the one to comfort me when I was low, and was there for me when I wanted to dance on happy news.
Before long, I was asked to go to US for a project. I did not know how long it would take; it could take a year, or maybe longer. On the day before I was leaving, L disclosed that he liked me. I was confused, and I never felt that way for him ever, not even close. But the fear of losing a good friend scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to hurt him. I tried to explain and tried to go back being what we were. I went to the States and the conversations continued. But the new life wasn't as much fun. I was away from everything I loved, work was not going well, and I started having frequent fights with my close friends, even L. No one seemed to understand. 'If I don’t like him why do I expect so much from him? Why should he be here with me? Bloody hell, I don’t care whatever he has to be. Argh! I am so confused about my feelings. Maybe I don’t care. I am just in this ‘phase’… but he does like me. Maybe this time he is busy. Next time he will be there.'
Moreover, there were a lot of chances. But fights grew, and so did the distances. Everyone seemed to be wrong. 'Or maybe I became rude and arrogant'. It was my fault, but no one was there to sit with me to tell me that the phase will pass soon. I went back home after a year and soon he did something that broke me. I could not trust him any more. He had become aloof. Maybe I was too late to like him back, and maybe he found someone else in this time. Maybe they just say that “love happens for good” and never mean it. Maybe it is just all pain and no happiness. Now, what do I take from this? Did he never like me? Did he lie to me? All blank questions ricocheted with empty answers.
I just fail to understand, how can anyone so different from the guy of your dreams, whom you think is not the right guy for sure, get so close to hurt you. And the pain is worse than that, given by the closest friend. Now I changed my work place, not scared of meeting a shrewd boss or a horrible team, but terrified to meet that smiling face.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
bed-bite story
Like a normal Delhi girl I grew up watching Karan Johar movies and believed that one day my prince charming will come my way, and I will have a perfect job. The end simply had to be perfect of my not-so-perfect life. Till now, thankfully, I have had amazing friends. They have supported me in all my decisions.
Like a normal 22 year old, I have had a failed relationship, a zillion crushes, even stayed up all night for a message from some little infatuation which just lasted for days. I have had five or six best friends till now, from which some have hurt me while some are still in touch, and have stood by me in my ups and downs. Most of my friends think that I don’t live in the real world which is bad. People are selfish and not everybody is good. As soon as I finished my Masters, I looked forward to fin my perfect job, and then soon I would meet my guy at some coffee shop, we fall in love and get married. I would meet my friends like I do now even after marriage, and life would be perfect. But this dream of a perfect story came soon crashed, the market was bad and there were no jobs available. Still you get an interview offer, you dress up nicely. The interview went amazing. You talked about your dreams and made the interviewer laugh at times. There was no way they could reject me. I waited for the call very confidently and then after two weeks they regretfully informed me, that they selected someone else. I kept my calm but soon gave up.
At family functions, all Uncles are asking about where you career is going while I was trying to flow with the flow. Aunties are bothered about my marriage
and soon I hear ‘Rishtaas’ pouring in.
The idiot isn’t messaging back, and I waited for a long while; but he is just not interested. “Maybe he just said he liked me coz he didn’t have anyone at that moment, and now maybe, he likes someone else. Why am I bothered? I told him that I don’t like him, but he is still supposed to give me importance. Maybe he found someone else. Arrgghhh, I am so stupid. Maybe it’s all my fault. Yes it’s me. How am I supposed to
understand that he loves me when he doesn’t even have time to message?”
Things are different with your friends now. I tried to make them understand that I have some problems. Instead of supporting me and ‘being there’, they are telling me that I have lived my life all wrong. “You will lose everyone like this, you have to show more attitude,” she said. I didn’t think so, but even a slight disagreement leads to a big ego clash and I am left crying while she states all my past mistakes one by one on your face.
You have a contact-list of 550 people in this world, and you are lonely. Not one person could I call. My two-three best buddies just left me with my own problems, as they think that ‘some kind of ego’ has come into me. I question everything in my life and all of a sudden there is no one to put the blame on.
Like a normal 22 year old, I have had a failed relationship, a zillion crushes, even stayed up all night for a message from some little infatuation which just lasted for days. I have had five or six best friends till now, from which some have hurt me while some are still in touch, and have stood by me in my ups and downs. Most of my friends think that I don’t live in the real world which is bad. People are selfish and not everybody is good. As soon as I finished my Masters, I looked forward to fin my perfect job, and then soon I would meet my guy at some coffee shop, we fall in love and get married. I would meet my friends like I do now even after marriage, and life would be perfect. But this dream of a perfect story came soon crashed, the market was bad and there were no jobs available. Still you get an interview offer, you dress up nicely. The interview went amazing. You talked about your dreams and made the interviewer laugh at times. There was no way they could reject me. I waited for the call very confidently and then after two weeks they regretfully informed me, that they selected someone else. I kept my calm but soon gave up.
At family functions, all Uncles are asking about where you career is going while I was trying to flow with the flow. Aunties are bothered about my marriage
and soon I hear ‘Rishtaas’ pouring in.
The idiot isn’t messaging back, and I waited for a long while; but he is just not interested. “Maybe he just said he liked me coz he didn’t have anyone at that moment, and now maybe, he likes someone else. Why am I bothered? I told him that I don’t like him, but he is still supposed to give me importance. Maybe he found someone else. Arrgghhh, I am so stupid. Maybe it’s all my fault. Yes it’s me. How am I supposed to
understand that he loves me when he doesn’t even have time to message?”
Things are different with your friends now. I tried to make them understand that I have some problems. Instead of supporting me and ‘being there’, they are telling me that I have lived my life all wrong. “You will lose everyone like this, you have to show more attitude,” she said. I didn’t think so, but even a slight disagreement leads to a big ego clash and I am left crying while she states all my past mistakes one by one on your face.
You have a contact-list of 550 people in this world, and you are lonely. Not one person could I call. My two-three best buddies just left me with my own problems, as they think that ‘some kind of ego’ has come into me. I question everything in my life and all of a sudden there is no one to put the blame on.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Unscrambled eggs
It was two in the afternoon. I could hear the noises outside. People were crying; they were upset. I wasn’t upset… just scared. I knew things would change and hoped for good. That night I locked myself up so that no one can see me. As it is, I am not very good around people, I haven’t had a decent conversation with someone in three years. The following morning was the ceremony at the church. I wore an ill-fitted black dress that belonged to my mother. When I reached the church they asked me to say a few words about her, I stood up and felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t know her. I never liked her. She never was there for me; she saw what dad did to me, yet never interfered. “I will miss her.” I lied. I just knew what they wanted to hear. There was a big lunch at home; I hadn’t eaten properly in years. I picked up a big slice of cake and started eating in one corner. People gave me and my dad sympathising looks. I looked at my dad and knew he was upset, whatever he did with me for all these years… but he loved her. The day he found she had cancer and she wouldn’t live, he held me and cried all night. It was right after that it all started. Three years back, still as clear as yesterday. My mom came into my room and explained to me that from now on my dad will love me a little more. I had not understood then as I was just thirteen. She held me and cried and kept giving me pills so I don’t get pregnant. I don’t blame her entirely, he would beat both of us and she feared he would kill me if I don’t let him have sex with me.
I loved him and assumed that he loved me and did all that because he loved me more. I had always known that I was adopted, but even as a kid he used to take me to play and help me with my homework. While mom was always out with her work or friends, she never was home for my birthdays. I never took her side when dad and she used to fight, not even when I knew dad was wrong. I always thought dad should have left her,
till she got very ill. I felt bad for her. I used to help her during the day, and in the night dad used to come drunk and would beat her up. Then he used to come in my room and have sex with me. He used to hit me as blood excited him more. I felt so guilty that I stopped talking to anyone in school. My grades were affected and everyone assumed it was because my mother is ill. He was a respected man and no
one would ever think of him doing such things about him. After everyone had left, I went to take a shower and changed into something casual. I could hear him talk to someone on phone and my head was swirling, so I lied down on the bed that once felt safe, but was not anymore. I slept off. After an hour I got up with a start. I saw him coming in. I was scared. I pretended to sleep but that didn’t help, he knew I was up. He told me that from that day on I would be staying in his room. For a minute, I thought he was a changed person and would apologise, but I was not
prepared to take his wife’s position. I knew I couldn’t say no, or else he would beat me.
He used to tell me that I had no one except him, no one in this world loved me and sex is the only thing I am good at. I was scared and knew with mom not around he would have his way with me whenever he wanted.I was scared but I submitted to him. That night after I dinner I went to his room. He came following me and pushed me to the bed he removed his clothes and pulled my night-gown up. I tried to block my thoughts, otherwise I would feel sick and that would excite him more. He used to get excited if I was sick, or even when I had periods. I felt him go deep in me. He applied so much force that I thought I would die. After he was done, he lied there on me while I could feel his heavy breath on my face. He got up and kissed me on my cheeks, he always did that when I was good.I love it when he does that, it assures me that he still loves me.
I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I knew things would not be the same; I would never be the same. My dad has always liked collecting whiskies and wines. The oldest one he had was a 38 years-old bottle of whiskey. I opened the bottle and drank it. It burnt my throat. It started to itch but the pain I felt inside me was far more. I drank and drank and puked all over, I lighted up a cigarette for myself, but not with the intention to smoke. I put it on my arm. It pained so much that I thought I would die. Nothing could soothe my pain today. I went for a shower to clean myself. Nevertheless, I felt dirty. the soap wasn’t able to clean me. I ran back to the kitchen shelf, I was still wet. I picked up a knife and took it to my room. Pushing the drapes to the sides of the window and seeing the stars made me feel safe. I sat there teary eyed as I felt the sharp knife slice into my skin. I cut myself till I was drowsy and soon I peacefully slept off on my bed which was once the safest place in the whole world.
I loved him and assumed that he loved me and did all that because he loved me more. I had always known that I was adopted, but even as a kid he used to take me to play and help me with my homework. While mom was always out with her work or friends, she never was home for my birthdays. I never took her side when dad and she used to fight, not even when I knew dad was wrong. I always thought dad should have left her,
till she got very ill. I felt bad for her. I used to help her during the day, and in the night dad used to come drunk and would beat her up. Then he used to come in my room and have sex with me. He used to hit me as blood excited him more. I felt so guilty that I stopped talking to anyone in school. My grades were affected and everyone assumed it was because my mother is ill. He was a respected man and no
one would ever think of him doing such things about him. After everyone had left, I went to take a shower and changed into something casual. I could hear him talk to someone on phone and my head was swirling, so I lied down on the bed that once felt safe, but was not anymore. I slept off. After an hour I got up with a start. I saw him coming in. I was scared. I pretended to sleep but that didn’t help, he knew I was up. He told me that from that day on I would be staying in his room. For a minute, I thought he was a changed person and would apologise, but I was not
prepared to take his wife’s position. I knew I couldn’t say no, or else he would beat me.
He used to tell me that I had no one except him, no one in this world loved me and sex is the only thing I am good at. I was scared and knew with mom not around he would have his way with me whenever he wanted.I was scared but I submitted to him. That night after I dinner I went to his room. He came following me and pushed me to the bed he removed his clothes and pulled my night-gown up. I tried to block my thoughts, otherwise I would feel sick and that would excite him more. He used to get excited if I was sick, or even when I had periods. I felt him go deep in me. He applied so much force that I thought I would die. After he was done, he lied there on me while I could feel his heavy breath on my face. He got up and kissed me on my cheeks, he always did that when I was good.I love it when he does that, it assures me that he still loves me.
I tried to sleep but couldn’t. I knew things would not be the same; I would never be the same. My dad has always liked collecting whiskies and wines. The oldest one he had was a 38 years-old bottle of whiskey. I opened the bottle and drank it. It burnt my throat. It started to itch but the pain I felt inside me was far more. I drank and drank and puked all over, I lighted up a cigarette for myself, but not with the intention to smoke. I put it on my arm. It pained so much that I thought I would die. Nothing could soothe my pain today. I went for a shower to clean myself. Nevertheless, I felt dirty. the soap wasn’t able to clean me. I ran back to the kitchen shelf, I was still wet. I picked up a knife and took it to my room. Pushing the drapes to the sides of the window and seeing the stars made me feel safe. I sat there teary eyed as I felt the sharp knife slice into my skin. I cut myself till I was drowsy and soon I peacefully slept off on my bed which was once the safest place in the whole world.
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