The Shadow Lover

You are the sky to my earth
You are the rain to my pond
You are the ocean to my river
You are the cloud to my sun

You are the one I seek
In a quest that goes deep
When I am awake or asleep
Whether at home or in the street



When I hear your voice within
Ever so fast my heart beats
Like a flippant, fleeting vision
You slip before I can reason

Distracted by the forms around
I grab what comes anon
In ephemeral things I think
I find that thing that I seek

Is it too much to ask?
Is revealing yourself such a task?
Must you remain just a shadow?
No form that you could borrow?

To grasp you tightly
To feel your presence
To become one with you
Forever and ever.

The Prized Collection

Paloma glanced at the room, making sure it was spic and span, every object in its place. Her eyes then ran over the various mementos she had collected over the years during her travels. The large African tribal dolls, the Mexican hat on the wall, the miniatures from Thailand, the ivory table - again, from Africa... Juggling, shuffling, remodeling her rooms sometimes to fit in her acquisitions.

When her husband and she divorced a few years ago, she had negotiated hard to get this house with the artifacts. They hadn't fought so hard about the custody of the children even! Building on what she had - how she loved it! She had managed to find a job that helped her maintain her lifestyle. She traveled, collected, displayed them and invited people for parties so that her displays could be admired and envied. Once her children flew the nest, she felt all her restrains breaking. To the world and her friends, it looked as if she were filling the emptiness in her life with travel. But to her, the children had finally vacated the space she needed to explore the world more. Of course she loved them, they were her children, after all! But she could not hang them on walls. Their achievements were modest and sometimes a good excuse to entertain. Now...

The phone rang. "Hi baby!" she said, excited to hear from her daughter.

"How was your trip?" Tapasi asked.

"Great! I got a rare miniature painting that I just hung up near the staircase. You know the space..."

"Yea, yea... I know. I just called to say I maybe coming down next week for a couple of days."

"Oh how wonderful! You haven't seen the ivory box or the sandalwood..."

But her daughter impatiently ended the call. Paloma sighed sadly. Her daughter strangely did not share her excitement for beauty. She hoped at least her daughter-in-law would. After all, after her, it would all pass down to them and she hoped it was to someone who knew the worth of the things she had collected painstakingly.

But that was not to be. The young bride of her son was an outdoors person who traveled light and liked her house furnished simply. Paloma turned to her daughter, trying to get her excited, telling her of the money she spent on each piece, where she bought them, how she knew it was authentic stuff... Paloma hoped Tapasi was able to appreciate the time and effort each piece cost her.

When she breathed her last, her thoughts were for her possessions. Would they be taken good care of?

"This is like a museum!" Nethra, the daughter-in-law said as Paloma's children and their spouses sat around to discuss the next move. "Selling it is the only way out."

"But who will buy? Are they really worth it?" Veer, Paloma's son asked.

"How many times I told mom not to just keep getting things! I told her we have our own stuff to worry about, but she insisted it was for us! Let's just divide them and then do the best that we can!" Her voice broke as she remembered her mother's pride in her purchases, but frustration at being burdened with all this contorted her face.

The discussion continued long into the night, and Paloma's spirit, which lingered awhile, screamed in agony unheard as her callous children treated the artifacts with scant respect. How she wished she could take them with her to her new home! How she wished she could mark this address and be reborn. But already, she was dissolving into nothingness and her memory fading. Only the desire to cling to her acquisitions remained strong.

  

What's in a day?

"Is new year on Dec 13?" my younger one asked, perplexing me completely. Did he mean are we done with 2013 or something else? I nodded mechanically then asked him to repeat the question.

"Is new year on Dec 13?" he asked again, making me laugh.

Oh yes, he figured it out in a few seconds but I was amazed at how completely disconnected he was from the date. Was it because he was on vacation and doesn't need the dates?

Really, what do we need dates for? I hardly feel a day older than I did a few years ago (not from the day I was born. Of course, I have grown since but not like every year, every minute!). Unless there is a deadline or a flight to catch, the date and time all are relatively insignificant (okay, okay, there are the birthdays and anniversaries to remember). And then, deadlines are artificial pressures we create to add excitement to some of our lives and drag others down - life will not end if an upgraded version of a particular technology is not released on a particular day. And emergencies do not announce their date of arrival.

So let's just enjoy this day as any other - the sunshine, the cold, the rain, the day the night... Let's just enjoy every day.

Slow and Sure

"Madam, your brother and you shared a close bond?" the police inspector spoke with due respect.

Meena nodded, wiping tears from her red eyes. "Even after I married, he continued to live with me. He was like my son," she said, her voice breaking.

"He came into a lot of money, which he has bequeathed to you...?" he asked, his eyes keener.

She nodded. "Yes, he told me that. I had fallen in hard times a few years ago. A year or two later, he said he made money from some deal that had gone well. That is many years ago. Then, when his health started failing, he told me he had willed it all to me."

"And that was...when?"

"Oh, maybe five years ago..."

"By then your husband had passed away? You didn't move in with your brother?"

She shook her head. "I have fond memories of this place."

"Your brother's house was more comfortable..." the policeman lead her on.

She shook her head firmly. "I have too many things I am attached to here. I didn't care for his wealth."

"So what do you plan to do with what you have inherited?"

"Charity. I have something of my own that will see me through life."

The policeman looked at her sceptically, and yet, seeing her simple dignity, he could not suspect her for long. He got up finally, inclining his head respectfully, and left. No motive here. The neighbours vouched for the close relationship the siblings shared. The night before the brother, Mangesh, had died, she had come as usual, made him comfortable, cooked his dinner and left. He had even limped to the balcony and waved to her. "Life is a cycle, di," he had said and laughed. She had smiled back. "Yes, everything comes back full circle."

It was as usual. But he had died. Of poisoning. No trace of anything anywhere except in his stomach. Who administered it? This loving sister? Some passerby? He had no enemies, his sister vouched. No ghosts from the past, and no one other than the sister had been around him. Even if she was a suspect, there was nothing to prove anything... Maybe suicide. One fatal dose and end of story...

Meena had really given all the money away. She had told him even when he wrote the will. But when a week before Mangesh' death he mentioned he had already written the will, she had again demurred.

Now, she wanted nothing to do with it. It was not meant for her. It was money that would leave her bitter. Money that her husband and she should have enjoyed, that she should have had in her account, that would have been used to treat her husband. But Mangesh had cheated her of what should have come to her. "Folly of the youth," he had said watching her. "At that time, I needed money badly. Your husband told me about the big commission he had got for a deal he had clinched. You both would have put it in FD and watched it grow slowly. I promised him bigger returns and tempted him. He told me not to tell you."

She had tensed as he narrated the incident from so many years ago, when her husband had told her a good deal had turned sour. She had smiled and borne. "You couldn't make good your promise?" she asked, ready to forgive her brother the overconfidence.

He smiled, but continued to watch her. "How do you think I became rich?"

She breathed hard but her smile remained intact. "Why tell me now?"

"What I am giving you is yours. Don't refuse it..."

"What about what you should get?" she had asked after a long pause when she struggled with the feeling of shock that wouldn't go.

He touched her hand and said softly, "I have enjoyed all that I could. Now I am confined to my chair, my home... What can I do with the money?"

She shook her head. Yes, what can you do with obscene money when your body let you down? She nodded, "You are right. You can't do much. But that's not what I meant." She smiled reassuringly. He smiled, relieved to be her little brother again.

Her baby, the one she couldn't forgive... And now, she could never forget.

The poison, mixed with his food. For once, she cleaned the vessels and plates after he finished his meal to wash away all traces of poison. Slow but sure, she was assured by the Internet.

It had turned out to be right.

The Tough Decision

Madan sat staring at the two reports lying on his table - he hadn't intended placing them like that, but subconsciously he had placed them on either side, as if weighing them. One was not a surprise, but delightful still.

Nikesh, his marketing manager - marketing, had pulled off the impossible - what was impossible for others but nothing to him. He had single-handedly signed up four major clients for the products they manufactured. It was a coup, four coups in fact, of sorts. But that was expected of Nikesh - he was a brilliant communicator, a great marketing guy who had risen up the hierarchy very fast and a great charmer who could charm the poison off a snake.

The revenues as a result of bagging these contracts would take the company to the next level. The down the line sales people would be challenged and motivated to achieve more. The production would go up and it was a win-win for all.

Madan had known Nikesh for long, and he knew his Sr. MM was brilliant. He had been planning how to reward this high achiever when the other report - or rather, the note - had been brought in.

In one moment, he felt as if the rug under him had been pulled. Since then, he had been unable to focus on anything, shuffling and unshuffling the two reports. Placing one on top of the other and then pushing them both away.

The success story tasted bitter. For along with it came an accusation that he could not ignore. One of the marketing executives who had helped Nikesh in signing up one of the clients accused Nikesh of not just taking all the credit, but also of gender discrimination and sexual exploitation.

She had clipped together the interactions with the senior management in the client company to prove that she was already pursuing that deal. For the other two, it was only her word against his.

Madan's head reeled. Unable to decide on a course of action, he quietly left for the day and avoided taking any calls. Finally, at night, he called Nikesh - to congratulate him on the sales and then gradually bring up the matter of the complaint.

"Shit!" Nikesh blurted. Madan's heart sank. He was left in no doubt of Nikesh's guilt. Nikesh was pleading, blaming the drinks, the high of achieving the deal closure, the ambiance and all other irrelevant reasons for his unforgivable behaviour.

Suddenly Nikesh stopped speaking. "Madan... I am sorry yaar. I even apologised to that girl and told her not to bring it up to you. I promised to make good..."

"Please, will you stop it?" Madan snapped.

There was a brief silence before Nikesh said, "By the way, remember the multinational you wanted to tap for the niche product we are developing?"

Madan's interest was piqued. "Yes?"

"I am in touch with the Indian head. His boss from the HO is coming next month and he promised to get me a meeting. Of course, that was before..."

Madan sighed. "We will talk about it tomorrow."

As he ended the call, he started seeing dollars and how Nikesh would be able to pull this one too. In less than six months, his company would be a global company.

Next morning, there was only one report on his table. The other one had been shredded and the writer promoted to head her own sales office in a city of her choice.

The hero

"Your dad looks so handsome!" whispered Niharika in her friend Sangeeta's ears. The two giggled.

Sangeeta felt justifiable pride. Even young men paled in front of her middle-aged father. He was tall, trim, smart, his salt and pepper hair kept short. But what made him most attractive was the confidence he oozed. People hung on his words, seeking his views on economic trends; they watched him for fashion trends; they imitated his high-profile lifestyle.

Niharika grinned and said, "I know where I am going to apply for work," and rushed towards her friend's father. "Uncle!"

Sangeeta shook her head, laughing. The two had just completed MBA in finance from a reputed institution. Even she did not think of seeking her father's help for a job - but then, she also had to prove her mettle to him, that she could keep her head over water without his help. Niharika had no such compulsions.

"Is Niharika good?" her father asked her at dinner.

"You mean in her subjects? Yes, she is a rank holder."

"That does not mean much," Shekhar said dismissively. "Anyway, she asked me for a job and I have asked her to apply. I will ask the HR to test her before committing anything."

Sangeeta's heart swelled. Yes, she expected no less; definitely no sentimental nonsense about Niharika being his daughter's friend. She nodded noncommittally. And so, when her friend was selected, she was even more thrilled, glad that her friend had proved herself worthy of it. Now her father need never be ashamed of recommending Niharika for a job.

As a management trainee, Niharika seemed to shine. But she seemed too busy for Sangeeta, who was still hanging around, waiting for an opportunity. And then, she met her friend in a restaurant one evening, her face belying her quick growth at work, from trainee to assistant manager in a matter of months.

"Congrats! I called you, but you never returned my call!" she said accusingly. Niharika smiled but seemed uncomfortable. She got up abruptly and said, "You are meeting someone here? How sad I can't stop to chat! I am in a rush," she excused herself. Sangeeta found it strange, and even felt resentful. After all, Niharika's busy-ness was thanks to her dad!

She sat in a corner and was surprised to see her father walk in through the doors, his eyes scanning the restaurant. He didn't notice her and stared intently at the mobile. Sangeeta called out to him.

He turned, with something akin to shock, but quickly recovered. He walked up to her and after the briefest of conversations, excused himself and left. Sangeeta shrugged. Maybe she was poor company.

She asked her dad that evening how Niharika was. "Your friend?" he asked, sipping whiskey and soda. "How should I know?"

She laughed. "Isn't she still working in your company? Don't act so hoity-toity, dad!" she rebuked him affectionately.

His eyes twinkled. "My managers keep the young girls hidden from me."

But Niharika had a different story to tell. She called Sangeeta the early next morning, asking to meet urgently. She wanted to meet in her house. No one else was there.

Sangeeta was stunned to find her friend in tears. "I am sorry!" Niharika sobbed.

"It's okay... Is it about last evening?" Sangeeta asked.

"About last evening, about all the evenings."

"Hey, no issues! I know you have been busy at work."

"Not so much at work," Niharika said after a brief pause. "But other things."

"Other things?" Sangeeta asked, surprised.

Niharika avoided looking at her. Sangeeta wished she had avoided telling her too.

Initially, it all seemed like fun - being favoured, getting special treatment, even the light flirtation; then it gave her a sense of power, that she was privileged; and then it scared her, the price she had to pay. All the growth and trust came at a cost that she had missed reading in fine print. Flirting had been with the intention of baiting, not the harmless time pass she had imagined it to be. The most powerful man in the organisation did not dole out favours lightly. And when he did, pay up time followed soon after, relentlessly.

But what killed her was not the betrayal of trust, but the hurt she would cause in revealing it to her friend. She had delayed, agonised over it and even decided to slink out of her friend's life forever, till they happened to meet in the very restaurant where she had a rendezvous with the father. It was a moment of truth - of knowing the truth would come out one day as sleaze.

There was no gently way of pulling the mask off the most admired man, of telling his daughter that he could not be trusted within a mile of a pretty girl but to be direct...

Sangeeta slapped her friend and ran from her house. What a bitch! It was Niharika who had admired her father and probably thrown herself on him shamelessly. And now, when her father must have dissuaded her and put her in place, it was all coming out as venom, maligning a respectable man.

She ran into her mother's arms and sobbed. With great difficulty, fearing hurting her mother, she narrated what Niharika had told her, expecting her mother to pooh-pooh it all. She watched her mother's bright eyes dimming and then the glow dying altogether. Her mother pulled Sangeeta to her bosom and held her tightly. "I wished to protect you from this!" Then, moving her back and looking into Sangeeta's eyes, her mother said, "It will be hard at first, but you will learn to live with it."

Sangeeta stared at her mother in disbelief. She felt something die within her.

The Rozabal Line

Ashwin Sanghi's 'Chanakya's Chant' disappointed me in the end. His historical reconstruction was amazing, but the current day political drama lacked something - maybe, a larger purpose.

So I picked up this book - The Rozabal Line - with apprehension. He proved me wrong. With amazing cross linking of events culled from research across online and library sources, he reconstructs a wonderfully plausible story. He links events, words and philosophies across multiple religions with ease and weaves it into a thrilling story of the hunt for proof.

From the word go, this book was unputdownable. But what I loved the most in the end was the answer to the question, are religions bad?

"There is something good to be found in all faiths, Vincent. The problem has never been belief but the deliberate misinterpretation and misuse of it."

I don't remember any controversies surrounding this book, and I am surprised.