I knew her.....

I pretended to be busy with my cooking, as Anusha got ready and packed her school bag.

" Ma, I'm leaving. Will be late this evening, have extra classes ", she said, as she put on her shoes and straightened her tie , glancing at the showcase glass.

" Ok, shall make the vegetable puffs as dinner starters, then. You wanted them na ? ", I asked.

She nodded, " Yeah, that's fine Ma."

I waited till her bicycle turned the corner. I went to my car, and then drove it out of the garage. She needn't know my mission. I knew where she would go.

I saw her cycle at a distance, waiting for the signal to change. My car was at a safe distance from her cycle. She wouldn't see me, even in her rearview mirror.

The signal turned green. But instead of turning left, in the direction of her school, she took the straight road, to where he lived. I followed, all the while maintaining the safe distance.

He seemed to have been waiting for her arrival. He hugged her, as she got off the bicycle and parked it under the big Gulmohar tree on the roadside. She took out a gift-wrapped box from her bag and handed it to him. He beamed. Clearly, he hadn't expected this from her. She stood there with a happy smile on her face as he unwrapped the gift and took out a book.

One thing that they didn't know was that they were being watched.

I drew in a sharp breath and let out a low whistle as the scene unfolded in front of my eyes.

I knew what book it was. It was the fresh copy of, ' Chicken Soup for the Brothers' Soul'.
I had bought it for her from the International Book Fair, at Pune last month. She had loved it when I gave it to her.
Somehow, the mother in me knew what she would do with it.

She hugged him again, kissed him and started back on her bicycle. She rode past me as I ducked in to avoid her seeing me. She wouldn't expect me there, and she didn't look at my car as she sped away on her cycle.

I started my car and drove back home, all the while thinking about how sensitive a daughter I had.

He was Kesar, the twelve -year old son of our house-help, Jaya. Jaya would tell us how difficult it was for her to raise her kids, with a drunkard husband and an ailing mother-in-law. Her work as a domestic help in many homes was just enough and she was somehow pulling on. We helped her as much as we could.

Anusha had heard and seen all this, so she had sort of 'adopted' Kesar as her younger brother. She would give him her old school books, and ask him to read. He was a student at the local school, and he loved to learn.
Anusha would teach him, on weekends.

Today was his birthday, so Anusha had chosen to give him the gift.

I knew of her involvement with him, but chose to keep quiet. I never let her know I knew her secret.

I would surely do my best to help all I can with his education. God has given us enough to be of help to others.

But not yet. I would wait for Anusha to come and initiate the topic , with me.

I knew my daughter. She would come to me, soon.

I smiled as I opened the garage gates and parked my car inside.

I had a daughter I could always be proud of.



This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out creative writing topics each weekend for Indian bloggers.

Was it bliss ?

“ Ms. Neharika, here’s someone to see you”, Sylvia opened the door and announced to her.

Neha looked up from her desk.

“ Yes, I’m expecting him. Ask him to come in. And tea for two, please”.

She was reading the interview of hers that had been published in the recent issue of  “ The ArtSpace” magazine.

Her life till date, her student days when she was just another girl, and her growth from that point to the famous Kathak exponent that she was now, had been widely covered in a semi-biographical, semi-conversational style.

The reporter had done a good job.

She remembered the conversation she had had with him over the phone.

She was then on a trip to Orissa , to meet her Dance guru. That was when she  had got the call from “The ArtSpace” team. The editor had first called himself and transferred the call to the reporter , requesting her personally that the latter had sought anonymity. That puzzled Neharika, but she nonetheless accepted it, because she knew the editor well from previous meetings.

The reporter was a very soft guy, who knew to ask questions or seek clarification without sounding offensive.

The call had lasted a little more than an hour, and at the end of it, she had poured out everything about her life.

How she had wanted to dance as a young kid, and how her father had beaten her once, breaking her ankles, when he found her dancing to the tunes of a bollywood number.

How she had secretly pursued her dreams, never breathing a word of it to anyone, masking her absence from home in the evenings, in the name of private tuitions.

And also the one incident that changed her life.

She had joined college, and on the freshers’ day, a group of guys from her senior batches had cordoned her off from the rest of her new gang.

They were drunk. Drunk till they oozed booze.

One of them , Ritesh,  asked her whether she knew how to dance.

She replied in the affirmative.

He threw a pair of anklets at her, as if her had them ready, and asked her to dance.

On the basketball court.

She said, she wouldn’t do it, as she thought the art was sacred and not to be insulted this way.

He slapped her, and mouthed expletives.

And that moment, she was come over by the real streak of vengeance.

She wore the anklets, and danced, danced and danced, till the whole college including the teachers had gathered, watching her, applauding her for her courage, presence of mind and strength to face the miscreants.

She hated the situation, she hated Ritesh for making her do it.

She would have stopped dancing then, for the insult she had had to endure.

But that had only been the beginning.

Later she started receiving  mails cloaked in anonymity, praising her for her performance, requesting her to dance at college festivals and  celebrations.

All the mails came from the same person, she was sure, because the handwriting was the same in all.

Neharika tried finding who the hidden admirer was, but she couldn’t. Mobile phones weren’t common then, and facebook wasn’t even heard of !

She loved these mails, and would look forward to receiving them. They thrilled her, and they gave her the boost to perform.

Often she got calls from television channels, where she was given opportunity to perform. Her father had realized his folly by then, and she performed at events in and outside the country. By the time she graduated , she had carved a niche for herself in her chosen field, and soon she turned a professional Kathak artist.

That was three years ago.

Neharika had been spoken out all this to the reporter, and he had done her justice by publishing all this in detail.

Surprisingly enough, the day before, she had got a call from none other than Ritesh.

“ I read your interview on the ArtSpace,I’d love to see you, Neha”, he had said.

“ Oh !! So, you still alive ? What makes me so likeable now, Ritesh ? So you remembered what you did to me all those years ago? You want to seek forgiveness, now? After all these years? Still drunk, eh, Ritesh ? “, Neha had let out her pent up frustration.

“Neha, please”, Ritesh had pleaded.

“ Yeah,  I want to see how you face me after humiliating me so much, Ritesh. Come down tomorrow evening. 5 O’ Clock. And by the way, call me Neharika,” she had replied and disconnected the call.

And here he was, as Sylvia had announced.

The tap on the door brought Neha back to her senses.

Ritesh was at the door, smiling at her.

“ Oh, come in, Mr Ritesh”, Neha spoke with a mocking voice.

“Hi Neha, sorry, Neharika. Nice meeting you after so many years. So long , isn’t it ? “, Ritesh spoke soothingly, as Sylvia came in with the tray of tea and cake.

That was all she needed to flare up.

“ Look here, Ritesh. I’m not the very same person you tried intimidating years back. Even then I’ve stayed away from you. I’ve never wanted anything to do with you. The insult I bore from you that day on the basketball court is enough to fuel me for a lifetime. I shall not forgive you for mocking me and my art. You’ll never do that to any girl hereafter. I think I made sure of that when I took up your challenge.”

Ritesh tried to say something, but Neha gestured with her hand.

“ No, Ritesh. I don’t want to listen to any apology or soothing words now. I don’t need it now. I’ve achieved in life, I’m famous, rich. And in a couple of years I’ll be married to my love. I’ll have a perfect family.I don’t want you haunting me anymore. I’m an achiever. You must know this, for the way you humiliated me”, Neha spoke rapidly and fiercely, with hatred oozing out of every word.

“ You may go, I don’t want to see you again.”

Ritesh got up from his seat.

“ Ok, Neharika. I promise not to disturb you again. You’ll never see me. All the best in all that you do,” he said, and walked out of the room.

He smiled to himself as he walked away.

Neha would never know him to be the secret admirer she had had. He had been mesmerized by her that day when she danced to his command.

He had realized his mistake and wanted to admit it and his love for her.

 But he had never been able to do it  before her.

She had only had hatred for him then.

And he had taken to writing her secret mails. And watched her grow and succeed in its shade.

She would never know he was the reporter who had covered her story on “The ArtSpace”.

She would never know the pains he had taken to mask his voice, lest she should find him out and refuse to talk.

She was happy as the achiever that she was. She was in love and ready for a happy life.

She needn’t know all this.

Ignorance indeed is bliss, he thought to himself, as he walked back to his home, letting his thoughts be washed away in the happiness of seeing her happy.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out a creative writing theme each weekend for Indian bloggers.

Mission Accomplished !!

Tick-tock-tick-tock……

The sound of the clock  was the only one piercing the stony silence in the room. It was only 9 at night.

I was wide awake, all ready for my mission.

It was an unusually windy night. That’s what made it a perfect time for my mission.

The wind whooshing outside tickled the anxiety in my heart.

Will I go wrong this time ?

A few moments later I heard the door bang shut, and the click of the door-lock.

Thud-thud-thud-thud…..

Someone was going up the stairs. 

All was silent in a few minutes.

I waited for the right moment, to begin the task at hand.

Plop !!

That was a first….I strained my ears for the next few moments….

Plop plop plop plop…..

Pitter patter….

Oooh….. the rain had begun !

I got up briskly from the bed and tiptoed my way out of the room.

Opening the door , taking care not to break the silence, I wandered out into the lonely night, into the verandah, and walked to my favourite mango tree in the courtyard….

The rain had gathered momentum, and small puddles of water had formed on the mud, near the tree….

I danced about in the rain, the water splashing as my legs moved and tickling my feet with its soft gush.

Achoooo !!!

That was a loud sneeze that escaped me…..

I heard someone stirring inside the house.

Oh, the kitchen….. I thought she was done with her work….but no !!

Oh no….She’s coming. What do I do now !

Before I could hide, Ma came out and saw me , standing under my favourite mango tree, enjoying the rain.

“ Abhay, how many times have I told you not to get wet in the rain ? You never understand! Can’t you listen to me for once at least !! This boy is such a brat.....”

She ran to me with her right hand out to give me a beating, even as I ducked and ran inside to the cosy warmth of my room….

Why should I wait for her to beat me…

My mission had been accomplished, hadn’t it ?

I wasn’t wrong this time about the rain, Was I ?




I’m in my room now, Ma has just given me a bowl of hot tomato soup, and bread croutons.

I’m so happy, as I eat the soup with a slurp which matches the crunch of the bread crumbs.

Cold rains, and hot soup afterwards ,this is bliss, I tell you ! :-)


This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Life without him......a flower without fragrance !

And before I knew it, I had hit ' Send'.

I sat staring vacantly at my laptop screen , unmindful of the ' your message has been sent' notification flashing at me.
I couldn't undo it now.
It took a few minutes for the horror of what I had done to engulf me.
Oh my God ! I had just mailed him that I wanted him to grant me a divorce.
Divorce !
How could I ? How could I let go Sisir ? He was my life….

I had met Sisir on my first day at Globetech Solutions,  the IT giant I worked for before taking up freelance journalism.
He was my team leader; he had joined the company three years before I did.
Young, dynamic, handsome, soft- spoken, well-educated –  a guy any girl dreamt of.

Time bonded us so well, that we both didn’t know when and how it happened
But happen, it did.
Love.
It was  as silent as a flower unfurling; you never know it till the fragrance fills the air around.
That’s how it was, for both of us.
Sisir was everything I wanted my husband to be ; and to him , I was the world. He loved to look into my eyes, with a deep gaze and I found myself blushing every time he did that.
In more ways than one, he invoked the femininity in me….and I loved him for it and much more than that !

After a year of whirlwind romance, we got married, with the blessings of his parents and Father John, in whose orphanage I had lived ever since I lost my parents.

And that was when I called it quits at Globetech and got ensconced in my new role of a homemaker. I took up freelance writing for newspapers to keep me occupied and at home, I learnt the nuances of my new status as Sisir’s wife and a good daughter-in-law of the household.

All was fine, till the day it happened.

I was at the gyneac’s clinic, many scans and medical check-ups later, waiting with a sweet expectation to get the good news from her that we would be parents soon. Sisir was inside, talking to the doctor. When he came out, I was quick to notice the lifelessness in his eyes.
“Sisir, tell me….why do you look so troubled?”
“ No no nothing, Astha. Can we go home now” ?
“ No, Sisir. Tell me…..am I not pregnant? What did the doctor say? Why do you look so sullen ?” I wanted to know.
His tone was firm , “ Astha, can we go home and speak on this, please?”
I chose not to ask him further, but I desperately wanted to know what the doctor had said. It was fine even if I wasn’t pregnant, but Sisir’ s attitude was what made me uncomfortable. Why wasn’t he ready to tell me anything?
He was thoughtful all along the way home.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, Sisir embraced me gently.
“ Astha, shall I say something ? It is very important. Promise me that you will be with me.”
I turned on to my left to face Sisir.
“ Sisir, don’t you trust me? Don’t you know I am devoted to you? I promise , Sisir. I am all yours. I shall be with you, no matter what.”
“Astha, we must stop thinking of our own child.”
My world crumbled that instant.
“Why ? Why, Sisir ? Why so ?”
Avoiding my eyes, Sisir patiently recounted what the gyneac had told him. How the scan for pregnancy  had detected a tumour in my uterus. How it had been followed up with a test for malignancy. How it was diagnosed to be cancerous and why hysterectomy was the only option…

I looked at Sisir, even as my world of dreams of life came crashing down with a reverberating roar.

His eyes were moist.
“ I can’t lose you, love. I want you to be with me till death. So what, if we don’t have kids ? Aren’t we happy with each other?”
“Sisir, I am sure there’s a mix-up somewhere. This can’t be , Sisir. Why don’t we take a second opinion?”
“ It has been done, Astha. Dr Gia has already done that. The confirmation comes from AIIMS”.

I don’t remember what happened in the weeks that followed. I have vague memories of Sisir convincing me for the surgery, myself being wheeled into the theatre and waking up hours later with a numbness.
Of senses and soul.
A part of me died that day.

But I still had Sisir with me. The next few months passed fast, with me nursing my health back after the surgery. I took up a small job as the sub-editor of a local newspaper , to divert my mind.

We were trying to be happy as a childless couple, hoping to discover new realms of life with each other.

My surgery hadn’t gone well with my in-laws. They wanted a grandchild of their own, and Sisir was their only son. Now that the hopes had died, they were bitter. I could sense their resentment in their behavior and this increased my sense of guilt.

One day, when Sisir was away at Mumbai for a week on an official call, Ma  approached me.
She spoke in what was her matter-of-fact voice.
“ Astha, look here, I have nothing against you whatsoever. But don’t you feel that we need to pamper a grandchild born in our own blood? Don’t you think you are being more of a sentimental fool , hanging on to Sisir like this? You know you can’t give him a child. You also know he will not let you go. Don’t you think you should do something about it soon? Why don’t you be practical?”
As discreet as that.
The meaning of what she said pierced me so hard, that I felt my heart burst. Without Sisir near me, I couldn’t live. How could I leave him ?
What did she want me to do ?
Run away ? Where to ?
Initiate a legal separation ? Why ?
I lay crying the whole night.
No, I couldn’t imagine a life without him.
But I also wanted to see him happy.
Yes, Ma was right. I was denying them a pleasure in life. I had no business to. I couldn’t stop Sisir from having a new life. I owed it to him. His happiness was mine, wasn’t it !

Two days of thoughts later, here I was, sitting down and writing out a long mail to him.
I was breaking the promise I had given him that night, of being with him no matter what.
I was surprised that it didn’t ache anymore. I firmly put him, Ma and Pa before me. I told myself, even as I wiped my tears away that my Sisir must get to live a happy life. My presence should never hinder his happiness.

And before I knew it, I had hit ' Send'.

“ Astha, how could you do this to me ? I…never….. I can’t imagine it Astha….I just can’t.” Sisir was sitting with his hands   supporting his head.

  He had read my mail and had taken the morning flight back to Kanpur.

“What came over you, Astha? Did someone say something? Tell me…how could you ever think of leaving me ? You think I will marry someone else and be happy? Can I ever look into another girl’s eyes and discover my soul as I did in yours? Do you think my love was fake?”

A volley of questions. An answerless me.

Sisir shook me, his hands on my shoulders, to wake me up from my stupor.

I looked at him, tears blinding me.

How could I ever think of leaving this guy ?

He cupped my face in his hands, kissed my forehead , looked deep into my eyes as he always did and whispered, “ I love you, as you are, Astha. You are my life. I don’t want to know what made you send that mail. I just want you to promise me that you shall never ever leave me. Not even in your dreams.”.

I started to speak, but he silenced me with his finger on my lips.

“Kuchh mat bolo. You know what, why can’t we adopt a child ? I can convince Ma and Pa. I met Ms Nalini Vohra at Mumbai. She is the trustee of an orphanage, NIDHI. We are going there tomorrow. You will come with me, right ?”

I was speechless. I knew what being an orphan meant; I knew what it was like for someone like that to get a family to call his own.
I hugged him tight and sobbed into his chest, against his heartbeats.
Those were mine too.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

*Purely Fictional*