The Wail

"Sorry, I just couldn't get away earlier," Suparna apologised as she entered Radha's home, sighing and breathless.

"I don't know why you kill yourself like this!" Radha replied smugly. She handed her two-year-old boy to the nanny.

Suparna eyed the neat-looking woman and felt a pang of jealousy. "Where did you find her?"

"A friend referred. She has been here a week now, and what a relief!" Radha exaggerated dramatically.

Suparna reclined on the diva watching Sameer resist being carried in. "Mama," he said plaintively, but Radha just rolled her eyes and faced Suparna blocking her son off. "He has to get used to her, of course... But I think he will in a few days." Suparna looked sceptical. Radha looked at her pityingly. "Who is taking care of your girl?"

"Manoj... He finally managed to find the time. Of course, he cribbed. He wanted us to spend time together, but our evening-out had been so long pending... Don't you think you should check on Sameer?" she asked, unable to bear the wail from the other room.

Radha got up and picked up her hand bag. "Let's move. Teething trouble, but I am sure he will settle more easily if I am not around."

Suparna frowned uncertainly, hesitant to follow her friend out. "Are you sure? Maybe you should wait for him to settle down, sleep or something?"

"You know what your problem is?" Radha affectionately put an arm around her friend and dragged her out. "You fret too much and your hubby puts too many ideas into your head! What's wrong with employing a nanny if it makes your life easier? You don't have to kill yourself just because you are a mother, you know? Get a life man! We have been planning this for weeks!"

"Well," Suparna's eyes glittered with resentment. "It is not as if you were free either! If I remember right, you found the previous one stealing money!"

"Well, there are bound to be risks! You walk on the road, you may die. But you don't stop walking, do you?"

Suparna shrugged. "It is a matter of another year and a half at the most..."

"18 months! I would die if all I had to do was watch my baby, much as I love him!"

"Sigh! Yes, sometimes I do lose my cool. But I am also quite apprehensive. What if the woman is not trustworthy? Girl children are so vulnerable, aren't they?"

Radha burst out laughing as she started the car. "I am so relieved I don't have to worry about that, though I don't what you are worried about! You are after all going to employ a female... So...?" She raised an eyebrow.

Suparna shrugged, wondering why she tended to nod her head when Manoj pointed out the drawbacks of a nanny. Maybe, deep within, she really didn't want someone else playing with her child's life. She looked at Radha and admired her cool. What an obsessive mother she herself was! Even when leaving her daughter with Manoj, she had started writing so many instructions and then given up, hoping Manoj would know what to do.

The wailing, though far behind, bothered her. She really must stop obsessing.

*
"Hi Suparna! Want to go out for lunch? My mom is here and I can do with an afternoon off..." Radha called Suparna a month later, sounding very light hearted.

"Oh! I didn't know your mother was coming!" Suparna replied, genuinely surprised.

"Sameer has been acting strangely. He refuses to use the toilet, and you know he was potty trained. He is giving the nanny hell, and oh, he is giving me hell! I haven't slept in a week. My mom came a couple of days ago, and what a relief! She is helping me settle Sameer again."

Suparna remembered the same dramatic tone she had heard from Radha a month ago. She remembered the wailing child and her own misgivings. But before she could say anything, she heard someone call Radha urgently. Must be her mother. "One sec," Radha told her and holding the received away, called back to her mom. "What ma?"

"Come here! Look at this!" her mother sounded very scared.

"Suparna, will call you in a minute," Radha said, worried and scared at her mother's expression.

She followed her mother quickly to where Sameer was whimpering. "Come baby," the granny crouched and opened her arms. The boy toddled up to her slowly. Radha frowned. "Has he polio?" she whispered in fear.

Her mother did not reply but just hugged the boy to her. "You are hurt?" she asked gently. "Show mama..."

The boy lay down obediently and the grandmother gently parted his legs. Radha was shocked to see a weal screaming at her in red. "How did it happen?"

The boy's eyes looked at her in panic. The grandmother raised a hand to silence her daughter and said softly to the child. "How did this happen, baba?"

"Aunty..." the boy said and covered his organ with his fist.

Radha sat down devastated. How had she not known. The wail, the wail... it had become so part of routine, every time the damn woman changed his dress. She frowned - she changed his dress almost five to six times a day. He refused to let that woman take him to the toilet! He fought hard every time that woman carried the boy in her arms. He wailed in his dreams, in fact, almost throughout the day.

And she, Radha, the mother, had gritted the teeth and riled at the wailing. Where had she been? What had she been doing?

She had trusted another woman, a mother of two, to bring up her child too. While she sat back to get some me time.

She dissolved in tears when her mother's sharp voice pulled her short. "Get hold of yourself. Wash your face, smile and pick up that child. He needs you more than anyone else right now."

Dream Lover

My head on your lap
Your hand on my head
You take me gently
To the world of oblivion

My eyes closed
My breath even
My limbs loose
My mind on leave

Drifting, floating
Safe in your arms
In a world of our own
Untouched by harm

You remain true
Till I surrender to you
Angry when anxiety
Claims me for its own

Don't desert me
When worries beset me
For in you I find
True love that affects me

Love me, kiss me
Heal me, cure me
Sleep, my dream lover
Embrace me, forever and ever.

The Conversation: Part IV

Getting Engaged - Part III

Meeting the Groom - Part II

The Arranged Marriage - Part I

What does a rock feel like? Just as she felt right now? When the breeze failed to cool you? When the blood froze? When you forgot to breathe and stood stock still like this? When the gaze was fixed on a pinpoint between his two eyes and just along the nose?

“I am sorry,” a voice whispered. Was it he or she? His eyes held hers captive and she felt the solid thawing. “Then why?”

He shrugged and looked away. She felt cold and shivered, though the night was warm. “I told my father you deserved better, but he thinks I am the best around, naturally. So I tried talking to your father and he wanted to know if you were not good enough for me.”

Something pricked her heart, but she didn’t know what. Maybe it was the ‘great catch’ bit.

“I will tell my father I don’t want to marry you,” she said with determination.

He looked at her sharply. “You don’t?”

She bit her lower lip in agony. “I don’t want you to be unhappy,” she said finally, unable to bear the pain. She was mortified to feel tears running down her cheek and hoped that he wouldn’t notice in the darkness.

“Why would I be unhappy marrying you! It is you I fear hurting,” he said energetically.

“Why then…? Hurt me… how?” Her voice trembled. Nothing he said could hurt her. “Neelam?”

“Neelam?” he asked then shook his head. Sighing deeply, he said, “No, of course not.” She waited silently, not wanting to disturb his thoughts. “I don’t know how to say it… Only last year I discovered I have a four-year-old son.”

“What!” she couldn’t help exclaiming.

He didn’t look at her. “Deepa and I had been going steady in college but we broke up sometime soon after finishing because she went abroad to study. We met a couple of times but long distance didn’t work for me. We lost touch after we broke up. Last year, I happened to meet a girl when returning from London. She was very young, maybe in college, and had a small boy with her. I helped her with her luggage and completing the travel formalities. We ended up in seats next to each other and easily slipped into conversation, telling us little insignificant details about each other. When I mentioned my college, she got curious and asked me if I knew Deepa – that was her sister’s name. I am ashamed to think that I didn’t have to courage to say I knew her well – but that we were batchmates. She wanted to know if I knew who Deepa went around with, because this child was that man’s, born soon after our break up. I was stunned, speechless and a coward. I didn’t have the courage to admit I was the man, that that child was mine. I evaded answering, shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. When we got off, I just rushed as if I had another plane to catch. She thrust a paper in my hand, her address… But I dropped it somewhere without a thought.”

A heavy silence lay between them. She stood uncertainly, a part of her wanting to reach out and touch him and the other part, turn around and run away. Where was this headed?

“I became distracted, that boy’s face bothering me. I had carried him, talked to him and try as hard as I could, it wouldn’t go away. Neelam and I started having problems, and finally we broke up. But even that did not bother me as much as losing that boy did.”

Kirti stepped closer and whispered. “You are trying to locate that boy now?”

He stood still. “Yes… I remembered where she lived in London and also the college she had studied in. I made several false starts…” He turned to her. “The last time we met… I had just returned from one such futile trip. I was frustrated and tired. I am sorry, I know it didn’t go off well.”

She looked down, avoiding his eyes. A dull ache hurt her chest. He touched her chin and gently lifted her face. “My parents don’t know about this. I wish I had had the time to talk to you properly. But I returned only last night, after finally meeting Deepa’s sister and…my son.”

A drop rolled down her cheek and fell on his index finger.

“What do you plan to do now,” she managed to ask, before he could pity her.

“Bring the child, be his father.”

“Oh!” she said flatly.

“Tell me now,” he asked when she did not say anything more, “do you still wish to marry me?”

The dull ache turned to anger. “No,” she said, turned and walked away, trembling. She felt his eyes on her back. But he had left her with little choice.

Getting Engaged - Part III

Meeting the Groom - Part II

The Arranged Marriage - Part I

Of course, she did not expect him to call her in the interim, and yet, isn’t hope what everyone lives by?

Her friend Ritu helped her dress up for the occasion, teasing her all the while. Kirti tried to grin and bear, but her friend knew her better.  “What is this! The bride to be looking so pensive! Where is the glow?” she asked bluntly at one point, contradicting others who streamed in and claimed Kirti had the ‘bridal look’.

“Just tensed,” Kirti evaded.

“You must be too. What a great catch!”

Kirti’s eyes flashed as she asked tartly, “Why, am I not one?”

Ritu looked surprised. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then stop saying it as if getting married to Sanjeev is a stroke of luck I don’t deserve.”

Ritu placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder and said, “Is everything alright? I have never heard you so angry all my life.”

Kirti took a deep breath in. “Sorry, no, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. But the way people go on… As if Sanjeev is some god and I should be eternally grateful.”

Ritu’s eyebrows knitted. “Well… aren’t you?” Catching a sharp look from Kirti, she said quickly, “I mean, if you were in love with him, that’s how it would be.”

Kirti was silent, pensive. “I was,” she whispered.

She would be called away any second, but Ritu pushed her against the wall and asked softly, “Was? Why was?”

Kirti told Ritu about the dinner, the absence of calls…

Ritu laughed. “Stupid you. That’s all!”

“What do you mean, that’s all?”

Ritu pushed her in front of the mirror and went about straightening Kirti’s lehenga and dupatta. “It is to be expected, of course. You have seen Neelam, right? Not easy, is it, to forget her.”

Kirti found nothing reassuring in that. “And what are you smiling for?”

“I am sure it is only to be expected that he still may have some feelings for her. The question is, are you going to let him off so lightly?” Her eyes twinkled and she winked at Kirti through the mirror. Kirti blushed and despite the tears glistening in her eyes, smiled.

As she stood next to Sanjeev a while later, she looked so radiant that a little bit of her lustre reflected off Sanjeev’s face too. The sharp angles of his grave face were blunted by an inexplicable softness. When she looked at him with uncertain eagerness as he slipped the ring through her slender finger, he looked just a bit startled, as if confused by the question they gently posed.

It was hard for her – as if trying to get a response from the wall. Womanly wiles were not her way, but she was learning fast. In the rush of the evening, she felt compelled to win him over.

But as the guests left one by one, she realised slowly that battling for his attention was not the purpose of her life. That she wanted some reciprocation, some effort from his side too. Was an evening too short a time to expect it? But it wasn’t just an evening, right?

She felt tired and confused. She drifted to the balcony, hoping for some quiet time.

“Quite an evening,” a voice broke through her reverie. Startled, she turned and made out the figure of Sanjeev leaning on the far side of the balcony. He was in the shadows, and she wondered if he had been hiding from people. There had been too much ribbing, as was usual, and it had got overwhelming as some bawdy numbers were belted out after the ceremony. A bit filmy, but to be expected from the actor-father of the bride-to-be.

She giggled uncomfortably. “Yes… Tiring…”

He looked towards the lawn and remained silent. Her heart beat fast. “Sanjeev,” the name rushed out of her mouth. “You… you don’t seem very happy.”

He looked at her quickly and glanced away. “Really? I am sorry if I seem preoccupied…” She waited and almost gave up hope of his saying anything more when he chuckled and said, “I am sorry to disappoint you. You would have liked to be wooed…”

“Well… a little bit of conversation would have been nice, yes,” she said weighing her words carefully, watching his face keenly.

“I am sorry to disappoint,” he said again.

“Sanjeev… Can I ask you something?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Do I have the freedom not to answer?” he asked trying to sound light-hearted. But deep down, he hoped he had that freedom.

“Are you really happy about… us?” she asked in a rush, not even pausing to hear his question.

He turned to look at her. He opened his mouth and closed it again. The silence weighed heavily on her. She desperately wished he would answer.

And then, when she heard his answer, she wished he had not.

“No,” his voice was soft but cut through the soft night like a knife.

Continued The Conversation - Part IV

Meeting the Groom - Part II

Contd from The Arranged Marriage - Part I

"Papa, aren't Sanjeev and I going to meet each other?" she asked her father that evening.

"Why beta, if you want to, you can, of course! Don't you trust your father?"

She shook her head and smiled. Mistaking it for shyness, he laughed. "Of course, you want to meet your future husband? He is a nice boy, well-behaved. I will invite them home, don't worry," her father assured her.

"No! I mean... I..." 

He relished watching his daughter squirm as she struggled for words. "You want to meet him alone?" he asked gently, finally relenting. She nodded glad that she had inherited some acting talent from him. "And, can I call?" Her father raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Her fingers trembled as she dialled his number. "Hello?" she heard his deep voice and felt her heart flip.

"Hi Sanjeev, this is Kirti." Please don't ask Kirti who, she prayed as she noticed the pause.

"Yes, Kirti, how are you?" he asked pleasantly but the doubt in his voice was evident.

"Mmm... Sanjeev," was it this Sanjeev her wedding had been fixed with? "I was just wondering... since we are to marry, could we meet?"

This time, the silence was painful. "I am sorr..." she started when he said simultaneously, "Sure. You had a place in mind?"

"Porch," she said and heard the quick intake of his breath.

"Why?" he asked finally, after yet another long pause.

"Nice place, I heard... But if you prefer something else..."

"No, it's okay." A finality. I will face it kind of an attitude. She felt cheap and admired his fortitude. "When?"

They agreed on Saturday, 7 pm.

She sat in front of the mirror, debating between dressing up or toning down. Finally, she decided to keep it simple. She wanted to marry him, but only at any cost.

He was there, in a black full sleeve shirt on light blue jeans, his eyes fixed on the menu card. He smiled pleasantly as she walked up to him. She looked around, wondering if Neelam Sikand would be there - as she was said to be on Saturdays around this time. What was this death wish, perversion?

As she scanned the menu, her heart beating fast at the proximity to Sanjeev, he waited silently. Say something, she begged. "Hello Neelam," he said, and Kirti became aware of another presence.

"Unexpected visit, Sanjeev?" Neelam said as she glanced at Kirti and their eyes met. Neelam looked stunning despite her professional attire.

"My fiancée wanted to try this place out. And since you have been asking me to make a visit," he said coolly and shrugged. There was no challenge in his voice, and yet he seemed to be daring her to something.

Neelam looked at him steadily, then turned to Kirti and said, "Have you decided yet?"

Kirti frowned. "About marrying Sanjeev?" she asked, perplexed, eliciting a laugh from Neelam and a stunned look from Sanjeev.

"I meant the menu. But looks like the two of you are not of one mind about the marriage!" Then she said smoothly, ignoring the embarrassment on Kirti's face. "Try our sizzlers. And, the welcome drinks are on the house." She left them abruptly and yet not seeming rude.

Kirti looked at Sanjeev stricken. "I am sorry, I misunderstood.”

“Was that intentional?”

Kirti shook her head. “Just the context… I misunderstood… Who was she?”

Sanjeev raised an eyebrow as they sat down. “You don’t know?”

Kirti looked at him with her eyes wide and shook her head slightly, as if wondering if she should.

He was silent for a minute. “She is the owner of this restaurant.”

“Oh, and a good friend of yours? You mentioned she had been inviting you…”

“Not a good friend.” Then he clamped shut.

“I am sorry if this was not the right place…”

“Please decide your order, Kirti. Neelam… or this place… doesn’t merit a discussion.”

“What does?” she made bold to ask.

He looked at her sharply. “Meaning?”

“What merits a discussion?” she asked, riled now. He glared at her silently. She felt nervous now, unhappy about the anger that had cropped up between them so unexpectedly. She took a few deep breaths. “Sorry,” she said, not trusting her voice.

He shrugged.

The evening seemed to drag. His ill-humour continued and she gave up her feeble efforts, defeated.

That night, she was sure the wedding would be called off, but surprisingly, there were no developments – not that day, not in the days to come. Preparations for the engagement went on as usual.

Continued: Getting Engaged - Part III

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?