The Cocoon - Season 1 Episode 3

Vijay introduced me to his friend, Meera . She got down from the car and hugged me like we were long lost friends. I looked at her closely ….. nah I didn’t know her ………maybe she’s too friendly.

I took the back seat of the car. The usual Mumbai rains , traffic , work , weekends conversation started.

Meera was Vijay’s college friend and they kept referring to incidents like how one day on a friend’s birthday they drove to Lonavla and how once at a club a friend was drunk and he had made a fool of himself and how they cheated during the college exams and how she likes fish and he hates it etc etc.

I was bored to death. To add to it they started conversing in Tamil. Wow …that’s what I needed.

I rolled down the window. Drops of water dashed on my face. The breeze caressed my hair… Oh I didn’t want anyone now.

We stopped at a dhaba on the roadside because Meera wanted to have tea.

“I don’t drink tea ……….or coffee”

“Whatttttttt ………bournvita then? “ Meera asked with a smirk.

I sat in the car while they enjoyed the tea outside.

I wanted to get down take a taxi and go back home. But that would’ve been rude I thought and stopped.

The rains had subsided .We halted at a beach.

Meera was too tired and wanted to speak on phone so she stayed back in the car.

Vijay asked me to get down .I wanted to get down and run away. He wouldn’t have noticed anyways. Meera was with him. Why would he care about my presence?

We walked towards the sea…. The crimson sky, the grey scattered clouds and the sun peeping from them made me forget my boredom. If I were a painter I would’ve loved to splash these colors on my canvas but since I wasn’t I thought of taking out my phone and capturing the moment. Vijay walked behind me with hands in his pockets.

“Hey wait let me click from my phone”

I looked at his iphone and my Moto G. “Show off” I wanted to say.

“Go Ahead” I said.

He started clicking and showed me the pictures…. Oh I looked good………maybe it was the phone.

I offered to click his too.

“Wait let’s take a selfie “

He put his arms around me and we looked into the phone screen.

Oh boy ….he has his girlfriend in the car and he’s posing with me…..why did I even agree to come along.

“Let’s call Meera too “

“No she doesn’t like being clicked”

“Which girl doesn’t like being clicked?” I said in a condescending tone.

“The girl who tore photographs of her wedding ceremony last night”

“Oh……” I wanted to take my words back. For all this while I was being hostile towards her. I looked at her with sympathy now.

He went on to narrate how she was married to a guy in US , they had differences and what followed was a bitter divorce , a month of depression in the US and her arrival in India last week which has been full of ugly stares and dejection by her relatives and society.

I wanted to go to her and hug her tight.

I kept looking at Vijay with sad eyes. He was gazing into the sea, sky and beyond.

“She is my very close friend….One of the bests I have…..She was with me when you messaged. When she saw your message she wanted me to go with you. I insisted her to come along. She was reluctant because she knew my feelings for you and wanted us to spend some time together. Maybe that’s why she didn’t come down here”

He didn’t realize what he had uttered in a whiff of emotion.

I was still at Meera’s story.

A few seconds later it dawned upon both of us. We looked into each other’s eyes and smiled.

The Cocoon - Season 1 Episode 2

The days which followed were usual with my unusual behavior of deliberately keeping away from him.

Not because he was repulsive or seemed uninteresting now but I was unsure of my feelings for him.

Days passed and the feelings too.

It was June end..........the time of the year when Mumbai is relieved of the heat waves. It was raining. I grabbed my book and coffee and sat on the window pane. I don't like rains much but the freshness which it brings to the trees and flowers was what caught my attention. I kept staring in the oblivion and at my phone occasionally. I started browsing through my watsapp contact list. I stopped scrolling at Vijay's number. I clicked on the chat .

Our last chat was two months back when he had sent me a message at 1 in the night .” Code deployed. We tested in production...no issues as of NOW :D :D”

I had replied with a simple “k” not “OK “ neither a “Okay” just a “k”.

He would be thinking of me as a snob.

But I wasn't one.

I thought of initiating a conversation............

“hey wassup”

nah...........that would seem too intentional.

I looked for some jokes to start off as a ice breaker but none seemed to suit the first time conversation.

I then started looking for links to read in other watsapp groups.

“10 reasons why SRK is the king of bollywood”

“20 reasons why you should marry a Punjabi”

“10 places to visit before you die”

“10 reasons why Manchester United is the best Club ever”

Oh yes...he would like this.

I pinged him the link.

He was online.

Within seconds he replied , “Hey that's something.....Its mah fav club...Which club do you follow?”

Toastmasters Club I wanted to say but he was certainty looking for a soccer club.

I googled and said “ Barcelona “

Before he could start a discussion , I pinged “ The weather is so good....Feel like going for a drive”

“Yes indeed …. You want some company?” he rpelied

oopsss I had said that to divert his attention from the usual Man U v/s Barcelona debate that would've followed but I ended up sending him signals that I was interested in him.,.....Yet again.........

After much thought I replied with a yes.

He offered to pick me up at 1. I dressed to perfection and waited for him.

His car stopped in front of my building. He rolled down his window. Sitting beside him was a pretty girl.

Had I too eagerly agreed?

Was he trying to show off in front of the girl probably his girl friend?

Was I the side kick then?

The Cocoon - Season 1 Episode 1

10 in the morning , the time of the week when you start questioning the whole 7 days cycle of 5 working days and just two resting days. When the very obvious question of “How was the weekend” is followed by more obvious answer ' Usual...Just relaxed at home” and when the the 1st and 5th day of the week seems light years away.....Yes it was the dreaded Monday morning at work.

I was browsing through my email..........”Job Notification : Success” , “Timesheet Compliance ”,”Internal IT Survey “......all of these should directly appear in the trash folder. They seem too unimportant for the inbox. I was looking for the “Monday Motivator “ mails , a practice our organization started to pep up employees like me who strongly believe that Monday 1st half and Friday 2nd half should be declared as holidays officially. Its better to utilize one's time in other endeavors than pretending to work for sure. Well no one appreciated the idea , so yes Monday Motivator it was with short stories and quotes citing the importance of hard work , success bla bla bla.I couldn't find it in my inbox this time. They should have adopted my idea. The least it could ensure was sustainability.

I filled my bottle , said good morning to a dozen people and sat on my desk sipping tea and carrying a sincere look on my face. All I was trying to do is camouflage my bored and sleepy expression.

Update Folder : Send/ Receive ….......I did it multiple times.........

“ Sweets at Vijay's desk 6th floor Cubicle#56 <NNTO>”

Yet another marriage over the weekend .

“Esha lets us to Vijay's desk”

“ Why???? Is there a new requirement discussion?”

“No , there is a mail........”

Before I could finish , she interrupted ,” Has he attached the functional specification document? These BA s get most of the work done verbally........We need to do away with the trend “ She kept speaking.

“There are some sweets at his desk....I guess he got engaged or something”

Esha looked at the mail in my inbox .” No I don't think its for his marriage...He is too …..........”

“Un-Marriageable ?” , I chuckled at my own joke.

“No …....he isn't the early marriage types....He would be hardly 24”

Well I was 23. I have plans of getting at 24 and kids at 27...........Ah but that's my story.

We went to Vijay's desk. It was probably my first informal interaction with him. If not first it was the only one I remembered. I took a dairy milk and congratulated him only to discover that he was not engaged but had bought a brand new Honda City. A car at 23........I looked at him again. His desk was neatly arranged with a Manchester United desk calendar, a photo frame with a group photo with his friends , a Puma bag and oh yes....an iphone.....I looked at his name card on his desk “VIJAY SWAMINATHAN”.

Wasn't he supposed to be the brand ambassador of geekiness and follower of ' Simple living high standards of coding” concept. I looked at him closely …....He was fairer than me. He had no oil in his head.........Oh I was being racist.....

I returned to my desk. I was still thinking about him and how he was different from the stereotyped opinions I had and why had I never noticed him.

The task bar flashed....It was Vijay....

“Hey...wassup”

<Yes tell me.....<backspaces> > I was being too professional I thought.

<Nothing....just bored> But what if he was pinging me for some requirement discussion. I was in no mood to work.<backspaces>

“Hey” I replied.

“ Thanks for coming over.....I never thought someone from the development team likes to enter the BA ODC on a Monday morning “

“Oh I am daring enough :D”

“Brave Girl I must say”

This was the longest conversation we had in one year of working together.

The other conversations mostly ended with “ I will check with the team and get back to you “ or “ Let me explain you the BRD once you are free”

Was he equally bored of the Monday morning as I was or was going to him to congratulate him a gesture of doing the unobvious or even worse..........did he notice me noticing him................

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.