Once Upon a time

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.

Tears of pain and angst rolled down her eyes.

She could not hear anything happening around her. Her mind echoed “I am sick of this. I can’t take it anymore”

She was distracted by the chimes of anklets and laughter of little girls who were playing on the banks of the river. She looked at them and remembered her childhood days.

IIla was the youngest of her 5 siblings. Her mother had died while giving birth to her. IILa along with her other siblings helped her father in cotton fields ever since she was a child.

She was named after King Ila who established the city Pratishthana. According to legends, he once strayed into Shiva's forest during his hunting trip and was cursed to become a woman. He prayed to Parvati , Shiva’s wife and was blessed to be a woman only every alternate month. When he was a woman, he married Buddha, one of the 9 planets and through his help got rid of Shiva’s curse. He then ruled Pratishthana for a long time.

As a child, Iila was very fascinated by the royal empire. The extravagance, stories and valor of the kings and kingdoms intrigued her. Her father narrated her stories from the Mahabharata, Ramayana and Vedas. He described characters like Sita , Kunti and Draupadi who were respected as mothers and wives and how wars were fought to save their honor.

Bhanu , Iila’s friend knew where she could find her. She spotted her sitting on the banks of the river, hands folded and teary eyed.

She kept staring at the far end of the river; the point where the mighty sky and the humble earth meet or rather appear to meet. Her life was symbolic of the horizon she had fixed her gaze on.

Bhanu knew the cause of Iila’s pain but talking about it wouldn’t lessen it and comforting her wouldn’t ease it.

“Iila , baba is looking for you . Come”

Iila was unaffected.

Bhanu put her hands on Iila’s shoulders. She turned around with a dead stare.
“ Come lets go home “ Bhanu said as she held Iila’s hand to lift her up.

She held Bhanu’s hand and walked towards home. She didn’t utter a word and kept walking with stoned eyes and probably a heart too.

Bhanu left her alone at home and went to the fields.

Illa went to her room and opened her trunk. Silk paithani sarees, gold jewelry, copper vessels, kumkum, everything was nicely decorated and packed. Soon after the cotton season would get over in Magha, she would be getting married in Falgun before holi.

Her prospective husband , Tukaram was a rich cotton farmer in Changatpuri.

She knew him. She knew him well. After all she was also the husband of her elder sister, Leela.

She kept lying in her room. Did not cook or eat anything. It was evening and time for her father, brother and Bhanu to return from the fields. Bhanu’s father was a trader and along with her mother had gone to nearby village for business leaving her at Iila’s place to stay. She was getting married to Iila’s brother, Eknath after Iila’s marriage.

Bhanu entered the house and sensed that nothing had changed since she left Iila in her room. She quickly started preparing food for Eknath and Illa’s father. After a long tiring day on the fields and no food would infuriate them.
Iila's father came home and saw Iila lying down.

He shoved his plaid away and screamed at her .

“ Why did you not come to the field today. We all are working hard to arrange extra money for your marriage and this is the kind of attitude you show.
Will you be happy once you take away our business from us like you took away your...........” He stopped.

Iila knew what he was referring to. But things were not like this always. Illa's father loved her very much. Images of her childhood flashed in-front of her eyes. Every morning her father carried her on his shoulder and took her to the fields. On her way to the fields they crossed Kasba Peth from where she bought dolls. She remembered watching women carrying water vessels. Looking at them she asked her father how her mother looked like. “ Just like you “ He always replied with the same loving gesture.

But where was the love now? Iila was always seen as an unfortunate child who killed her mother and made her way into this world. Everyone believed so except his father but ever since she had refused to marry Tukaram , he had started blaming her for her mother's demise and bringing misfortune to the family.
How could she marry Tukaram. He was her sister Leela 's husband. Leela loved Tukaram very much but was always saddened at the fact that she couldn't bear a child for him. She had met Leela at Ahilya, a cousin's wedding last year. She was crying. Talks of Tukaram's remarriage were doing the rounds. Iila never wanted this to happen and had promised Leela that she would speak to her father about this.
When she spoke to her father , she was scolded for meddling in matters of the elderly. Few days later her father spoke to her about the proposal of marrying Tukaram. She dismissed it at once. Her father's behavior towards her changed from that day.

How could she be a cause of her sister's misery now and what if she was unable to bear a child too.
She could not take it anymore. She could not stand the hatred in her father's eyes for not doing something she was unwilling to. She could not stand the helplessness which she would find in her sister's eyes when she would be married to Tukaram.She could not stand the fact that women were still treated as a resource to bear children and aid the family's growth.
She couldn't do anything . She could not stop everyone from thinking that she was not the reason of her mother's death. She could not stop everyone from thinking that Leela was not just a amenity of given birth to successors. She could not stop herself entering into an alliance with a man she did not want to be with.

When everyone was away preparing for dinner , she walked out of the house and started walking towards the vast Godavari river. It was dark and silent. She could feel cold breezes on her face. She opened her hair. They flew in all directions. She took off the gold bangle she wore and put it on the river bank. It was her mother's bangle. She walked towards the river and kept walking. She could feel water touching her toes. She felt cold but kept walking . She walked further inside. Water was till her waist. She was unperturbed by thoughts and emotions. She was going far away from her sisters and Leela , far away from Eknath and still farther from her father. She immersed herself into the river.

She ended her life and liberated herself from the misery but is every women audacious enough to end her life ? Can every woman stand against the daily abuses of life ? Can every woman break the shackles of judgments and decisions forced upon them? Can every woman be Iila and think about other woman's dreams and feelings above her own's.

Iila's death came as a shock to everyone. The girl who was full of life and dreams ended her life because she was been taken to a world she didn't belong to. She could not changed things around her so she changed the course of her life to the ultimate truth : death.

Bhanu saw Iila's body lying on the floor for the last ritual. Maybe she would not voiced her opinion and not ended her life she thought as she cried profusely.

Maybe she would have stood against the norms and helped others like her. Maybe she should have run away but not ended her life. There were lots of maybe and could haves but Iila did what she could. Dejected by her father and people she loved , this seemed the only resort.

In a country where women were respected as mothers , sisters and wives , why were they treated differently when it came to taking life decisions. Why were there still inhibitions to voice their opinion or take decisions of their lives when they have been hearing stories of woman warrior queens ruking kingdoms and accompanying kings to the battlefields. Why were the norms of society kept above the desires and dreams? Why was the protocol preferred over what was rightful.

Why did one life have to end to showcase the importance of life and dreams.

Paithan was regarded as moksha-tirtha – a pilgrimage centre from where the soul could be liberated forever from a shackled existence. But was Iila's soul liberated ? Or were there more Iilas being born in this country everyday? 

The love that lingered

When those strong hands held me tight and those captivating eyes sunk into mine , I instantly agreed to spend with him a lifetime and beyond.

It was a dreamy fairy-tale wedding. I was his and he was mine till the end of time.

Amidst family , relatives and friends, we took the vow to be together for this and seven lives but he left for work to a foreign land on the seventh day of our wedding.

I cried , was upset,tried to stop him but all was in vain because “work was on top priority'

I stayed back here with my in laws , relatives and a dozen family friends.

I thought his place was irreplaceable in my life but someone else took advantage of his absence. Though I had avoided him as soon as I was engaged , he came back daunting in my life while my husband was away.

I met him in various forms wherever I went. Though at home I was spared when I said no ,but I was forced to be with him ,look at him and touch him when I went to a relative's or family friend's home.

I knew the repercussions would be undesirable but I kept falling for him again and again at every place I went. He creeped in my system and slowly but steadily became a part of me : both literally and figuratively.

How could have I avoided him anyways. He was a part of me and I was because of him. My companion of distress , my friend of joy , my instagrams , my display pic..........I was a fool to think I could do without him. And then came that fateful day , when it came near me dressed to perfection. I couldn't resist myself.

I leaned down to touch him , feel his soft buttery skin and then I brought him near me. I was not able to bear the few centimeters which lay between us and I touched him with my lips , this time with no inhibitions, unperturbed by the results ; it was pure love. I gulped it down in one go. It was pure bliss.

Though I had tasted parathas at different occasions and places , but the one immersed in ghee and applied with white unsalted butter this generously was something which only a Punjabi household could offer. The indigenous staple food of Punjab surely did its magic on me : emotionally and visibly.

With the love of my life , I always try to be healthy and eat healthy but the “away luxurious” time I got from him at home immediately after my wedding overflowed with starch , carbs and fat.

My Mother in law made sure I tasted every dish she knew of and my father in law made sure I ate everything which the food capital of India , Indore had to offer. Every relative had a “ Punjabi special” menu to offer , however dal makhani and parathe remained their timeless love.

Food at other places is talked only about thrice a day : breakfast , lunch and dinner. In a typical Punjabi household however , people can talk about food all day long. When ladies meet , they speak about how differently they made a paratha or how adding more ghee isn't harmful but strengthening.

Sentences like “ I was making palak kachori and was reminded of yours “ or “ Lets not go to her place, she doesn't make tasty parathe “ are commonly heard.

You aren't spared if you don't know how to cook. They will catch hold of you , train you and include you in the “aaj khana bada swaad bana hai” group.

People are so passionate about food that they even name their children after food : Honey ,Makhkhan ,ladoo,Pinni to name a few.

This tasteful journey is however about to end as I will go to my husband in a couple of days but the love which I have received in these days is showing up on me. Now that I have eaten to my heart's content, learnt to cook and force people to eat , I am all game to shower this love on my beloved husband on a foreign land. Afterall,

“To love is to feed”

The one that kindles

“Clueless innocent eyes , pink nose and cottony skin “ The nurse described my nephew and pointed towards the bed where he lay undisturbed and unaware of his 1 day old critical mother in the ICU , his sleep deprived father for over weeks now and his mother’s sister , his aunt , me coping between hospital home and cities. I disliked and envied him.

It was 10^th march 2014 .My sister complained of restlessness and was admitted to Nanavati hospital where she was diagnosed with fatal high blood pressure. I came down to Mumbai and stayed with her at the hospital. After 9 days of critical care and monitoring she was stable and I flew back home. As soon as I landed my phone rang .My brother in law had called me to tell that my sister was critical and had to be operated the following morning. I went home unpacked and packed, booked tickets for the next available flight and was back in Mumbai again.

We were waiting for the operation to get over. I heard a shrill cry and within minutes the nurse rushed the baby to NICU which is the ICU for kids. It was a 7 months premature baby boy.

We could not touch him, feel him or take him in arms. All we could do is ask the nurse how he looked and watch him from a distance wrapped in numerous tubes and monitoring machines. From feeding milk to changing clothes, the nurse was the in charge .We were not allowed to be near him since his immunity was weak and he was vulnerable to infections.

My day began with cooking food, packing tiffin and travelling to the hospital.

When I came, my brother in law went back home. We worked in shifts like call Centre executives.

My days passed by strolling in the hospital lobby witnessing patients alongside their attendants. Ailing women, disabled men, crying relatives and friends surrounded me.

For a diversion I went to the NICU wing where the nurse handed me over a list of medicines for my nephew and occasionally offered me a sneak peak in the baby’s room. I had been around him for a month now and I did not know what he looked like. I would see other babies in the area around admitted for various afflictions and imagined how he would look like.

I was away from the outside perfect world I belonged to. No choosing of dresses in morning, no presentations, no meetings, no team lunches and family dinners .I woke up, dressed to comfort and came into this world daily for about a month every single day. In few days, the sobbing the pain the sudden rush of people around became a habit .If I didn’t see a crying face, I knew the day was not over yet.

There are a lot of things one learns in such situations and at such places.

The very obvious and omnipresent process of birth

You come to terms with the fact that birth and death are the only absolute truths. Rest all is relative and life is what is between these two absolutes .Life is fragile and so are the moments. A single inconspicuous looking moment has the ability to bring a mammoth change in your life. We must realize that relationships, people, family, friends and love all of which we often take for granted come with a limited validity in your life. We of course do not have control on the tenure of their stay and presence in our lives but all we can do is be thankful for every single thing sans which your living might just turn into a survival.

My nephew is now 9 months old and I live at his house. We click selfies, go for walks, watch cartoons together, sleep together, cuddle up and I pamper and spoil him with all my might. Today as I see him recognize faces, utter his first set of meaningful words, take the first step ………… I am nothing less than a proud parent who endures all the troubles and pain to witness a life grow.

Too Perfect

“He is too perfect to work with “, said Smita pointing to Rachit in the “let me know your concerns” section of the weekly status meeting.

While others laughed off her comment, I wondered how an arduous trait like perfection cause discomfort to someone.

Rachit was Smita’s code reviewer and as she said she “had a hard time in convincing him that the same objective can be achieved in multiple other ways too”.

The meeting ended with Smita being instructed to follow the coding standards and Rachit to evaluate and review as per the specifications only.

When you hear an ambiguous statement you often tend to justify it with your viewpoint even when no one asks you for it. Even I started my analysis of her statement. I thought of all the people in my life whom I either call perfect or those who constantly seek perfection from others.

A quick scan of such people, situations I have been with them and the times I worked with them did not take much time for me to conclude that perfect people are indeed hard to put up with.

While they challenge you and make you realize your own undiscovered potential, they are difficult to survive with unless you have a constant zeal to improve.

Perfection might attract people but it is certainly not the factor why you like or love someone.

It’s the little imperfections which makes us love someone. These imperfections create the need of a companion and thus living together become delightful. You witness his growth, his mistakes, his corrective actions and it even gives you a scope to improve with his experience or even to commit you own mistakes.

It is however not a crime to be perfect but it of course is to expect the same from others when the subject in question is happy with the less optimal way of doing things. Seeking for or putting up with perfection might be horrendous at times but ultimately you end up being a better and improved version of your own-self.

The Driving Lesson

While the world slept away to glory and the ignorant inhabitant of my bed was unperturbed by the tune of my favorite song “Pehla nasha………” I did what most of us do the first thing in morning. No I did not check my whatsapp messages, I hit the snooze button.

For years my sister was the one who used to get up before me. It was my turn now. I had in a long time not witnessed that she looks so innocent while sleeping.

The clock shrieked 5:15 a.m. I had no choice but to get up. I got up and started wandering in my home like a ghost. Early morning time is weird. It is the time you are supposed to start your day with but you feel all the more inclined to sleep and when the actual “early to bed” time arrives you are tempted to talk on phone, chat, check out Facebook and what not.

I grabbed the newspaper and started reading. It was 5:25 and I still have some time I thought.

In no time the impetuous clock read 5:40.I dropped the idea of taking a bath and hurriedly went to brush my teeth. I heard a prolonged and vexatious car horn.

He was here. …………….

It was just 5:55.Why are people so punctual.

“Is this the first time you are driving a car?” asked the driving school instructor in a hopeful tone.

It was not the first time I was taking charge of the giant machine on wheels.

My last encounter with it costed the insurance company a decently huge fortune and me a dear friendship.

‘Why do you girls drive after all’ was his parting line when I had dashed my car into his new SUV.

He hasn’t talked to me in four years.

His words echoed in my mind and I replied to the instructor “No it’s my first time”. I needed to revisit the basics after all.

He gave a long description and usage of ABC (accelerator brakes and clutch) While he narrated the working of each of the parts, it occurred to me that he was better than my mechanical engineer professor in College.

I turned on the ignition and turned off the aperture of wandering thoughts in my brain.

I did not turn on the AC or the music system. All seemed unnecessary and bothersome.

It was time to concentrate on the ABC.

Everything seemed in control. I was able to synchronize among three things with 2 feet.

Things moved effortlessly for a while until the roads were invaded by the holy cows.

While they refused to move even on the sound of the horn I became nervous and stepped on the accelerator rather than on the brake……………………….

Thanks to the dual system of ABC in a specialized car for learners, the brake in time saved 9; two of us six cows and yes the car.

After receiving hard looks form the instructor and completing 50 min on road it was time to move back towards home.

I left the car promising him to be on time from tomorrow.

In this 15 hours course for 4500 INR I am looking forward to the following things:

1. Driving while talking on phone.
2. Overtaking bigger vehicles (read buses and trucks) on road.
3. Driving on highway at the speed of 150 km/hr.
4. Country Crossing.
5. And lastly challenge my estranged friend for a car race :D

Too much for a person who has completed just 1/15^th part of the lesson :P

But then as they say there is nothing wrong in DREAMING BIG.

The best things in life

Its was just the last Saturday when I was sitting with a friend at a restaurant and we got complementary mango shots.I lifted the glass and told him how I did not like mango at all.I expected a usual reaction of "I think you are the only one in this world who doesn't like the king of all fruits".
Later when I came home my dad asked me on the way back from the airport pointing to a fruit vendor which type of mango I would like to have.
I was bit surprised to know that my dad did not know my disinterest in this regard.

I told him my feelings towards the fruit and he quizzically looked at me and asked "When did this happen.You loved mangoes once."
As we progressed towards home I regressed down memory lane.Without much thoughts and efforts I remembered those summer days when we used to wait for dad in the

evenings.The wait was more for mango and litchis than Dad at  times.
It was the best time of the day.The whole family ,guests ,neighbors sat together and savored the flavor and remarked how a certain vendor has better fruits than the other.People who had a little more experience shared their views on varieties across the country.

Time passed we grew older but what had brought the change.What made the thing I loved the most so intolerable now.
I started thinking of other things in life which once meant everything but with passage of time they took a backseat and became inconspicuous.
School was once the best place to be.Friends,teachers,games, exams everything seemed enough to live with.Then school changed and at times the city changed.It was again a whole set of efforts for creating the best world around.Now this new world seemed the best.

The next transition to college life made those days "the best days".
The word best is superlative in nature then how can we have many bests at the same time.
Is our memory short lived then.Do we remember and cherish moments just of the recent past.
Maybe this is the reason people abandon their parents of 25 years for a love of two years or a lover of 2 years for a recent liking of few days.
At every stage of life we keep trying to build up a mansion of hope , of perfectness and flawlessness.We keep planning for the future for things to seem good and appropriate forgetting what we have and what we had is worth treasuring.
The best moments in life are never planned.Its only when they pass you realize there could have been nothing better than this.

Rearranging the arranged

The crimson skyline, the chirping birds, the chilly breeze, the chaste and pristine trees ……….. My grumpiness disappeared and I embraced the picturesque early winter morning with open arms.

The journey was a good 30 km drive to reach Siddhivinayak Mandir to meet not just Ganpati but my prospective husband and in laws. The boy’s parents had chosen a specific muhuratam and a specific venue considering the planetary positions of all the celestial objects that seem to have no business but make this alliance work at the crack of dawn. There is a strange thing about these planets .They position themselves for an auspicious endeavor at all peculiar times. Shubh muhuratams at as early as 3:30 am only result in half of the people bunking your wedding or sleepy and puffy faces in the wedding albums.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt brushes of the comb running over my hair. My mom asked me to do my hair, fix my dupatta and smile. ‘Smile so that it reaches your eyes just don’t just elongate your lips’ said my mom with a ‘this is how marriages happen in India’ expression. I returned a fake smile with ‘I belong to the DDLJ generation’ expression.

We got down from the car and proceeded towards the temple’s entrance. The expected people finally arrived. “Hi I am Dev ‘, he said as he extended his hands towards me. His name made more sense with the tall temple monument standing behind us.

We started moving inside the temple.’ Walk straight and look tall’, my mom whispered. ‘Look tall’?

Before I could say something, my mom continued ‘They called to meet in a temple so that you don’t camouflage your actual height with those heels’.

I wondered if the same amount of calculations and brainstorming was involved in concluding the black hole information paradox or the wave particle duality of light.

After the darshan we proceeded to a nearby coffee shop. Topics on the table comprised of the weather, traffic in Mumbai , Modi Government’s report card and a sudden ‘what are your hobbies , beta’. ‘Hobbies ? ’ I exclaimed .My mom stared at me. I wanted to tell her that my 10 hours 6 days a week job doesn’t come with the luxury of a hobby. Noticing my silence, my dad said , ‘ Beta what do you do in your free time is what Aunty wants to know’. ‘Sleep’ was my prompt reply. I giggled and so did the boy. I could notice elements of Vocal variety in his laughter. My mom ‘s slight under the table pinch made me realize that there is something called a generation gap afterall .’Persuade with power’ was never this real.

‘She is good with painting, she can sing and dance .She cooks too.’ my mom faked my bio.

‘What cuisines’, asked the future mother in law with an ex masterchef winner composure.

‘Indian , Chinese, italian’ was my mom’s reply.

‘Chai , maggi and bread’ is what my mom meant actually in that order.

I lost interest in the conversation.

It was time to leave.’ We will see you soon beta’ were the parting lines of Dev’s mom. ’when why how’ was written all over my face. ’Dev beta give your phone number to her and take hers. You people should talk now’.

We got into our car and I asked my dad, ‘What just happened?’

‘Things seem positive. Will you get leaves in December or you have a rollout planned in that month as well?’ replied my mom.Is this happening for real?

I told my parents that I could not marry a person whom I did not talk too even in person . I had Dev’s number. I texted him saying that I needed to talk to him and know him before deciding the venue and dresses for the wedding. ‘That’s rational and that is how it should be. Let’s talk and meet for a couple of times and then decide.’ he replied.

I was relieved and we started chatting to decide on one of the most critical decisions of our lives’.

I wonder why and how we still decide on such momentous topics of life going by the way how things appear to be.

Be it marriage or any other decision of your life, the reason should never be the appearance or projection but a thorough analysis of pros and cons basis your judgment, choices and needs. In any kind of alliance, the involved parties should mutually decide and agree upon even if it takes a fair amount of time to conclude. As the prime rule of Software Development life cycle says, a fair amount of time spent on analysis and design will save you the time and efforts spent in code fixes and maintenance.

It is better to take your time, analyze and then decide rather than decide and then spend time on analyzing what went wrong.

It’s been two months and I and Dev are still analyzing or as we call it ‘discovering each other ‘