Dolls.....

She counted the notes in her hand once again.

Rupees 450.

“We don't do it for anything less than 500, woman,” he had said. “And in your case, only if you return before 4 this evening. Can’t wait any longer,” he had added.

That means , at least 50 Rupees more, she thought.

And perhaps a little extra . One could never be sure. And she couldn't take a chance with less money at hand .

 Not now, anyway.

She counted the notes again, and bundled them neatly to the end of her pallu. She turned back to look at the five-year old who had been playing with her doll, under the shade of the tree by the sidewalk.

She had fallen asleep, the doll clasped tight to her bosom.

Poor thing, she must be hungry, she felt sad . The little one had had just a couple of bananas since that morning, and it was half past two already.

If only I could sell these  off quick, she thought, looking at her basket of woollen dolls , which her daughter loved knitting.

Dolls in pairs. The bride and her groom. 
Dressed in  a fabric of creamy yellow with golden laces and a red turban , the dulha dolls matched the beauty of the dulhans in their red and green frilled lehengas, made of crisp shiny cloth.

Four out of the thirteen pairs that she had brought for sale that day remained in the basket.

Thirteen. She cringed at the thought of the number. She wondered why people called it unlucky.

Her daughter always made thirteen pairs.

Yellow and brown . Red and green. Pink and purple. Orange and Blue. In all weird combinations of colours she could imagine.

The whole basket would be a riot of colours when she finished. She would then pair the dulha with his dulhan, and sew their hands together.

An unbreakable bond, she would chuckle.

These woollen dolls that her daughter made had fed them their bread and butter for a long time now; ever since her husband's death . She sold them on the streets, at exhibitions, at the bus stations, near the museums, at the amusement parks - wherever she could find a kind soul who could part with a little money for her work. Usually, they were sold out by the evening. On days when she found it difficult to get customers, she went beyond her comfort zones and ventured into new areas to find a market.

And they pulled on with life.

She looked at the dolls again.

Eyes, nose and ears painted on the wool with a sharp brush and beads glued on to them neatly.

Her waist-length hair , made of thick black wool, braided to perfection.

The red turban conferring the much needed royal look on him.

Such skill !

She smiled at the thought of her daughter's talent.

Doll making was her catharsis. One that made her forget the pain of the love that had betrayed her trust and gone away,  after seeding her womb with a new life in a moment of lust.

The very same life, that was sleeping now under the tree.

She looked again at the sleeping child and tears filled her dry eyes, threatening to flow out with a rapidity she was afraid she wouldn't be able to control.

Poor kid. All of five years, and devoid of love so soon. If only....

" How much for these dolls, amma ?"

She turned to look at the face of an elderly gentleman, kneeling down beside her and examining the dolls with interest.

" Rupees Fifty a pair," she said, her hopes rising.

" Oh... pack three of them , please", he said.

" My grandchildren will love these, " he paid her with a smile as she handed over the polythene cover with the dolls to him.

She now had Rs 600. A little more than what she needed. She could leave now.

Packing the remaining pair in her shoulder bag, she got up and moved towards the little child to wake her up.

They had a long way to go.

" Do you make these yourself, amma?"

She stopped and turned back. The gentleman had returned.

" My daughter made them," she said. " Her mother", she added after a second, gesturing towards the sleeping child.

"Oh... they're just so beautiful. I was just wondering, you had one more pair, aren't you selling that ? ", he asked.

She paused before answering. Should she sell it too ? She would get more money, but no, she didn't need that now.

"No, sir. That's for her. That is all that she has," she said, looking at her granddaughter again.

"Arey, your daughter can make more for her, na", he said, but smiled kindly at the kid who had begun to stir out of her sleep.

She just smiled faintly to this and turned to walk.

" You seem to be in a hurry. Can you do one thing ? Here's my card. Can you just let me know when you have fifty such pairs  ? I want them to gift the children at the Orphanage I'm a patron of", he said, giving her a card.

She looked at him for a moment, and at the card.

" No sir. I'm sorry. I don't think I can. Those dolls were the last of the batch ", she said, lowering her eyes, her  voice curt and steely and turned to walk  under the red hot sun, her hand  tightly wrapped around her granddaughter's wrist.

No more time to explain.

The tears that had threatened her before a few minutes escaped the confines of her eyes and cascaded down .

She lifted her face , chin up , the heat of the sun falling directly on her cheeks.

She wanted the tears to dry soon. Lest the child should ask her the whys and why nots.

She couldn't afford to lose any more time. She had to reach the man before his demand for money went up. And before he could put a finger on the time he had allotted.

Her daughter was waiting for her to return with the money as promised.

She walked, her back bent, her frail shoulders aching , hoping that she was in time for the burial of her daughter's body at the public graveyard.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image courtesy - Google Images
*Fiction*

Bonded by....

Every time I see you, I imagine that happening.

I yearn to feel it on me !

The small trickle of happiness inside me soon erupts into a beautiful fountain, with a musical rhythm.

Oh !  The warmth it fills me with !!

I look at you furtively , expecting you to see the longing in my eyes........

How beautiful would the feeling be !

I’m sure, you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.

We’ll be filled with love, joy and fulfillment ; such is the power of the best of nature’s gifts !

Difficult , did  you say ?

No.

It’s not hard to smile,  is it ?

:)

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back to the blog after a silence of almost three weeks :)

Day 1 at the UBC.

A to Z Random Post # 26 Z - Zeal , for him !

I couldn’t locate him in the large crowd.

I knew he was there ; probably I wasn’t looking properly.

I patiently scanned every face, trying to identify each of them.

Yet , he eluded me.

The crowd didn’t seem to mind me ; I might be one in the many , to them.

"Zumba classes with our handsome instructor, and  Zatar Manakish for dinner would be better than this," I thought , frustrated , though I kept looking.

Ah ! There he was !!

My zeal was limitless now !

Quickly ,I zoomed my telescope at the tiny white light that was Jupiter . Zenography wasn’t easy ; but interesting , definitely !!
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Images : Google

Zumba : A form of Dance -cum- Aerobics, that's fun as an exercise.
Zatar Manakish : A kind of Lebanese Pizza, made of dough baked with a topping of oregano, thyme, sesame , salt etc.
Zenography : The study of Jupiter

Linking this to A toZ 2014 and the Ultimate Blogging Challenge.

A to Z Series Post # 26 - the Zenith of Love !!

The paper shook in my hands.

I’m surprised at her, angry with her for being foolish,  but I know her , She’s a gem ! , the title read.

She told me today, a lot many things.

She loves babies.

But she can’t have them.

They can’t , in fact.

Because Vinod suffers from congenital pituitary deficiencies.  That’s the term she used when she told me.He has a problem with fertility.

And it is not curable, she knows it is not, in his case.

And worse, she knows it, he doesn’t .

I froze for a moment. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

Someone had wrenched my heart out.

I had been the incompetent one, all these years.

Tears invaded my eyes as I continued reading.

I was shocked. I asked her how and why she had kept this hidden.

She said, she was the one handling their medical reports. It was easy for her to take up the blame and steer the conversation off the topic.

I told her she ought to have told him long back.

She said she had known it when she married him.

It seems his Dadima knew of this. His Dadaji also, presumably.

And his Dadima had made her promise that she’d never let him know.

And she cried again.

I got angry with her. Dadima was wrong in hiding it from him. Good that she’d told Kamini about it , but what was the justification she had for asking her to stop Vinod from knowing it ? That Vinod will not be able to accept it ? Isn’t it her mistake that she expected Kamini to accept it and then marry him and then hide it from him, driving her to take up the blame ?

I poured out these questions to Kamini, but she wouldn’t hear anything against Dadima. “ It had been my choice, too,” she said, “ I loved Vinod and I didn’t want to hurt him.”

I told her she was hurting him more by hiding it.

Which, she said, she had realized very late, just recently, when Dadima confessed to her on her death bed, that she’d been wrong in asking her to keep it hidden.

Weird, how human mind works. I’ve been wronged in one way, and Kamini has been wronged in another. I can understand her pain. She’s taking up a blame for something that’s not her fault at all.

But I think I can understand her thoughts.

She loves Vinod, much much more than she can ever say. She doesn’t want to hurt him, even if that means getting hurt in the process.

Some sort of self sacrifice, but her motives aren’t selfish.

I told her to speak to Vinod at least now. Softly, without hurting him. She must know how to do it.

She says she needs some time. She’s been silent at home now, observing Vinod and his reactions to situations. She wants to do it with full confidence.

I think I understand the love.

She’s a gem, that woman, Kamini. 
Just a little confused now, that's all. I wish she speaks to Vinod soon. I wish they get back the lost love.  

One of these days I’ll tell Vinod flat on his face that  ignoring his wife is going to cost him his life.

And that he’s confused in love. What he has for me isn't love ; it is supreme kinship.

Vinod is a nice guy, I like him. He ought to know the truth, even if it is bitter.

I don’t know for how many hours I sat looking at the page, but I cried, and let the tears flow.

I had no idea of any of this. While I could still blame Kamini for keeping it hidden, the sheer sincerity and honesty reflected by Mahita’s words made me see things from a different perspective.

For the first time in many days, I felt a clear understanding of my feelings for Kamini.

She was a gem.

A gem that I had received for loving and safe keeping; the one  that had kept me safe for so long.

When I entered the hospital room the next morning, Mahita was propped up on a pillow, and Kamini was giving her something to drink, her back turned to the door.

“ Mammaa , are you fine?”, Sanju ran to Mahita.

Kamini looked startled when she turned to the door to face me, as I was earlier than expected. She blushed red, and lowered her eyes, fidgeting with something on the table. I walked up to Mahita’s bed.

She looked at me and smiled. “ Thank you, for taking care of Sanju”, she said.

“I should be the one thanking you, Mahita,” I said, my voice masking my emotions well.

“What for?”, she asked, perplexed.

“ For this,” I said, as I held up her journal.

She looked at the journal for a moment, then at me with a faint smile, and turned to look at Kamini.

“ The game is up, dear. He knows it now. Relax,” she told her , the faint smile growing.

Kamini looked at me, her eyes widening in strange surprise. I nodded. And instantly her eyes welled up with tears.

The next moment, she was in my arms, hugging me, her head resting on my chest, sobbing uncontrollably, as I held her and let her tears soak me wet.

Here was the woman who had given me her life with all the love , and I hadn’t been able to realize that. I had lived in my own land, nurtured my own dreams, never ever trying to find out if she had a different view of life.

I gently stroked her hair and whispered in her ears, “ Sorry, Kamini. Sorry. I love you, as always. Will, always.”

Sanju planted a kiss on Mahita’s cheek and said, “ Vinod aunty ko Prince mil gaya”, and we laughed out loud.

Mahita was discharged the next day, and once she went home, she sent her letter of resignation to the HR Team of our company.

Dr. Rajat Nair wanted help with the ‘ Home for the Aged’ that  he was running at Bangalore, and Mahita had volunteered to help. She wanted to move soon. Sanju’s academic year would end in a month, and they would relocate to India.

Soon, the day of their departure arrived.

“I’ll write to you both, you’re so special to me, “ she told me and Kamini when we went to see them off at the airport.

“ But we’ll miss you and Sanju , and your special smiles. You’ve given me so much , Mahita. I don’t know if I will ever be grateful enough for that,” Kamini said.

“ Mahita, you have all our love and prayers. We still need you in our lives,” I said.

She smiled and waved a goodbye, as Sanju pranced forward in the queue for Immigration.

I took Kamini’s hands in mine as we returned to our car.

Oh! I still loved Mahita ; she was still the Zenith of love for me.

Just that, this was an altogether different form of love, undefinable, inexplicable.

And just that, Kamini loved her more than I did.

We kept in touch over the past fourteen  years, twice or thrice we met them both when we went on vacations and we knew Saarthak, our Sanju, had grown into a handsome young man and had left for the US for higher studies.

One fine day, I received a parcel at my office.

It was Mahita’s. From Bangalore.

It contained a letter.

Hi Vinod and Kamini,

I know this comes in as a surprise, but this is one favour I’m seeking from you.

Sanju doesn’t yet know the story of his birth. And I don’t want him to know it from me when I’m alive.

I’m enclosing a diary herewith. My Pink Journal.

I’ve written down everything here.

Please hand it over to him once I’m gone.

And I’ll be gone soon, anyway. You know my clock has been ticking for a long time now !

( I don’t even know whether I’ll be able to see the Ganges when I’m still alive ! That's one of my very few wishes in life ! )

You’re the best to do this for him.

Because while I’ve loved and lost, you both have rediscovered love . In your own sweet way. 

Sanju still loves Kamini's Lalla Lalla Lori, by the way.

Yours,

Mahita.

That was one month ago.

I’d resigned and we had relocated to Mumbai just two weeks back. I hadn’t spoken to Mahita yet, as we were just getting settled. We hadn’t informed her, intending it to be a surprise for her.

I regretted it now, looking at the newspaper on my lap, that carried her obituary.

Probably, Sanju might have mailed me the news of her death to my official e-mail ID .It might have bounced back as the ID no longer existed.

“Vinod, don’t you think we ought to go ? I can’t think of not going,” Kamini was crying now, standing next to me, clutching something in her hands.

I looked at her, my tears finding their way to my lap.

“ Also, we owe her a duty,” she said, handing over Mahita’s journal to me.

I looked at her, and the journal in my hand.

Yes, we had to go.

Saarthak needed us, now, more than ever. 
Kamini would sing Lalla Lalla Lori for him again.

I got up, to call my travel agent to book us the tickets.

Mahita, you’ll always be with us, We’ll always love you. You taught us a new way to live. You gave us a new zest for a meaningful life.

We’ll miss you ;Your memories shall live on, I whispered to the winds brushing my skin.

As I turned to go inside, I felt that two big, deep brown eyes, lined with kohl, laced with a mischievous smile, were looking at me intently from somewhere in the heavens.

The End....
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Linking this to A toZ 2014 and the Ultimate Blogging Challenge.

A to Z Random Post # 25 Y - Yahoo, they did it !

She wanted to do it.

But there were distractions.

Someone or the other always turned to look at her.

Their  teacher was mixing colour pigments with egg yolk for the tempera painting they were supposed to learn.

She looked at her teacher’s eyes, visible through the small opening in  her yashmak.

  

She knew she wouldn’t be caught.

She looked at her friend, with longing in her eyes.

He looked ready too.

Her whole body ached, from trying to control the urge.

No, they knew they couldn’t hold it any longer !

They did it.

 

How long could they stifle their yawns ?? !!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Images : Google

Linking this to A toZ 2014 and the Ultimate Blogging Challenge.

A to Z Series Post # 25 Yes, she knew her....

I took Sanju to the Subway Outlet on our way. While he ate, I called the hospital from there and informed Kamini that we were on the way.

I wanted to see her, that was the truth. To confront her, to ask her what this was all about.

“ Vinod, it is already late, and visitors aren’t allowed in the evenings here, you know na. Why don’t you go home instead ? Take the kid there, and you can come here in the morning,” she said.

That appeared logical. If Sanju couldn’t meet Mahita, there was no point in going to the hospital in the evening.

But I decided to play.

“ In that case, I think it’s better to take him to his home. I will stay with him there tonight and bring him to the hospital in the morning,” I said.

“ Oh ! That’s perfect, then. But you need the keys , right ?,” she asked.

  I hadn’t expected this. I had thought she would protest.  Clever.

“ Hmm..keys..yeah, that’s true,” I said, and turned to look at Sanju. He was holding a bunch of keys in his hand. He mouthed ,” mere pass hai”, when I looked at him.

“ Hey Kamini, I think Sanju has the keys, let me see. If so, I’ll go to her home and call you for updates,” I said and hung up.

“ Hey, that’s your home keys?”, I asked him.

“ Yes Uncle. Mamma comes late from office. So I have a spare key with me. I go home in the evening, have milk and then go to play. Security uncle helps me lock the door, then.  Mamma tells me every day to take care of the key and not lose it,” he said proudly.

“ Chalo, let us go then,to your home. Kal Subah we’ll go to the hospital , Ok ? ”, I said and  he nodded. We walked to my car and drove to their place.

It took hardly ten minutes for Sanju to settle down at home , and he enthusiastically switched on the computer. His perfect knowledge amazed me, and he said he learnt it at school.

“ What’s there to see in the computer now?”, I asked.

“ Vinod aunty dikhaaoonga,” he smiled and opened a folder.

I stood surprised as he screened one photo after another. Not just one or two, at least fifty of them.

Kamini with him. Kamini with Mahita. The three of them together.

I didn’t let recognition show on my face.  But my excitement had reached a greater height now. I wanted to know more about this play that was happening behind my back.

Tension, anger, frustration swept into me. I opened the Yahoo page mindlessly and kept browsing, while Sanju did his homework. I slyly opened some other folders too, hoping for a clue about the connection. But there were none.

I wanted to call Kamini, but decided to wait till Sanju slept. She would reach home, by then.

Sanju kept telling me something about his school, and I listened to him for some time, entertaining him. An hour later, the chatter stopped, and I turned to look at Sanju.

He had fallen asleep on his books.

Ah ! my moment had come.

Taking care not to disturb his sleep, I took him in my arms, carefully, to his bed and tucked him warm with his blanket. I turned to go towards the phone, when I noticed the small book lying on the bed.

It was a small journal, with a light pink cover.

Overcome by curiosity, I opened it.

The first page was signed - Mahita , a personal journal.

I couldn’t help turning the pages, to check if she had written something about what I was itching to know, despite knowing that it wasn’t ethically correct for me to do so.

And then it caught my eye.

The day she came home first. A curious title.

I read on. 

Dear Diary,

I had just returned from Sanju’s school. Annual Day Functions. And she knocked at the door immediately after I entered.

She smiled when I opened and asked her who she was. She said, she had seen Sanju’s performance at school that afternoon, and she wanted to congratulate him. She’d seen us take the cab, so she’d followed us home.

 I invited her in. And we talked more. She seemed a genuine person, so warm, pretty and soft spoken.

She said she was a nurse, and worked at Sanju’s school as a volunteer with their Social Causes Wing, on her off days. I asked what her name was . “Kamini”, she replied.

I was surprised. I decided to surprise her. “ Kamini, as in, Kamini Vinod Mehra?”, I asked her. And she was surprised, indeed. “Do you know my husband ?”, she asked.

And I told her  I knew him , he was my friend and colleague.

She smiled to this, and we talked some more roz ka kissa. She said she’d like to meet Sanju often. I was happy.

But before she left, she told me one more thing.

That she had followed us not just to meet Sanju. That she’d seen my photograph in one of the books Vinod had, and had kept quiet about it. And she had seen me at school today, so she thought she ought to find out more about me.

She apologized and told me not to take it in a wrong way.

What’s wrong in what she did ! I said, its fine.

And it’s not my picture she has seen, anyway. I’m sure of that.

And she said Vinod didn’t know about her volunteering, so it would be better if I don’t mention the meeting to him.

She’s glad that she came.

I’m glad too. I have found a new friend. So has Sanju.

So that was how the connection began.

I turned the pages again.

She’s more than just a friend now. The next title.

Kamini comes often, and we talk a lot. She plays with Sanju. One would find it difficult to believe that she’s not a mother. She’s so motherly.

We share a lot of thoughts  with each other. She’s a delightful companion.

Once she asked me where my husband was. Coincidence, that it was his death anniversary that day.

I don’t know whether it was that, or the overwhelming grief that sometimes threatens to eat me whole, but something made me tell  her.

Everything.

And I felt warm with a little peace .

She was sorry she asked me, but I told her I was thankful to her, for being a patient listener.

Now, she knows me as much as I know myself.

But, Vinod doesn’t know anything. Nothing about me, nothing about us.

Something tells me I should wait before telling him that his wife is one of my best friends now.

I turned the pages again, not regretting anymore.

I am upset with her , the next one read.

Kamini spoke a lot about Vinod today.

She remembered the nice early days of marriage. It seems Vinod married her because his Dadaji told him to. Her dad was Dadaji’s colleague and friend, that’s how the relation worked out.

They were happy during the initial years but she says the equation is changed now. They’ve been married for a decade.

She loves Vinod. She is sure Vinod loves her too.

But he’s been cranky for some years now. She even narrated the incident of his spoiling her wedding saree.

All mainly because they don’t have kids.

I asked her why she didn’t want babies, given her motherly traits and deep love for Sanju.

She just cried.

Hugged me and cried.

And left.

I’m upset now.

Why ? Why did Kamini cry ? I turned the pages frantically now.

She says I’ve to help her. Another title.

She told me today that I must help her overcome the dilemma she’s facing.

She’s not able to speak out the truth to him.

She says I must tell him about myself. My story.
About love, about happiness, about finding the true meaning in one’s life.

She believes that will help him embrace the truth when he comes to know it.

I don’t think my life and that are related much, but she insists.

I told her in a jovial mood that he thinks he loves me. But she knows him better.

She says it’s just plain confusion for him, she’s sure he can’t love anyone else the way he loves her.

I’m sure of that too.

What was the truth that Kamini was speaking of ? I turned back the pages, sure that I had missed something in between.

And out fell a piece of paper,  torn from the same journal and folded , as if she’d wanted to discard it, but had decided against it.

I picked it up and opened it, my hands shaking in tension and excitement.

To be contd…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Linking this to A toZ 2014 and the Ultimate Blogging Challenge.