Once upon the Tracks of Mumbai - A reivew

Railway tracks and India go back a long way. We have depicted the railways as being a catalyst in many of our movies, the ones that come to mind instantly being "Jab We Met". Of course there are many, many more that can be pulled out if one really wants to remember.

At the same time, I wonder how many books are written on the familiar settings of the enormous presence in our country called the Railways! And what better place to have the story than Mumbai, the 'city that never sleeps', where the Railways contribute to the economy and the lifestyle.

Allow me, ladies and gents, to put before you, in the usual Nirvana style, yet another book I have been fortunate to get my hands on Once Upon the Tracks of Mumbai by Rishi Vohra

First things first, I got an autographed book (Yay!!) The cover has two pretty faces over the railway line. While this is definitely the settings, do not be misled into thinking that this is all there is to the book! The book goes into much more shades of grey, black and white than you would assume from the cover.



Pic courtesy Rishi Vohra





 

• The Plot : Without letting too much of the proverbial 'cat' out of the bag, let me just tell you what the synopsis of the book says about the story :

"Autistic. psychotic. Schizophrenic....". For the twenty four years of his life, these are some of the words "they" have used to describe Babloo. He knows his family agrees with "them" and he senses that he is different. He doesn't hate people; he just cannot find the right way to connect with anyone. Vandana is the only exception. What can he do to make himself worthy of her?

Babloo finds simple pleasures in small things, A random twist of fate along these familiar train tracks brings Babloo face to face with the harsh reality of escalating crime in the local trains of Mumbai, and shakes him out of his apathy.

• The Writing Style : The writing falls into the usual style of writing adapted by young Indian writers - easy prose, with a fair amount of 'Indian English' - though here, the author has used it only when the characters communicate to themselves or to each other (so much more believable). The story is told in two streams  - one in which is in the first person (of the protagonist) and the other, as narrated in third person. Sometimes, it gets a little confusing where the first person has stopped and the third person has started. Goes to show that this is not a book that you can read while multi-tasking.

Also something that was pleasant in the writing was the sketch of the city I love so much - Mumbai in all its glory, and sometimes, the coldness of the city too.

• Character Development : The characters are well sketched out. Which, in a way, may not have been always good for the surprise element - from the early introduction of the characters, they are very clearly bucketed into 'good' people and 'bad' people. This has a tendency to create a bias in the readers' minds, and, to an extent, remove the element of surprise that evolve in the twists of the story. On the other hand, this approach makes one take sides very early on in the book, and hence cheering when the 'good guys' win.
• Words and Print Quality: Jaico has done a good job of the Printing, and there was no jarring typo that one usually associates with many Indian authors. The words, as mentioned earlier, are easy to comprehend. This works well for the story, which, since it looks at what goes inside of a person's mind, is complex enough, without using big words. An example excerpt :

"No one understood the dual existence of 'him' and me that made me the person I am. Only the railway tracks that ran along outside my bedroom window knew the both of us individually. The endless, idle wooden planks connected by durable steel had formed a fine segregation between my fantasy and reality."

For some more excerpts, do visit this site

• Final Verdict : Some mature writing, of a topic not written much about. Some insights into a schizophrenic mind that has learnt to love, and a real look at how the average Indian family treats people that have different needs. A must read, if only to explore Babloo's mind.

 

When Stars Shine Down - My entry to the GetPublished contest

Have you ever chanced upon that little sprig of grass which grows in the middle of nowhere? Or that last stubborn leaf on the tree that refuses to follow suit and drift away in the autumn wind like all others before it? Or the frail rosebud that weathers the tumultuous storm of the night, to face the next day with pride and beauty? Unfazed, unafraid, proud. But was the rosebud really unafraid through the storm?

Pic courtesy Soni Somarajan

This is Naina's story. But Naina's story cannot be whispered without weaving through Siddhant's story in the same breath. A story that commences during the darkest hours in their life, but culminates to a point where they cease to exist as two separate beings.

While Naina tells her story, one cannot help but notice that her beautiful eyes intermittently seek out the 'reason' for that story from amongst the crowd. Her eyes are the first thing that you notice about her - as they dart across the room, bright and eager. They turn moist, the moment she spots him. I smile, but I decide against interrupting her time travel.

This is a tale that will take you through the minds of two people - one who refuses to acknowledge that love exists in such a cruel world, and the other, who conquers everyone around with selfless, sometimes charming, love.

My inspiration for the story is something Naina told me, "Even if there is one woman out there whose life may change because of my story, I think it would be worth the effort."

Excerpt:

When he held me, I knew this was where I wanted to be. But not just for now; and not just because we had to share an umbrella in pouring rain. If only it was because he wanted to hold me.....

I could sense his irritation at the unexpected torrents that would ruin the day for the creative team today. The rains lashed on the stalls that the team had put together so beautifully; now they would need to heartlessly drag the stalls into the pavilion, to salvage whatever remained. They would resurrect the stalls; Siddhant was not one to give up easily, and he would give it another shot - a second chance for the event.

Suddenly, I wanted another chance too. I wanted a chance at real life, at real love. I wanted him. As I realized this, standing with him under the umbrella that did an unsuccessful job of keeping us dry, I suddenly wanted to run as far from him as I could. I pulled away, planning to run towards the pavilion.

But he did not let go of my waist. "Don't like the rain, or don't like my company?" He had a smile on his lips, but his eyes held much deeper thoughts. I turned away and I ran all the way back to the pavilion, liberating my impatient hot tears into the cold rain. 

This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

If you liked this entry, do remember to 'like' it on this link at Harper Collins

The Bankster - A book review

Well, lets just say I have suddenly rediscovered my lost love, my first love - Books ! And that explains the burgeoning dose of book review in this blog. Am here with yet another review - The Bankster by Ravi Subramanian 

A few words for the first look..... The book is around 350 pages and has a nice, sleek look. The book feels good in your hands, with a little bit of texture on the cover. The fantastic thing blogadda seems to have done this time is to send out autographed books to the reviewers - great job guys, fantastic move. And thank you Ravi Subramanian, that was a thoughtful move.

Ok.... now, as in the usual turn of event in a review.....

• Plot : The author almost succeeds in doing a John Grisham in the book. I say almost, because there are some pages which kinda remind you that its not Grisham - not yet, but may soon be. Well, the plot has three parallels - a CIA operative shrouded in mystery; an elderly gentleman who runs a resort in Kerala with his stand on a nuclear reactor planned in the area; and an inside look at the corporate politics and unabashedly selfish characters in a  global bank.

The book moves from one setting to another, almost making you wonder if the book is in fact, three different stories. The first half of the book brings in all the facts, all the little pieces of the puzzle. Till the 160th page one really wonders who the protagonist in the book actually is. The banker turned journalist, who is the protagonist, is introduced in true movie fashion - in style - only in the 160th page. The plot, in short, is a little slow for a few pages, and then accelerates to breakneck speed.

•  Writing Style : Yes, there are moments of Grisham - like writing. Yet other moments, there is the whisper of a typical management graduate style of writing. I am not rubbishing the latter style at all - this combination seems to work well for the book, and may work very well for urban India. But there are a few disappointments which popped up:
• The women in the book seem a little hollow. Obsessed with looks and PR, they seem to be constantly playing politics. Women, as protrayed in the book seem to be highly insecue about their age, the way the dress, and seem to be ready to use their looks to achieve their ambitions. Just a question - don't men look at mirrors when they see one?.... a little too much stereotyping for my liking
• Some more stereotyping - Men, at least the successful ones are all seem to have a roving eye, seem to be noticing the number of buttons that are undone in a woman's shirt! The only one who is sincere ends up being unsuccessful, misunderstood, and eventually dead! 
• The unofficial banter between colleagues, the flirting between them all seem a little forced.... or unnatural. 

But this notwithstanding, a gripping narrative. I was terribly torn between catching up on some blogging, and the reading. Its a huge compliment to the book when I say that I read the book cover to cover before putting it down.

• Character Development : The author has skillfully described settings for each locale in detail. The landscapes in Angloa, the lush greenery in Devikkulam, the Mumbai suburbs, the streets in Vienna.... all of them are clearly etched in one's mind. Unfortunately, one can't say the same for the characters in the book. Except for one person (will not tell you who - don't want to spoil the climax for you) I don't have images framed in my head for the other characters - not even the protagonist!
• Words and Print Quality : As I opened the cover, husband dearest guffawed when he saw the bank related title. I am really bad when it comes to financial terms, but hats off to the author for making it easy for non-banking people like me. Easy, simple words. No typos, and good print quality.
• Final Verdict : Definitely one of the best thrillers from an Indian author. I certainly did not see the climax coming, and loved the way every piece fell into place at the end.  

This review is a part of the Blogadda Indian Bloggers Book Reviews Program at Blogadda. Participate now to get free books!

The Cord (redux-ed)

This was my first work of fiction, which got published in an online fiction mag. (Some of you may have already read it). But the mag seems to have drowned into a state of suspension, and I miss reading it ....... so here goes! (Please do remember that this was written by a younger me. Judge gently :-))

She stretched on her bed, while attempting to open her eyes against the morning sun. The movement caused her feet to tingle - her legs seemed to have developed a sleep-wake cycle of their own these days. She saw the red nail paint on her feet and suddenly remembered that she had to wear white today. She never had many clothes in white; Ma didn’t approve of young women wearing white – they were reserved for funerals. She remembered Ma insisting on colorful stoles to counter the whites in her wardrobe when she would dress for college.

     But this was a funeral – the first one in her life. Ma had kept both the sisters out of funerals. But Kartika couldn’t avoid this one..

     Kartika didn’t know whether she was supposed to wear the gold bangles and chain that she was wearing. Ma insisted she wear them all the time. Funny how she remembered the white outfits, but not if people wore jewelry for funerals. She decided to remove the jewelry too – better to err on the conservative side.  As Ma always reminded them all the time, “You can always add more salt to the curry later…”

     Kartika giggled as she remembered Ma's long dress with yellow flowers, the one that Ma wore when had run behind the school bus the day of her school picnic. Kartika was already seated in the bus, and the girls had already finished the customary “Hi Kartika” chorus. Suddenly the bus had stopped, and only then did Kartika see the bright yellow dress…

     The harassed bus driver had stopped the bus, Ma convincing him that it was imperative to stop the bus while holding up traffic, so that she could give her daughter a goodbye kiss.  Kartika was 5 and she  hadn't been able to hide her embarrassment.

     But Ma being Ma, had walked right in, hugged a wiggling Kartika, planted a moist kiss on her forehead, and given her last minute instructions. As a parting shot, she had called out a ‘bye-bye’ to all the kids in the bus……..

     Kartika remembered how the sisters became young adults with hormones, emotions and egos running wild. They liked everything Ma did not; and then Ma began to adjust to the burgers meals and the party wears – sometimes even offering suggestions for both…..

     Marriage took Kartika geographically away from Ma, but emotionally closer to her. Ma now stopped monitoring her clothes, her friends and her exits from home......but Kartika would call up every time she had a little detail of her life to share with Ma.

     Kartika was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of crows outside. Weddings or funerals – you’d always find crows here. Large, black and impatient. She wondered why they made such a racket. She could hear the sounds of domesticity outside her room – there was some strange comfort in those sounds. She struggled to get out of bed, and change into ivory colored dress.

     She went into the kitchen and saw her aunt come in carrying a tray of empty tea cups and biscuit plates. She started when she saw Kartika at the door of the kitchen. Her aunt was a tiny woman, with the birdlike delicate mannerisms that tiny people usually have. She gave Kartika a wordless hug, and turned around, continuing to keep herself busy. Everyone around seemed to be caught up in a frenzy of activity that allowed them the luxury of an unthinking, mechanical state of mind.

     There were at least a hundred people out there. They had come for the funeral yesterday. Ma’s funeral……

     "You could have waited for me Ma."

     “What for? You are always embarrassed when I kiss you … even at your wedding; you said it spoiled your makeup.”

     “But that never stopped you from doing what you wanted.… You kissed me every time you felt I needed it. You made me wear those hideous caps every time you thought it was cold. You listened in on the extension when you thought I was talking to ‘that useless fellow’. You put butter in my food in spite of my pleas – because you thought I was skinny. You bought me stuff over my protests. Why is this suddenly about what I feel?”

     ‘There are some things I cannot control, Kartika. You knew I was going. You and I, we were fighting this disease for a long time, weren’t we? Life needs to go on for both of you – I’ve taught you all that I know….  Now go comb your hair away from your face, so that people know you have a forehead as well. No daughter of mine is going to look like she’s been hit by a truck!’

     Kartika giggled at Ma’s attempts to tame her. The somber-looking old women who had come to mourn her mother’s death were watching her with shock. She went in to comb her hair just the way Ma would have liked it. She even put on some nude lipstick. She was about ready when the nausea hit her.

     She remembered she had not eaten yet; the doctor had said she must not let acidity strike her in the mornings. She had almost forgotten the iron pills too. Heck, she’d almost forgotten that she had only a couple more weeks to go before the baby would arrive. It was one of those moments when she felt she could do with a hug.

    

      She could see Ma shaking her head in disapproval.

‘Your life is not only yours, you know….... That baby needs nutrition. What kind of a mother will you be if you don’t even remember to feed your baby on time?’  

Kartika looked at the mirror, her palm gently rubbing her bulge. She smiled.

“I am waiting for you, Ma. And this time, we’ll see who gets embarrassed.”

The Ginger Candy (Concluding Part)

(Read Part 1 here)

The creaking pulley of the old well was the recipient of all the pent up anger Raman carried in his heart. He pulled the rope so fast that the protesting pulley almost threatened to give up. Thankfully, in two rounds, the bucket had filled to the brim.

Back in the house, Raman's mother continued her sparrow-like ministrations around the man coughing into the blanket. Raman placed the filled bucket close to his mother and went into the kitchen looking for food. Raman picked up a plate and a ladle to scoop out some rice from the watery rice gruel.

 "Don't finish the rice gruel. Father hasn't eaten yet." As soon as she said that, his mother was stunned by the sound of shattering plates from the kitchen. The next thing she saw was Raman rushing out of the room, looking away from her. She called out to him, but the boy was just too angry to even look at her. The temporary lines of worry that fell on her brow on account of her son was soon replaced by a sense of purpose when her husband started coughing again.

*                        *                       *

It was three days later that Raman finally saw the man's face again. For the last few days he had left home at dawn and reached back only after he was sure the man had slept. But today morning, the man was sitting up on the bed when Raman tried to make his exit from the hut. "Raman my son," the croaking voice brought forth angry tears from Raman's eyes. He walked up to his father, and stood looking at the floor. Then he heard a choking sound, as if words were being strangled in the throat. He looked up to see his father sobbing. The sound moved from low hiccups to almost a wail.

His mother came running in to see his father sobbing. "What happened Raman? What did you do? Don't you know how ill father is?". Raman stood as still as a statue, his heaving chest and the hissing sound of his breath the only indication of him being alive. His mother put her hand into the tattered blouse she was wearing, and pulled out a coin from her bosom.

She pushed Raman aside and stood in front of the sobbing man. She then proceeded to circle the hand holding the coin over the man's head, all the way to his feet and back to his head again. She repeated this three times, and handed the coin over to a bewildered Raman. "You go to the Devi's temple right now and put this into the Navagraha kaavu (the shrine of the nine planets). His stars have to be appeased.... "

Raman took the coin, still warm from his mother's clasp, and ran towards the door, only faintly hearing his mother repeat her plea to go to the temple to appease the Gods. He kept running, past the fields, and the brook and the tea stall. Early village risers who saw him tried to stop him to ask him about his father; more pity. He did not stop till he reached the temple. He stood in front of the revered Devi, and opened his fist; the coin had dug an angry, red design on his palm. He thrust his palm forward as if offering the precious coin to the Devi.

The pujari (priest) of the temple came out with a thali (plate) to collect the coin, but he still did not release the coin. "Why do you hesitate, Raman? What was offered to the Devi must be given to Her, else you will bear the consequences. Don't you want your father to get better?" he asked slyly, pushing the plate closer to Raman.

Raman closed his fist tightly around the coin, turned around and ran, the pujari calling after him. He ran along the muddy walkway through the fields, and into the tea shop. Pradeep was sweeping the floor readying the stall for businees, and was surprised to see Raman sitting on the bench meant for his customers, panting while looking at the floor. Raman had never, in the last so many years sat on the bench for customers. "What happened, Raman? Are you alright? Is your father fine?"

Raman looked up, his eyes glistening with the tears that would not flow. "My father would be dead in a little while," he said calmly. "And I want the ginger candy from that jar. As many as you can give me for this coin." He handed the warm coin to Pradeep.

The Ginger Candy

picture rights Flickr

The glass jar in the little tea shop was almost empty now. Raman walked right in front of the jar, with the aluminium milk can almost banging on the wooden counter top. Raman looked only for a second at the little ginger candies in the glass jar before moving towards the little makeshift kitchen in the back. Ginger candy was obviously the most popular one in the shop, as the jars of orange drops and lemon drops were almost full.

"When will you stop banging on my table with that can?" Pradeep owned the best tea-stall in the village, and anyone who passed by during the evenings would be enticed into the stall with smells of freshly fried banana fritters and onion pakodas. Mornings saw a different menu being offered in Pradeep's shop - hot appams and dosas with spicy sambar or stews.

The tea stall was also a treasure trove of gossip and news - it was left to the listener to distinguish one from the other. Raman would grab bits and pieces of both during his daily deposit of the much needed milk during both the peak tea times.

He had been bringing milk to the stall since he was six. The landlord of the little hut where he and his mother lived had demanded labor in lieu of the rent that they never paid. But atleast they were allowed to stay on inspite of the erratic rent. There was not much that his mother could earn washing clothes and Raman had no memory of having seen his father. The tea stall visitors had spoken of some factory in Madras where his father was supposed to be working.

The landlord was a wily fellow, and realized soon enough that little Raman was just perfect for carrying the milk to his various customers. Raman would not steal it, and he barely would stop to even rest his little arms and legs. This saved the landlord a lot of ulcer-causing worry. But little Raman was growing fast, and the landlord started to look for new occupations to keep him busy, while continuing to pay him pittance, or nothing at all - the rent was still erratic.

Raman was almost fifteen now, and he could fathom discussions in the tea stall much better. He knew what it meant when the men snickered about the buxom women who passed by, he knew why Pradeep brought smaller ladles and katoris for the sambar, he understood why the people who came to the tea stall looked at him with pity when they were heartily eating the hot oily snacks. Sometimes they offered the snacks to him, but Raman just shook his head. He loved the snacks, but he didn't care too much for pity. But he often wished someone offered him the ginger candy - he would probably not have refused that.

Raman waited till Pradeep poured the milk into a huge pot on the wood fire, and washed out the last drops of milk with water, adding it to the pot. "You are still working? Shouldn't you be at home atleast for today?" Pradeep never looked at him with any pity, and that probably was why Raman was closest to him. Pradeep had, however, taught him how to count money, and get back the right amount of change, which saved Raman from many a beating from the landlord.

"Why should I be home today? Is it a festival?" Raman would have to go to the landlord's house for cleaning up if it was a festival. But his mother always brought back tasty food from the landlord after the festival was over. He suddenly felt hungry.

Pradeep looked at him with surprise. "You don't know? Your father is here. I have to go to your landlord's house to give some appams there. I will give him the can. You go home."

Raman just stood staring at the wood fire, thinking of whether that was news or gossip. Pradeep looked like he was telling the truth. He then nodded to the flames dancing on the sides of the soot blackened milk pot, and ran out of the stall, through the green fields, stopping only when he reached the threshold of the little mud hut.

His mother was moving about the house with a sense of urgency that he had never seen. She went to the cot in the corner where a thin, coughing man covered in a blanket smelling of moth-balls seemed to be the center of all her attention. "Rama..... go get some water from the well. We need to help your father wash his legs and face." Raman did not budge. He moved closer to the bed, trying to make out the face of the man who lay in his bed, who by virtue of a few cells more than a decade ago, was his father.

"Rama...Go now! Can't you see father is unwell? He needs to get his dinner and then his medicines." His mother's face looked different now..... was this how she looked when happy?

"Ask him where he was for so many years, Amma." Raman was still looking at the man his mother said was his father. "Ask him why he has come now."

His mother stood up, reaching just below his eyes. She hadn't realized he had grown so tall! "Did I teach you to be disrespectful of your elders? Or do you want the Devi to punish you for not caring for your father?" Raman walked out of the hut with the bucket, leaving his mother to rub the man's back through yet another coughing fit.

Read the concluding part here

Buttermilk, with love

"I've told you a million times not to go to the big house again, but then, I don't stand a chance against your 'real' family, do I?" Ravi was angry with Ammu, his reasoning and his pleas failing to change the way his mother lived her life. "Look how ill you are now! You think me or your daughter-in-law have nothing more to do than to tend to you all day?"

How could she do this to him? He was one of the most successful shopkeepers in the village now, and she knew he could provide every comfort his mother could think of, unlike the years that saw him growing up working odd jobs for meagre wages. Looking at Ammu's frail body, he softened a little. "I am going to the shop now. I know you like buttermilk during this heat - I shall get some from the shop. I will be back early today evening, and Bhadra will make you some special rice gruel. You will be better soon."

While he walked out, he could feel Bhadra's eyes burning into him. Bhadra, his wife of a few years, had always objected to Ammu going to the big house. She had seen only the good times, and she would never understand the bond that Ravi and his mother had with the big house. He walked out in a huff, leaving his mother sighing in despair, and Bhadra throwing a big aluminium rice pot into the sink.

It was unusual for Ammu to be lying in bed past sunrise on a normal day. Ammu had arrived into this quaint little town after her marriage, and had soon realized life was different after marriage. She soon took on the role of a domestic help in the big house with the red gate. While her husband drunk away his paltry earnings each evening, it was her odd jobs in the big house that brought food on to her table. A few days after Ravi was born, the matriarch of the big house had sent clothes, black bangles to ward off the evil eye, and some bright plastic toys. Ammu had not been able to stop crying every time she looked them.

Soon, when she resumed working, she brought Ravi along to the big house, so that she could keep an eye on the naughty toddler. With time, Ravi was more at home in the big house than his own home, laying claim to every one's hearts with his innocent babble and his incessant questions. The matriarch's loving hand forever sought to hold the wriggling child, and it was the matriarch herself, who had called Ammu aside and had instructed her to go with the other children of the house to the village school and enroll little Ravi into the smallest class.

When Ammu and little Ravi reached the big house each morning, Ravi's school lunch and mid day snack would already have been packed by the grumpy cook, and the other children would be waiting eagerly for him, so that they could run through the green fields and reach school before the second bell. Ammu could have written down her life for the matriarch then, had it been asked of her.

Growing up, Ravi was only eager to run errands for the extended family of the big house - gathering mangoes for the pickle, retrieving fallen coconuts floating in the huge backyard pond, pulling water from the well for the cleaning lady...... and the household became as dependent of Ravi as they were of Ammu.

Ravi finished school with the other children of the big house, and Ammu could see Ravi was soon going to want more than she could ever provide. The matriarch's death was a shock to all, but it also changed the equation that Ravi was to have with the big house. He was distinctly no longer 'family', but he had upbringing which taught him too much self respect for a servant. His decision was made when the matriarch's lawyer handed him a large folder with official - looking papers that said he owned a little square piece of land by the road; the matriarch was still looking out for him. He opened a little shop which prospered due to Ravi's gentle demeanour and his business acumen, both honed by good basic education. Life began to look up, and he went separate ways from the big house and the coconut palms he grew up in.

But Ammu........ Ammu was a different story. His mother never actually stopped going to the big house, each day. She had already been told that she was too old to be of any actual help, by the new lady of the house. But since almost all the grown ups in the household had, at some point in their lives been fed and bathed by Ammu, she was always welcomed into the big house. They knew her weakness for buttermilk, and would always keep for her, freshly made buttermilk, lightly spiced with green chillies and ginger, in the clay pot which kept it cool in hot summer days.

Many young members of the household, once pampered and cared for by Ammu, were now in various parts of the country, striving to make their lives more successful. Every now and then, there would be the young doctor, or lawyer or businessman who gave in to nostalgia and came back to visit his roots. They would seek Ammu out, bring her gifts, and some money to try and express their gratitude without using words that they so comfortably had used in their childhood. Ammu understood, and would never refuse any gift or any denomination. She would take it without a second glance, and hold the youngster's hand with both her hands, drinking in memories of their faces that she may never see again.

She sighed now as she listened to her daughter-in-law Bhadra cursing the heat, and the soggy firewood that would not light. This progressed quickly into complaining loudly about how her mother-in-law would rather work in someone else's house than in her own. Ammu knew this was for her benefit, and she leaned across and softly closed the door, lowering the volume of Bhadra's complaints.

She did not realize she had drifted off to sleep, but the heat woke her up. The sun outside her window shone as though it was afternoon. She turned to pick up the little alarm clock that one of the visitors to the big house had gifted her, and saw that it was nearly two. That meant Bhadra had chosen to go to Ravi's shop with his lunch, without waking her up. She must be really angry this time, Ammu chuckled to herself. The front door creaked open, and Ammu called out "Who is it?"

A few seconds later, she saw a little foot pushing open the door to her little bedroom, and little Suja walking in, carefully balancing a vessel in her little hands. All of eight, Suja was what you could call a happy, boisterous child. She was here for vacation with her parents, and had quickly made a bond with old Ammu, who was the most willing storyteller Suja had seen. Her parents had obviously welcomed the distraction that Ammu had provided, giving them more time to do 'grown up' stuff instead of spending lazy afternoons with a bright-eyed child with endless curiosity.

Ammu had told her the story of the local deity - when Lord Shiva created an image of himself, by throwing a lock of his hair on the ground. This deity, Ammu had promised, would kill all evil people in the world. Ammu had also explained to her why the squirrels ran away when they heard a footstep, or why the koel always replied back to you if you called out 'Coo-cooo' to her. Ammu had answered her questions on why she couldn't eat so many mangoes, or how the tender coconuts had so much water inside them.

"Suja mole!" Ammu almost jumped out of her bed. "What are you doing here? Did you come here alone? Do your Amma and Achcha (Mom and Dad) know that you are here? And what are you carrying?"

Suja smiled naughtily while she placed the vessel on the table and sat down next to Ammu. "You ask more questions than I do." She laughed while throwing her little arms around Ammu. "Yes, I came alone. I am a big girl now - you know I turn 9 after a month, no? And Amma - Achchan are both out meeting someone. And you did not tell me the story about the snake temple in the backyard - you promised." she declared with a little pout.

"Suja, my child, I am not well today. I will come tomorrow, and tell you the whole story - I promise. You have to go no, or everyone will be worried." Ammu was already up and holding the child's arm to take her to the big house.

"No wait! I can go back - I know the way. And you can watch me from this window all the way back to the big house. I know you can, because I could see you from my room there, and you were sleeping the whole day" she said pointing to the big house, a little down the road. Ammu looked dazed as she started to understand little Suja's explanation of her visit.

"And remember you told me that buttermilk is the best thing for this 'wretched heat'? I got you some - its from the clay pot, so its cold. You must drink the whole thing and get well soon, Ammu-amma...... I miss you" And with a quick hug, she skipped out of the room, into the bight sun, with Ammu's moist eyes following the child all the way into the big house with the red gate.

The Sultan's Jewels (Final Part)

Photo credits jewelvalley.blogspot.in


PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

On the ride back home, Karthu was transported back into her childhood home.

Karthu did not know when she had started seeing Kumaran as an enemy. She had remembered snippets of her life when they would play together under the mango tree, study together when the tutor came home to teach her, and eat delicious sweetmeats prepared by Dechchu for them. There were times when Kumaran had stolen money from Dechchu to buy her ice candy. There had been times when she had hidden the tutor’s rod for fear of Kumaran being hit for not answering correctly.

But gradually, she felt envious of him. He seemed to get all the attention from her mother. Her mother was more interested in his progress from the tutor. She would give him more money every festival. “He is a growing boy,” she would say “he needs money. What will you do with the money? Your father gets you everything you ask for, even if you have just whispered it in your sleep!”

When she was old enough to understand the kitchen gossip, young Karthyayani learnt that Dechchu had accompanied her mother as part of the dowry, along with a son whose father no one knew about. There were stories of Dechchu being an unwed mother, and yet others of the father being killed by the British soldiers. Armed with this knowledge, young, rebellious Karthu had once called him a bastard. Kumaran had not responded, but Karthu’s mother had slapped her hard. She refused to speak with Karthu till she apologized.

A little later, Kumaran moved into the city with a government job; Karthu got married and that was the last she had seen him.

It was a few years later, Karthu, already widowed, was called home to meet her dying mother. Her mother had been saving up energy to tell her the truth. “Karthu, you need to know something…. I would have preferred to let this go to the grave with me, but I can’t bear to see you alone your entire life, dear.”

"I have always loved you more than anyone else, and you know that. I can understand why you got angry with Kumaran – you were jealous, weren’t you? You were also right in calling him what you did - his father died before he could get married to Kumaran’s mother ……. But Karthu, Dechchu is not his mother – I am! Dechchu was just the solution to keep my son close to me even after I was married – I had refused to get married otherwise…….. Now, you have to tell me if you can forgive me – so that I die in peace……”

Karthu had forgiven her, and had also vowed to keep the secret close to her heart, so she never sought out Kumaran to mend bridges. She had, however, cried into Dechchu’s bosom when her mother had died, the tears from both women washing away all the past misgivings……

And today, she thought of Shambhavi’s smile again. She now knew where she had seen the same smile before. It is said that genes skipped a generation – it couldn’t have held truer for Shambhavi, as she was a splitting image of Karthu’s gentle mother…….

Karthu had wanted to kiss Shambhavi one more time before leaving. She had also wanted to bless her with many more gifts than the one thing she had given her. But she couldn’t let tongues wag again, so she had let the moment pass. But Karthu had done enough to make her mother proud…..

Karthu did not have any dreams that night, not even of the little girl with the little arms.

She died peacefully in her sleep.

* * *

Shambhavi was overwhelmed when Karthyayani had parted with the bottle of coconut oil that she so possessively guarded all her life, and that too, after she had conspired with the family to meet Karthu…

She remembered Karthu’s instructions only when the telephone call from Nisha had come - Karthyayani had died the night before.

Shambhavi was shocked for a while. Later, she decided she would do what the old lady had wanted her to. She took out the bottle of lovingly prepared oil, now opaque and solid, out of the fridge. She melted it with care, so that the bottle did not crack.

When the oil had melted, she saw a little plastic pouch at the bottom. She poured out the oil and carefully extricated the plastic pouch. Opening it was a difficult task, as it had been carefully sealed. Her hands shaking with exhaustion and concentration, Shambhavi finally opened the little packet, and overturned it on to her palm.

Over a dozen little spots of brilliant colors touched her skin now shaking for different reasons. The stories about the Sultan’s heirlooms were true, apparently….

*END*

The Sultan's Jewels (PART 3)

PART 1 / PART 2

Karthu knew something was amiss when Nisha insited that the young girls leave the room. But Karthu was never the curious kinds; she believed each family had their right to keep secrets - just as she knew had faithfully kept hers....

"Oh Nisha - I forgot to ask.... did you put my oil bottle in the fridge?"

"Ofcourse Amma! This is not the first time you are visiting us!" Nisha had herself taken the bottle from Amma's hands and placed it in the fridge, even though she could never fathom why coconut hair oil deserved such previleged settings.

"Amma..... Coconut oil does not get spoiled outside, no? And it is so much more difficult to take out solidified oil when you need it for your hair massage, then why do you keep the oil in the fridge?" Nisha helped Amma get up from the bed - Amma seemed to have aged faster since she last saw her.

"Well, this oil has many herbs which need to be kept cold... you will not understand the old folks' wisdom, so let it be.” It was already evening and it was time for the evening prayers.

After the prayers, Karthu asked Shambhavi "You are about twenty five, no? Around Karuna's age?"

Shambhavi laughed. "Oh no, Amma. I am much senior to her. Infact, I was already teaching in the college when she started studying there."

"Oh," Karthu's eyes narrowed, and she looked across the room at a nervous Nisha watching the entire conversation. "I thought you two were friends from college,"

"Yes, we are friends, but not from the same class.... I will come back in a little while, Amma - we have some things to pack into her bags," Shambhavi said as she was being pulled away by an impatient Karuna

Nisha came in with the tea, biscuits and some explanation. The other relatives, including Nisha's husband gathered around the dining table, and there was a strange, pregnant pause around the table.

"Amma, sorry I didn't tell you the whole truth about Shambhavi...." Nisha began, as Amma carefully sipped the hot tea. "You remember Dechchu? The lady who ......"

"Ofcourse Amma knows Dechchu!" Nisha's brother interrupted her, a little irritated that she would bring out unpleasant memories. "Dechchu was here when Amma was getting married, no?"

"That’s enough!" Karthu said, standing up. "The least you can do is to call her Dechchu-Amma .... Considering that most of you here have been bathed and fed by her when you were babies! Do college degrees take away your respect for elders?"

Karthu's outburst stunned everyone. It was a known fact that Karthyayani had hated Dechchu and her son.

"Sorry Amma," Nisha was holding her hand, pleading her to sit down. "Shambhavi is Dechchu ...Amma's granddaughter. Her son Kumaran's daughter. Kumaran died a couple of years ago, and there was some condition in your mothers' will about taking care of Shambhavi's education, so we have been in touch. I swear we wouldn't have if it was not for the condition in the will. Though why the will had a condition like that we never knew.........."

Karthu sat down, looking as though she would faint.
Dechchu Amma's grand-daughter.....
Kumaran's daughter.....

That explained the eyes, the smile. That explained all the beautiful dreams she had .....
“Amma! Are you alright? Amma, please don’t worry. She will be here only for Karuna’s wedding, and then she will be gone to her life again.” There was fear in Nisha’s eyes.

“Does the girl know me? I mean does she know I did not get along well with her father and her grandmother?”

Nisha nodded her head slowly. “I told her you wouldn’t like it. But she was insistent. She said she only wanted to see you once.”

“You don’t need to take my permission to call your guests – it’s your house, your daughter’s wedding and entirely your decision. But I would have liked it if you told me the truth. I think I want to lie down for a little while. All this journey is not dong my old bones any good…..” Karthu seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of seeing a sworn enemy’s daughter, and she did not seek any further explanations.
* * *
Karthu woke up from a dreamless sleep in the morning.

“Good Morning Amma. I hope you slept well…..” Nisha said while she served Amma her breakfast. “The kids are out looking for the right footwear for the trousseau. I agree with you Amma, these things should have been taken care of much before. I have no idea why they wait till the last day……”

“Nisha, you don’t need to shoo them out of the house on my account. I don’t really know how many more weddings I will see.... call them and tell them to come home. I would like to spend some time with Shambhavi too ….. Old Dechchu Amma would have liked that, no?”

A surprised but happy Nisha went to call her daughter back home, while Karthu went to the kitchen, and took out the bottle of coconut oil. When the girls returned, Karthu was applying oil on her hair. The girls gasped when they saw the lushness of the old lady’s hair.

Karthu smiled as she called them to her side. “You girls don’t oil your hair enough. Just watch, you will be putting those terrible chemical dyes to cover your white hair, before you can even be thirty!”

“But I have already crossed thirty, Amma!” Shambhavi said playfully.

“Then you should be married already…. Are you?” Karthu had to admit, Shambhavi was a beautiful woman.

“Oh, no Amma!” Shambhavi said in mock terror “Marriage is not meant for people like me. I have so much to do already – my husband would be a real unhappy soul if I married!”

When Nisha called out to Karuna to have her bath, Karthu was glad to be able to talk to Shambhavi alone. “Come here, dear. Do you want me to put oil in your hair?” Shambhavi was surprised at the softness of the tone, and slowly sat down on the floor with her head near Karthu’s knees.

* * *
“Don’t tell me the old woman is now spending time with that girl!” Nisha’s brother was skeptical about this from the very beginning – and now it was apparent that Amma preferred to spend most of her day with Shambhavi!

“Shut up, you silly man! Don’t you know the crazy history of that family? They tend to give away wealth to servants. So behave yourself, if you want your kids to get any of the property that she keeps close to her chest. For now, she has only shared the recipe for the hair oil – it could be other stuff too, if you and I are not nice to her…..”

Karthu was in the bathroom while they were talking. Noise does not carry through the thick wooden doors. But the bathroom also had skylights which opened to the corridor. Karthu somehow, felt relieved when she heard the siblings talk; like she was liberated from the false emotions that surrounded her all the time.

* * *
On the wedding day, Karuna looked beautiful in her wedding attire. Karthu took out the beautiful gold chain and matching earrings that she bought for her granddaughter. Nisha was overjoyed to see that Amma had also handed over a heavy envelope to Karuna, telling her that she could buy stuff for her new home.

Nisha’s brother wondered if he should get his son married off while Karthu was still able to attend weddings. Karthu was treated with utmost respect by the groom’s relatives too. She seemed to be handing out gifts and cash to everyone who was seeing her after a long time.

The aftermath of the festivities usually wears a hushed silence. And in this hushed silence, Karthu decided she had to now leave for her home. But before she left, she handed over the bottle of oil to Shambhavi.

“Melt the whole thing out and pour it into another bottle as soon as you reach home, and take good care of your hair.” Karthu had whispered into her ear. "And you have to get married soon. You should have people in your life who will love you even if you had nothing to give!"

As Karthu left the large gate and the sounds of her childhood behind, she was glad that one weight had been taken off her sholders…… 

(TO BE CONTD.) (Final Part) 

The Sultan's Jewels (PART 2)

Read Part 1 here

As Nisha and her husband brought Karthu up to date with all the happenings in the family, she kept looking out for familiar sights. “Amma how was your trip? I can’t believe that irresponsible fellow did not come with you! He has become just like these young city kids – no respect, no care …”

“Nisha!” Karthu interrupted her. “Everyone has their own lives these days. They have to, if they are to survive. If they fall short, it is people like you and me who will gossip about their failures, no?”

Karthyayani Nambiar was famous for her calm, unruffled one-liners, which quieted the loudest of battles – and this, evidently was one battle that she would not lose out. In all the years that she partook in their happiness and sadness, no one could ever point out that she was unfair to, or biased towards any special niece or nephew. She loved one and all, showered blessings (and gifts) to one and all. So Nisha was not surprised when Karthu defended Aravind – she knew if it ever came to that, Karthu would defend Nisha too.

The other thing that people knew about Karthu was that she had a gorgeous mane of waist-length hair. Even now, she had better hair than most women half her age – lustrous dark black, with only an enviable sprinkling of silver; which somehow, made her look more dignified. It was no surprise to anyone that Karthu took special care of her hair, applying specially concocted oil every day. She made the oil herself, by soaking herbs in coconut oil. She hadn’t shared the ingredients with anyone – her hair was the only thing she was known to be vain about.

Karthu did not want to delve further into details of Aravind’s lifestyle, so she thought it best to change the topic to something more pleasant. “So tell me, who all have already arrived at the Tharavdu (ancestral home) for the wedding? And this boy you have found for Karuna – does he have a government job?”

And while Nisha excitedly listed out the names of the relatives who were still arriving, or had arrived, Karthu smiled fondly at her quiet, but observant husband. She liked Nisha’s husband – he was the kind of man any woman could give their daughter away to, without worrying about their future. He now explained to her, in a very neutral tone, that the ‘boy’ was identified by Karuna herself. But, he quickly added, the boy had a good job in Mumbai, and that their daughter Karuna would move there soon.

* * *
As soon as they arrived at the imposing gate of the large house, Karthu could feel her heart thumping with the same exhilaration she felt, every time she came back ‘home’. Technically, she lived a few kilometers away in a smaller, more practical house, with much more facilities. She had a servant lady who stayed with her when she stayed in that house. But the Tharavadu, which formed part of her growing up years, was what she still saw in her dreams as her home.

As soon as the car turned on the gravel around the majestic banyan tree towards the front door of the Tharavadu, Karthu could hear whispers of the wind against the leaves of the trees, the welcome songs of the birds that only came during the mango season, and the unforgettable smells of the ripening jackfruit. She could also hear the whoops of joy from the children playing inside.

“Where’s my pretty angel?” Karthu asked Nisha, as soon as she had met up with all the nieces and nephews and grandchildren crowding her. “Oh… Karuna has gone to the beauty parlor, Amma. They have some kind of a treatment for brides these days. Haven’t you seen the movie stars; how their skin looks perfect? She will have the same kind of make up for her wedding too…..” Nisha stopped when she saw Amma smiling, not entirely without sarcasm.

"And she goes around town all alone five days before her wedding? I would have thought you of all people to follow some of the traditions, Nisha.” Amma’s voice was quiet, but it carried all the strength of the message she wanted to give across.

“No, Amma….. Her friend has also gone with her.” Nisha clarified.

"And do you know who I am, little one?” Karthu asked with a twinkle in her eyes to the youngest grandchild peering at her from behind a pillar. The child, a girl of about four, shook her head. “Priya, we told you… that’s your Grandmother!” The child’s flustered mother came forward with the intention of proving the statement.

“No, you didn’t.” The child stood her ground, much to the chagrin of the mother. “You said that was my Grandmother…” she said, pointing to a garlanded picture hanging on the wall. The picture was of Karthu’s first cousin – her maternal uncle’s daughter. “Then how can this be my Grandmother?"

Karthu burst out laughing, easing much of the tension for the mother of the erring child. “Well, let me explain. Your grandmother and I are cousins – like you and Karuna-chehi. So, I am your grandmother as well, right? Come here – I have something for you!”

All her relatives knew Karthu had no siblings of her own – so they were cautious to make their beloved Karthu Amma always feel at home – and even disastrous disclosures as the one that just happened did not refute the fact that they cared for her feelings.

“So who is this friend that Karuna has gone out with?”

Karthu’s eagle eyes thought she spotted some hesitation on Nisha’s part before she answered. “Oh, you have not met her before – she was a college friend and stays far away these days.” And while she answered, there was uneasiness in the eyes of more than a few people in the room. Well, maybe it was the journey, she thought.

* * *

“Amma……. Find me if you can......” Karthu knew she was dreaming – the little face and the little arms she knew so well by now..... this was a dream she had seen many times before, and each time she smiled in her sleep.This time, though, she woke up before the dream ended.

Karuna was smiling at her, and she hugged Karthu as soon as she opened her eyes. “Sorry Ammamma, I know you had a terrible journey – all because I decided to get married all of a sudden. You know I love you, right?”

Karthu was basking in the warmth of the adulation from her young granddaughter, when she spotted a beaming young lady next to Karuna. “And this is your friend?”

“Oh Yes, I forgot – Ammamma, meet Shambhavi……. Shambhavi, I present to you the famous Neelaparambil Karthyayani Nambiar – ta-da!!!” Karuna dragged the girl closer to Karthu.

“Hmmmm….. You are a pretty young thing. Have we met before? I have seen you somewhere, haven’t I?”

Karthu strained her eyes while pulling Shambhavi closer to her. Shambhavi folded her palms in respect, and shook her head. She had big almond-shaped eyes and an aristocratic nose. She was wearing jeans - not something Karthu would have liked young girls that age to wear. But she understood that the youth of today liked to dress similar to each other – the boys liked long hair and ear piercings, and the girls liked short hair, jeans and T shirts. But Shambhavi’s smile was what looked most familiar to Karthu….

Nisha had come running up the stairs, gasping for breath. She looked sternly at a cringing Karuna and asked “What are you two doing here? Didn’t I tell you Amma was sleeping?” She looked at all three of them, and seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces, she calmed visibly.

“So what, Nisha? Is this the first time my kids have come to me and woken me up from sleep? You know I don’t mind, then why are you creating such a noise?” Amma pulled Karuna and Shambhavi on to her bed, as she quietly rebuked her niece. “And by the way, you told me I don’t know Karuna’s friend, but I am sure I’ve seen her before… I just don’t remember where....”

Again, Karthu thought she saw discomfort in Nisha’s eyes.

(TO BE CONTD.)  (Part 3 / Final Part)

The Sultan's Jewels (PART 1)

This was Karthyayani’s first time in an airport. She was wearing a pristine white sari as she always did, since the day she was widowed. She pulled her brown shawl tighter around her head and throat. Aravind, her young nephew, had hurriedly wrapped the shawl around her, before she walked away from him at the departure terminal.

She had not turned around to say good bye, as she knew he would have already run towards his wrongly parked car. He had thoughtfully put her ticket, her ID card and a few fifty Rupee notes in a little black folder so that she wouldn’t have to rummage through her purse to locate them. He had also given her a bottle of water and a packet of cream biscuits – in case she needed to eat something before she got on to the flight. He knew she had diabetes, and had frequent bouts of hypoglycemia.

Karthu Amma, as she was called by all her nieces and nephews, thought back at the instructions that Aravind had coached her multiple times. “Amma, you have to go to the lady in that blue uniform, and ask her for the Jet Airways flight to Mangalore. You have to tell her that it is the 3 o’clock flight OK?” She had nodded, more to release Aravind of his rapidly increasing guilt for letting her travel alone, than because she understood those instructions.

The lady in blue uniform had been really nice, Karthu had to admit; unlike most of the other young, painted faces she had encountered in the city of artificial lights and equally artificial smiles. The lady took her through the crowded counters and the security check, and she finally boarded the aircraft.

Neelaparambil Karthyayani Nambiar was a proud woman, who had seen the rise and fall of aristocratic reign of her family in the village she came from. She had grown up listening to legendary stories of valor and honor, of family heirlooms captured back from Tipu Sultan’s army by her ancestors; those who never ran out of gold to reward judiciously, and the intelligence to punish justly. She herself had been witness to grand weddings and grander temple festivals in the family. But things changed – some were gradual and some of them, overnight.

She had no complaints – she’d had a healthy life, a comfortable life for over seventy years now – even though fate had decided for her to stay lonely during most of these years. After having lost her young husband from an early marriage, she had decided to remain a widow; though her family had been modern enough to contemplate a second marriage.

Karthu had always been wealthy – both by birth and by marriage. She had also been lucky in terms of being surrounded by children of all ages around her all the time, thanks to the large, extended families from both sides. It was one such child that she was heading to visit. Her grand-niece was soon getting married, and the family had begged her to come to the wedding.

She was also worldly wise, thanks to all the gossip she was privy to. She knew her wealth had helped to keep the near of kin nearer. She also knew that she had been generous to every young child in the family – but it kept her happy, and well cared for. The old household help had once told her about the rumor doing the rounds in the family circles – about the heirloom jewels from Tipu Sultan that came as part of her ample dowry.

There were many stories about the lavish dowry that young Karthyayani had brought from her loving family, and the wedding that had seen guests from even the Chirakkal Raja’s family. No one knew details of where the royal gifts were, or how much of it was still with Karthu. And she had never cared to go into the details of the same.

Aravind, who preferred the city heat to genlte breeze in the village, was one of Karthu’s youngest nephews, and he was still struggling to find the right things in life – the right job, the right girl, and the right things to say in a family gathering, when you have neither of the other two. So he had decided to stay away from it all. But he had arranged for her to visit the grand-niece, helped her pack in all the gifts, and also apologized many times. Poor boy! Karthu had visited him while on her way back from a naming ceremony of a grandchild.

She was now sitting in the aircraft, holding the buckle of her seat belt, trying to fit the two pieces in - too proud to ask the young man sitting next to her to help her. The air hostess smiled as she came closer to Karthu, and helped her snap the buckle in place. Even this one seemed nice. ‘How is it that Aravind cannot find a nice one, with so many of these pretty things in the city?’ She wondered to herself.

As soon as Karthu stepped out of the Mangalore airport (not as intimidating as the earlier one, she decided) she saw Nisha and her husband waving frantically at her. Nisha was her niece, and the mother of the bride-to-be. They had come all the way from their little town almost 3 hours away to pick her up from the airport. Karthu smiled as she realized she would soon be able to see her lovely grand niece again.

TO BE CONTD.    ( Part 2 / Part 3 / Final Part  )

The Earrings (Concluding part)

This is the final part of a three part story. Read the other two parts :

Part 1 / Part 2

‘Like a date, Dad?’, his daughters had teased, when they called him up earlier today….

Ria had her hair done up in a different style today. She seemed to have aged so beautifully! How had he forgotten how pretty she was? And those earrings!! They framed her little face with light when she moved. Not to mention her peach dress that promised a second look...

Roshan struggled with the thought of  asking her about the affair during the drive to the suburban resort where the reunion was planned; when she put her hand over his, that he decided he would wait until later....
* * *

The reunion was a melange of hilariously endearing introductions, and surprised recognitions. Later, friends huddled into smaller groups to catch a few quiet drinks in various corners of the resort. Ria stood aside while the friends were gathering together “Are you sure you will be ok alone?” Roshan asked. “Why don’t you join us by the poolside too?”

“No… you go ahead. I am sure I can find other alumni wives and we can all sit and bitch about you guys…” she laughed, arm lightly in the crook of his elbow. She then flicked a few errant crumbs off his jacket front lightly. “Is that a new pocket square? You have been shopping without me, I see.” Was that hurt in her eyes, or suspicion?

After a moment of contemplation, she stood on her toes, and kissed him lightly on his cheek, her earrings dangling against his neck. “See you for dinner, Roshan,” and she walked towards the bar. Roshan’s hand went to his cheek involuntarily. It was not normal for her to make bold statements – in dressing or in display of affection; and yet today, she had done both.

“Something’s definitely different,” he thought uneasily.

* * *

The party continued late into the night, with old friends renewing their relationships. All through the night, he kept searching Ria out. While laughing at the jokes, he would watch her toying with her earrings. Damn! He loved those earrings…. He smiled in sudden relief as he realized what she had bought at the jeweler’s a week ago.

The drive back was unlike any that Roshan had experienced for a long time. Ria had removed her high heels, and had pulled her legs up to her chest. This caused the hem of her dress to ride back, revealing quite a bit of her thigh. He remembered a mole on her right thigh, and checked to see if his memory served him accurately. It was still there, as inviting as ever……

Back home, he opened the front door, and held it open for her, not missing the surprised look on Ria’s face. She went in for her shower, while Roshan caught up on his mail.

She came out of the shower in her towel, but she still had the earrings on. She walked up in front of him, and he moved to the side of the couch to make space for her. He was surprised to see disappointment in her eyes.

He hadn’t noticed how much her eyes had changed in the last few years. He hadn’t seen the little wrinkles around her eyes and her lips earlier. But she was still a stunning woman.

“Did you see my new earrings, Roshan?” There was something in that question that made him want to take her into his lap, and love her like he did when she walked into his life as his bride. Then he remembered the changes, the shopping, the other man.....

“Yes, I did.” Ria was surprised to note that there was a sadness in his voice. “Also your new hairstyle and the makeup… I loved your sexy dress too…” He laughed nervously.… “Are you having an affair?” Somehow, the question came out less flippantly than he would have liked. Ria was still standing, and she smiled naughtily. “Why? Do I look that good?”

“You bought yourself diamond earrings without calling up to tell me like you usually do and when I saw the amount I thought it was because you wanted to give ME a surprise gift… you wear makeup even at home…… your hair looks different, you have been shopping a lot.. I...I... Didn’t know what to make of it”

Ria looked shocked as realization struck her. She sat on the couch, looking rueful. “I’ve been missing the girls so much. I didn’t realize I was so dependent on them to make me happy… ” She sighed. “I just had so much time, and no one to look after. I didn’t realize you would feel this way.” Her eyes, with the fine wrinkles around them, threatened to well up……

“I am sorry I didn’t get you a gift,” she whispered sadly.

“Oh but you did, Ria,” Roshan said softly to his wife, his voice shaking with emotion, as he took her in his arms. “You most certainly did!”

The Earrings (Part 2)

photo credits http://www.asher-uk.com/


This is the second part of a three-part story. For the first part, see here .

*      *       *

The next few days, Ria's life had an unsettled feel – like the waves formed in a still lake when a pebble is thrown in. Waves that began with the earrings, and ebbed higher with the phone call from the girls …... ‘Mom, so how are you planning the date?’ they giggled into the phone, causing Ria to laugh nervously.

‘Will you wear the peach dress I gave you?’

She could still make out which of the twins was talking to her, even though they had tried to trick her many times. Shruti had gifted the peach satin dress for her birthday a few years ago. Ria had never worn the peach dress before –  ‘Was it three years ago, or four?’ Ria thought, surprised at the length of time she had waited for an occasion to wear something she loved.

After the phone call, she took out her earrings, pausing to admire them again. Funny how she didn’t tell the girls about her shopping binge, even though she remembered……. She remembered that she hadn’t told Roshan either.

Earrings were the only jewelry she wore, because they were the only things Roshan noticed. Or was it the other way round? It was so long ago, she did not remember which came first – her love of earrings, or Roshan’s appreciation for them. ‘I have to ask him that…’

* * *

Roshan thought Ria looked different these days… She had started to wear kohl and lip gloss at home. He knew make-up was something she grudgingly applied when they had to go out, or if they had guests at home. She had always been pretty; in an unpretentious sort of way, but something had changed……

She hadn’t gifted him the expensive watch yet. For an uneasy moment, he was unsure if it was a watch, and if it was for him. Something was happening in her life that he wasn’t part of, and Roshan was not comfortable with that.

He had almost told Anita about his fears too; when she had taken him out on a frantic hunt for a pocket-square to match his tie. Anita had, in her usual child-like stubbornness, insisted that they complete his attire for the much awaited reunion. And after a successful bout of shopping, they were in a sandwich and coffee place, when she came clean about her feelings.

Anita put her hand on Roshan’s arm, and said, “Chief, I think you already know that I like you – I think I may have a crush on you, ok? And I know you have a family and all that. And I have no business saying this, but you can always talk to me….” She lowered her voice as she leaned closer “As a friend, you know – I have no intention to start an affair with my boss!” Her smile making the conversation light, but her eyes letting him know her intentions.

Roshan, for the first time in his life, resented being married, being fifty soon and being kept out of a secret by his wife. His resentment soon gave way to guilt, and he patted Anita’s hand, smiling tiredly as he stood up from his chair. “Thanks Anita. What would I have done without you … Or have I already asked that?” And they both laughed as the tension of the moment eased out. But he had decided that he had to talk to SOMEONE about this…..

* * *

“Maybe you should just ASK her, Roshan,” It was not what Andy said that irritated Roshan; it was the slurping of his drink that did. Andy was his school time buddy – and Roshan had just told him about the strange way that Ria had been acting these days.

“Will you stop that sound? No, I don’t want to ask her. I don’t want her to think I am a snoopy, jealous husband….” Roshan was interrupted by the slurping again.

“But you are one, aren’t you?” Andy was amused.

“I just want to know what’s going on…” Roshan trailed off, lost in thoughts of the credit card bill, the new attention Ria paid to the way she looked, at her sudden interest in going out shopping more often…..

“Don’t tell me you think she’s having an affair!” Andy was now looking intently at Roshan’s face, causing him to look away; but atleast the slurping had stopped…. And then, abruptly, Andy just started laughing cruelly.

“Not funny, Andy,” Roshan was almost sulking now. “She was so upset when the kids left for college, and all of a sudden she seems to look so happy! I can’t think of anything exceptionally nice I have said or done to make her feel good; so obviously, it’s not me!!”

“And you’re feeling bad that she’s feeling good?” the amazement in Andy’s voice bordering on sarcasm. The slurping was back with a vengeance, this time because Andy was thinking.

“Well… the affair thing is a possibility. If I were you, I’d start getting a little more romantic. You guys have been so busy being parents; you’ve forgotten how to be a couple. Now with the kids away and all, one really never knows with women, you know….. Especially someone who looks as good as she does!”

*     *     *
On the day of the reunion, she was ready much before the time Roshan said he would pick her up. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face paled in front of the shining diamond earrings… she knew what was missing. She used a bronze shade of eye shadow, which instantly brightened up her face. She looked better than she had imagined, and decided to do her hair again, a little more dramatic; the effect looked good….

Roshan blared the horn a few times; till Ria appeared at the front door. She was wearing a new dress which showed off her petit figure and high heels… he smiled when he saw the little clutch she was holding - she had always carried large oversized purses filled with quick fixes for every emergency the family might have. The clutch somehow made her look much younger, prettier. “Could it really be another man?” he thought, his conversation with Andy coming back to him.

He suddenly remembered what Andy had told him about being romantic. In comic frenzy, he opened the car door, and ran out to take the huge key from Ria. He noticed for the first time, how the large key looked inept and garish in her delicate hands, even though she had always been the one to lock the doors when they went out. Funny how he never looked at her hands any more……“You look nice. Is that a new dress? Wow.”

He was surprised at how easily she blushed. “No… it’s not new. Don’t you remember? Shruti gave it to me almost four years ago…. For my birthday…” With each pause in her statement, she seemed to be justifying her altered appearance. Did she sense his suspicions?

TO BE CONTINUED

The Earrings (Part 1)

photo credits http://www.kblailryart.com/

Ria sighed as she pulled out her credit card to pay. She winced when she saw the bill, but she felt a strange happiness too. It felt like the bittersweet guilt of having stolen a kiss, surreptitiously, for the first time. She signed the credit card slip, and took the little purple pouch from the smiling salesgirl at the jewelry store.


Back home, she grinned as she opened the purple drawstring pouch to reveal a pair of the most exquisite, delicate earrings she had ever seen - little iridescent diamond drops encased in platinum that threw beads of light against her cheeks when she held it to her ears. Ria’s smile now spread to her eyes, and she could feel warmth diffusing to her toes.

‘Maybe this is what they mean by retail therapy’ she thought, wondering what her twin daughters would say if they found out her latest hypothesis for happiness…….. ‘Hmmmph!’ she grunted. ‘They would call up Roshan to tell him the big news!’ She spoke to herself, suddenly realizing that she had started having conversations with herself since the twins moved out of the three bedroom apartment a few months ago. She smiled affectionately at the framed photos lining the corridor - the twins had struck perfect poses for perfect pictures, at various stages in their lives…..

Her daughters Shreya and Shruti had seized her attention since their first kick in her womb during pregnancy. They went on to become the focal point of her life – and her husband Roshan’s life too. Every motivation, every decision and every discussion revolved around their lives, their birthday parties, their studies, and their careers.

And then, suddenly, as though life had been fast forwarded in a movie, they had been ready to fly, ready to live on their own. Through the process of identifying colleges, cities, and local guardians in all probable cities, she’d had a little ache in her heart reminding her that the girls had ceased to be her little girls. And without any forewarning, she had been overwhelmed with loneliness.

It was not as though Roshan did not understand; he had asked her on many accounts, to start pursuing her career again, which she suspected was more out of guilt than anything else. Gradually, she had discovered that Roshan and she had moved on to being good friends than being in love. She would sometimes conjure up images of what she would do if he had feelings of love for someone else – he was quite handsome even with the little thickness around his waist.

Ria now shook herself out of her sanctuary of memories, looked at the mirror, and smiled at her reflection. Her hair was still a dark, lustrous brown. Her genes had intervened to soften the passage of time, for which she was thankful; she knew she could never bring herself to color her hair. Her skin had some of the glow it had in its youth, but her eyes seemed to give away her age.….

She would wear the earrings to the ‘Silver’ reunion of Roshan’s Alma mater next week. Roshan had been excited for a month now, at the prospect of meeting his old friends from college, after nearly 25 years. The twins had made a big deal of it too. ‘Like a date’ they had squealed, their eyes twinkling.

* * *

Roshan was fidgeting with his cuff links again. His secretary Anita knew this to be an indication that he was deliberating over an issue, and did not want interruptions. Anita did not mind; she just wanted to make sure everything was fine – Roshan had looked lost all through the meeting a few minutes ago. Anita was just wondering whether to call the pantry and order a cup of his favorite masala chai, when the phone rang.

Roshan’s office was tasteful but minimalistic, and the only personal effect in the room was a collage made by the twins….candid photographs with captions elucidating what a wonderful dad he was. Today, that card reminded him how much he had been missing them. He was interrupted in his reveries by the movement in front of his glass door. He caught Anita’s quizzical look, but he did not want to talk to her now.

Roshan looked at his watch, and realized it was well past office working hours. His secretary was still at her desk, as he had not given any instructions yet. That was what he liked about Anita. She was young, but mature; intuitive, but followed orders. He had often wondered (aloud for her benefit, and in private to himself) what he would do without her. And the fact that she was quite a dazzling young woman made it even easier to have her around. He also knew she was only a few words shy of expressing her infatuation with him. This had made him smile when alone; glad he could still have that effect on women. He was, after all, closer to fifty than he could care to be.

He dialed her extension, and she picked up the phone before the second ring. “Sorry Anita, please leave for the day. I should have told you earlier. Good night.”

An hour before, he had called the credit card company to verify the sms – Ria had spent an unusually high amount without calling him up first! That was so unlike her, he thought. It was a jewelry store….. So maybe she finally bought something for herself!

He smiled at his wife’s habit of skimming through price tags before looking at any other attribute of a prospective purchase, while gasping for effect when she felt the price was moderately higher than her budget buys. But why didn’t she tell him this time? She always called when she needed convincing to buy anything of value, whether it was for her, or the home, or the twins.

‘Unless……’ he thought with a smile, ‘it’s a gift for me!’ He got up from his chair, happy that the mystery was solved. ‘But what could she buy for me from a jeweler? Cuff links couldn’t possibly cost so much, and I don’t wear any jewelry…. maybe a watch?’

His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him dinner was long due….Dinners used to be fun with the girls rattling out the days’ events. But there had been very little engaging conversation at the dinner table for a couple of months now – since the girls moved away. There were niceties, of course, and there were the mandatory discussions - “The electricity bill was very high last month”, or “the girls need to deposit their college fees this week” ….. “The neighbors are having their anniversary party… what will you wear?” …… “The car’s been making some weird noises…”

Its not like there never was romance in their lives - there had been romantic interludes before mundane urgency made their way in …… she liked long drives and dinners, movies and ice cream. She also had a mean bargaining streak down her back; atleast she still had THAT trait intact, and had trained the girls too. He laughed at the image of the three women in his life tackling a terrified salesman together.

Driving back, Roshan was listening to their favorite romantic number, from the first movie they saw together…. HIS favorite number - he realized he didn’t actually remember if it was Ria’s favorite too. ‘I must ask her one of these days….’

(TO BE CONTD.)
Read Part 2 and Part 3