The Arranged Marriage- Part I

Kirti closed the door behind her as she entered her room and smiled, joy lighting up her face. Her marriage had been fixed with Sanjeev - a dream she had never dared dream.

Daughter of a popular movie star, her life had been confined to the shadows. Her overprotective father did not want his private life sullied with prying eyes and so Kirti and her younger brother had grown up in a boarding school.

She had met Sanjeev, son of a businessman who financed her father's movies, a few times in all the years she had come home on vacation. She had gone abroad to study and returned just a year ago. She had got a job in a financial institution. There was a function at home, and that was when Sanjeev and she had met each other. He had grown into a handsome and charming man. Their interaction had been minimum, since she was busy helping her mother in playing the hostess.

The next time they had met was at a lunch Sanjeev’s parents had hosted for her family. This time, they had more time together, and Sanjeev had slowly taken over her heart with his wit, intelligence and quiet attention, putting her at ease. She wondered how she had ever considered herself shy and retiring. She had found herself opening up and telling him things some of which she didn’t even know she remembered!

How could she not think of him after that?

But after that, their paths never crossed and she did not seek him out. She was disappointed that nor had he. Sometimes, some word about him trickled in, but was barely enough to quench the thirst. She feared that thirst wouldn’t be quenched even if she had ocean of information. She needed something more, much more.

And now this proposal. Had he initiated it? How her heart fluttered at the thought!

There was to be a formal engagement soon, her father didn’t say when. Kirti waited impatiently for Sanjeev’s call, expecting a teasing tone that wove out dreams of their togetherness.

But the next few days brought only silence. Sanjeev’s mother spoke. His father spoke. He himself remained strangely silent, except for the first call when he spoke to her father and formally told her he looked forward to it.

No… this was not the man she had met the other day. Or this was his way? Was he the conventional, orthodox kinds?

She told her friend Ritu about the engagement hesitantly. It all felt surreal.

"Congrats! What a good catch! And, definitely, he should be glad that it is you and not Neelam."

Kirti frowned. "Neelam?"

Ritu paused, surprised. "You knew, didn't you? Your families are so close!"

Kirti shook her head.

Ritu flicked her wrist dismissively. "Never mind. Neelam is now married, wife of Sikand." Kirti’s frowned deepened. "Owner of the Porch group of hotels."

"Oh!" Kirti said. Was this the reason why Sanjeev had not even got in touch with her? Was he marrying for convenience, to prove a point to Neelam, because he must marry someone? And she was convenient, a catch (too), a good way to score a point?

Her stomach seemed to settle heavily; dreams seemed to float away into nothingness.

Continued: Meeting the Groom - Part II

The Other Side

Miss America is of Indian origin; and this has kicked up a row where some Americans have expressed shock, displaying deep racist attitude. And others have condemned them.

Amidst all this, there was a report that said America leads the way in celebrating Indian beauty.

I feel deeply offended. I know the fetish with fair skin exists in our country. I know girls, and these days boys, also seek remedies to turn their dark skin to fair. But I think it is totally uncalled for to judge the general Indian psyche as being colour obsessed. We have had dusky skin Ms. Indias. We have heroines and people in the public sphere who are not fair. And Rahul Gandhi is not very popular despite his fair skin and half-foreign parentage. If he has any standing, it is because of his Indian ancestry. Okay, that just slipped in.

Why do we forget that foreigners have a fetish for the tanned skin too? For that matter, what about anti-aging!

This is not just about the skin tone. We believe that the recent sex-related crimes have happened because Indian society is repressive and so men give vent to their fantasies by attacking the nearest available, vulnerable women. And if a white skin is within reach, then why not. The implication being, in liberal societies, such crimes are not committed because there is no repression.

Read the Millennium Series, based entirely in Sweden, considered one of the more liberal societies. It is all about sex crimes. I read one very disturbing article about a 16-year-old American girl who had committed suicide because her friends had done graffiti all over her body when she was drunk, taken photographs and spread it on the Internet. Then, of course, there is the case of the girl raped by a football team. And, surprise surprise, these societies too blame the victims!

It happening there does not cancel out what happens here. What I am upset about is the way we think more liberal and open societies do not have such crimes and that somehow India is a potboiler for every evil happening in the world. We oversimplify the issue and so lose perspective. No corrective action works because we are barking up the wrong tree. The intelligentsia is self-critical to the point where only the bad is highlighted.

Everything is not right, I agree, but where did we lose the way? How did the externals become more important than developing the mind and the soul? Why have we lost respect for our work, our education, our elders?

Introspection, connecting with the self - simple practices that will keep us rooted... Can we bring these back in to our lives? Will that be the way forward?

I am a savage, you have a problem?

Death sentence is a mark of barbaric society, say some thinkers. Yes, true. But, we live in a barbaric society. We live in a society where six men not only rape a woman but also brutally maim her internal organs! We live in a society where women think twice before stepping out in the dark in lonely streets, lonely buses, lonely shops, watching their backs forever. We live in a society where even young children of five and below are not spared.

Will death sentence really deter the perpetrators of such crimes, you ask. Right. When the woman was helplessly screaming, were her thoughts about how to reform these men? Do you think such men can be reformed?

When the judge tries the case of Nirbhaya's rape, his duty is to first deal with that. And anything less than death would be unfair for it is not only rape but attempted murder too.

Take the case of the serial rapist in Karnataka who managed to escape from jail despite conviction. he was caught, fine. But may not have been too. Do we want that to happen again with these four men - I wish it were five, for the fifth's age makes no impression on me and the courts have proved they are 'civilised' enough by treating him as a juvenile despite the severity of his crime.

We need reforms. We need to strengthen the legal system. We need to ensure safety for women. We need to teach men to respect women from the time they are young. But all this will take a generation to implement, and that too, only if we continue to remain sincere and diligent.

The ones who are already hardened with time need to know that justice will be swift and merciless. The women need to know that they can go to court and they will not be held responsible for what happens to them. They will need to know that they can shout from the rooftops that they have been violated without being blamed for it.

And that the men will not go scotfree.

A New Cap to Don

My forays into teaching dance have been entirely due to others' efforts. A neighbour wants her daughter to learn; another is my mother's friend and looking for a teacher; a third - here for a short while... Nothing serious, no long commitments. My own work commitments prevented me from considering teaching seriously - I didn't think I would be able to train others for the long term.

Then, a few years ago, a few of my friends and neighbours requested me again. They overcame my resistance saying - Do it it till you can, share what you will.

A few more joined, but I have kept it to bare minimum due to paucity of time and space. Better to train a few well than spread myself thin.

Then suddenly, another opening, again, not for long term, but more formal. An honour to be part of this. Vazhuvoor style of dance is one of the leading forms, with several famous dancers including Vyjayanthimala Bali, Dr. Padma Subramaniam, Kumari Kamala and her sister and my Guru Rhadha coming from this background. All trained under the legendary, Vazhuvoor Ramaiah Pillai.

Now, Vazhuvoor Ramaiah Pillai's grandchildren are starting a dance school to further his legacy, and my guru deemed it fit to recommend my name along with another of her student's to train the students. Check out: http://www.vazhuvoorars.com/ About us page even has a brief bio
about me!

Keep your doors and windows open. You never know when opportunity will take you by surprise.

And, if you know anyone seeking to learn dance, you are welcome. Classes will be held on weekends, in the mornings.

The Whimsical

Soft and smooth

As a balm it soothes

Turning inside out

Cutting like a double-edged sword

Like a chick it falls

Bald and four syllables long

It sprouts the wings of a lore

Slipping from tongue to tongue

Meanings change

Intentions mistaken

A film of confusion

Covers the words spoken

Read the lines

And between them too

Find meanings

Even when not meant so

Sometimes rock solid

Like hammer on nail

Or hard to grasp

Slippery like the eel

Words, elusive words

With your many faces

Your many whims and fancies

Cause many to suffer.

The Eternal Search

From a seed hidden under ground
A tiny shoot shot out
Tentative, unsure
Promise of something new

Will it wither or survive
As it seeks water and light
Reaching out to another branch nearby
Hoping for friendship and some sunshine

The many paths they can take
Their desire forever unslaked
Intertwined like inseparable vines
Sometimes just the touch so benign

Or will it be harshly rejected
To be left alone, dejected
To culminate in a point nowhere
Hanging loose forever and ever

Perhaps another one more kind
Will wrap its fingers warmly from behind
Embracing the little one in its fold
To save it from miseries untold

The path of relationships so uncertain
Sometimes taking one up to heavens
Sometimes showing one infernal hell
Knotted, with many stories to tell

And yet the little branch seeks
All its life for one who speaks
The language of love, oh so sweet
To walk hand in hand till the eternal sleep.

Loving the Image

"East or west, mommy is the best" declared my daughter. Touched, I smiled. "West or east, mommy is a beast," she added, quite anticlimactically. Then she hastened to correct it but got stuck when the younger one piped in, "West or east, mommy is cheese!"

I notice a sudden sprout in demonstrativeness in an otherwise self-contained child. "Mommy, my head is aching," she rushed into my arms. I held her and kissed her forehead. She chimed, "Mother's hug is a medicine; mother's kiss is a medicine..."

I wondered... I am as small or limited as always. I am as susceptible to the vagaries of physical and emotional swings as before. Patience is in short supply, but suddenly there are vast hidden sources of anger that come within reach at the drop of a hat. I am not so lavish on the 'cuddle' or 'showering love' department. I am 'too busy' to join them in their games, and prefer a book at other times to their nonsensical babble. I am on the lookout for their lazy disobedience and try to keep them on their toes (unsuccessfully, of course) so that they turn out to be 'fine, well-rounded, helpful individuals'.

I try to see from her eyes and all I see is this larger-than-life image she creates of me in her mind. The image that she projects on me, making me more loving and lovable. I see myself in her, and my mother in me.

I know this image may take a beating as she enters her teens, and then grow large again as she faces the world alone. She will see the original for what it is, one day. But if even then she can say, 'East or west...' I may not have done such a bad job after all.