The Signs of Prosperity

Rakesh Sinha eyed his son Sujay with pride. He was just 30, and he had already bought a flat in an upmarket locality. "Papa, you enter the house first with ma," Sujay said and his wife Chandni nodded with a smile.

Rakesh and Kamla entered the house - feeling overwhelmed that their eldest son at least had achieved what they themselves couldn't in all these years. Rakesh had worked for 45 years in a government department, rising up the ranks but still only modestly. And it had showed in the way they lived.

Rakesh's eyes brimmed as he saw the sparkling new home. Dull walls, leaky roofs, makeshift homes - that is what they had managed with most of their lives. In the initial years, he had to take care of his parents and siblings. Then, what he earned barely met the needs of his growing children. Though loans started becoming available when he was in his late forties, he could not afford the EMI. They had shifted from one rented house to another, sometimes changing children's school to suit the locality, sometimes the house closer to where they studied. They had to be happy with the simple joys life offered. And the greatest relief was when a loan was repaid.

Luckily, he had been able to give his children good education - or rather, they were able to make the most of what was available and all were in good jobs, earning well... And here was proof that their sacrifices had paid rich dividends.

He felt a tremor in his heart every time he thought of the loan that Sujay had taken, but his son and daughter-in-law had assured him that the repayment terms were very reasonable and easy. "In your times, being indebted to anyone was a shame... Now every one has at least one EMI to pay," Sujay assured his father.

"Times are changing," Rakesh agreed. His friends seemed to have similar stories to tell. In fact, they were envious of the current trend. "If only we had had this facility! We could have done so much for our children!"

The Beginning, The End

Why did I arrive crying?
What did I hate leaving?
What comforts was I missing?
What future was I fearing?

Out of Depth

Alone, his back to the world, Mari preferred to dip deep into the pool of his emotions rather than have the noise disturb his peace.

What would he like, truly? Why, the view of the hills on one side, sloping down into green valleys with a silent lake in their amidst, where he could fish when he wished in peace.

The Spirit of Music

Saveri sat at her aunt's feet, watching with awe as the elder lady, with her eyes closed, strummed the tanpura and matched her voice to the tonal sound. Even that fundamental element of music emanating from that divine voice was perfect. Saveri opened her mouth and winced at the harsher sound that came from her own throat. Albeit in the right pitch, it lacked finesse. She tried to subdue the harshness by constricting the throat.

Her aunt looked at her kindly. "Don't hold back!"

The Classmate

Saveri was excited. She had just been added to the Whatsapp group of the school she had studied but for two years in Mumbai.

It had been a rude shock at that time, about 25 years ago... When she was just an 8-year-old... They were living in Delhi before that, and she had grown up ensconced in the warmth of her grandmother's love. Suddenly, after her grandmother's death, Saveri's distraught father had sought a change and gone to Mumbai, his wife and Saveri in tow.

Hands That Stir the Pot - Part V

For Part I, Part II, Part III and Part IV

When she came to, she was lying on her mother's lap. Revathi was fanning her with the pallu of her sari, while Gautama sprinkled water on her face. Seeing her revive, he helped her up and gave her some water to drink. She saw the anxious look on his face and felt her eyes welling up in relief.

"How are you feeling?" Gautama asked Shravanti solicitously.

She nodded in reply.

Hands That Stir the Pot - IV

For Part I, For Part II, For Part III

Part IV Continued

Their swords clashed. Shravanti felt her entire body tremble at the impact. As they sparred, she became painfully aware that mere hacking away at firewood or practicing with a young student did not prepare you to meet a battle-hardened bandit. Most of her energy went only to keep her body straight. She was also ashamed to realise that the bandit was toying with her, the leer on his face suggesting the fanciful thoughts that flitted through his mind, and that he could make short work of her if he so desired. Any fancy footwork and agility won her a slash, but the bandit seldom drove home his advantage.