Life is beautiful

Life is beautiful

when your son cooks for you

when your daughter steps in for you 

when your beloved clears the dining table for you

when your friend cooks for you

when your favourite song blares on the radio

You know -pandemic or no pandemic

Life is beautiful!

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                                                        Pandemic Fatigue

I am tired 

of wearing a mask everyday

of social distancing

of sanitizing frequently

of staying at home

of being afraid of people

of not going out

of not eating out at restaurants

of not travelling.

I am tired 

of the new normal.

The pandemic fatigue is setting in...

 I want to live 

not 

survive.

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Chashma

 

Chalo aaj mud ke kal ko dekhte hai

Par pehle zara ye gulabi chashma uttar lo

Warna tum phir yahi kahoge

Yaar kal bahut haseen tha

Tum bhool gaye wo roz ki bhagdag

Wo alarm ka zor se bajna, wo jhatke se uth kar nahaane bhaagna

Naashta haath mein lekar, computer aur phone ko balance karte huey train pakadna

Dhakkam dhukki ke beech phone answer karna aur phir poora din chakkarghinni ki tarah ghoomna

Raat ko thak kar chid chide mood mein rehna, tapaak se mujhe shut up keh dena

Tum bhool gaye ye sab baatein.

 

 Chalo aaj ab is aaj ko dekhte hai

Par pehle zara ye saleti chashma uttar lo

Warna tum phir yehi kahoge

Yaar aaj bahut depressing hai

Tum nahi dekhoge ki aaj kitna shaant hai

Ab alarm nahi bajta, araam se  angrai lekar bistar par pade khidki ke bahar baithe

 totey ki jode ki chechahat sunte hai

halanki work from home hai aur ghanto computer par beet jaate hai

lekin na wo bhaag daud hai, na wo time ka stress. na wo shorsharaba

Tum bhool jaate ho ye sab baatein

 

Chalo aaj aane waale kal ko dekhte hai

Par pehle zara ye kaala chashma uttar lo

Warna tum phir yahi kahoge

Yaar aage bahut andhera hai

Tum nahi dekh paaoge roshni ki wo kiran

Jo door jhilmila rahi hai aur keh rahi hai ki waqt guzar hee jayega

Raasta mushkil zaroor hai. lekin raasta he hai, kahin toh pahuchayega

Toh bas ummeed ka daaman na chodo aur dheere hee sahi par chaltey reho

Kal bas yahi yaad rahega ki kissne kitna saath nibhaya aur kis tarah nibhaya

Tum bas yaad rakhna ye hee baatein.

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 Space

A little space

        so

 I can grow

A little more  

        so

 you can grow 

        then  

A little more

         so

we can grow.

That`s all I want.

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                                                       The Painter

The little boy sighed. 

He tried so hard to colour inside the lines but no matter how he tried there was always some colour outside the drawing. Last week his teacher had scolded him and said sternly, " Why are you so messy and dirty? You can NEVER be an artist" His face had burned with shame as his eyes had darted fearfully all over his drawing book.

He was determined to do a good job this time. It was Naani`s birthday and  he had asked his mother to draw a big flower for him. He wanted to colour it in  shades of red and pink , just like those flowers that bloomed in Naani`s garden. But the colour., as usual, had spilled out. 

He still wanted to give it to Naani so in the evening when his mother told him that they would go to see Naani, he quickly folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. Naani was sitting out in the garden and he ran upto her.

 "Naani," he panted as he handed her the drawing, " for you. Happy Birthday !"

Naani unfolded the paper and gasped. "Such a beautiful flower ! The  prettiest I have ever seen in my life! You are going to be a great painter" She traced the little blobs of paint scattered on the paper and hugged the little boy.

The little boy beamed with pleasure. He would become a painter!

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Generosity

 

 

At the traffic signal, a hand stretched out from a car window. It held a paper bag dangling in the air. 

The little urchin ran across the road and gleefully grabbed it. He drooled as he saw a half-eaten burger and some limp fries. He walked back to the pavement and sat down when he spotted the dog. He smiled. He tore the half-eaten burger into two pieces and threw one piece to the lanky dog. 

There was always enough to share.

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 The Story

He stood under the cold shower, eyes closed in a bliss,  he picked up the shower gel and lathered it all over his body. He loved long showers but today he did not have the luxury of doing so -his boss had just messaged him. 

I need 400 words on migrants-full drama, tears-the works. By noon. Today.

He walked to his wooden desk next to the French window overlooking the lush garden that his wife tended to so lovingly. The endless row of marigold danced joyfully even as the hot wind slapped them harshly. He booted his computer and called out, “Bahadur. Get me a shikanji. At least 6 cubes of ice. And keep some  beer in the freezer.”

He scrolled through a few websites, humming under his breath,  when he spotted picture of migrants. A bus bursting with passengers and their belongings , a man trying to scramble up the roof-top with a toddler clinging on to  his legs.

Perfect.

 He smiled.

This is going to be a great story.

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Finding Myself

 

This year has been a game-changer in many ways. The pandemic hit us all and how! And then came The Lockdown ! The unthinkable had happened. Life came to a grinding halt. I have gone through a gamut of emotions- anger, denial , depression, elation, contentment during this period. Let me start at the beginning of the lockdown.

 I always had a hectic schedule- I needed the buzz to make me feel alive hence I had very busy weeks and even busier weekends. My days were slotted neatly into various activities. I love routine and structures you see. Thrice a week  I would rush to my Yoga class early in the morning, driving full speed to reach in time( I rarely did- I was always a couple of minutes late )and then would rush through my practices so that I would reach back home in time to leave again for work !  Once a week we had a 15 minute Pranayama session in Yoga class, which I almost always skipped, as I just could not sit and observe my breath! There was no time.  My days were a blur-rushing, running, always on the go! From yoga to work to grocery shopping to tailor to library to club...it was a whirlwind !

Still, I did manage to find time for a singing class, an occasional lunch with friends and even late night movies. I took great pride in announcing to whoever was listening that I ticked all the boxes. But in this maddening routine, somehow, I had lost touch with myself. Life was on an auto-pilot mode.

And then came The Lockdown. Everything came to a standstill. The initial couple of weeks I felt I was on a much needed break and I indulged myself by binge-watching shows, eating at odd hours and lazing away on my couch. Then the dullness started creeping in and there were days when I felt angry and at the same time helpless. I was lost. There was no routine to anchor me. I had thrived on activity and the lockdown meant no more running and no more rushing to finish chores and ticking the boxes. I had always wished for a day with more than 24 hours and now it seemed the 24hours had turned into 48 hours!  Thankfully, gradually I started slowing down and a sense of calmness enveloped me warmly as I started appreciating the simple joys of life. I accepted the fact that I may have to live like this for a few months.

 This acceptance was a game changer.

 I no longer stressed over the absence of house-help. Before the lockdown I would go berserk if the house-help was late by a few minutes. No more! I realised I could manage a lot of work on my own if I didn’t stress about it. With nowhere to go, no one to meet, nowhere to commute I started enjoying my me-time. I practiced yoga and Pranayama every day. Yes I can now do breathing exercises peacefully. I started doing riyaz, resumed reading, writing on my blog , long conversations with family and even started an Instagram account to share my writings and thoughts. I had started on my journey of self-love and self care and was enjoying the me-time.

Though the lockdown has eased and now life is limping back to its previous avataar and my days are almost back with a vengeance- thanks to WFH- I still have some me-time and I make sure I do spend it leisurely doing things I love and not merely doing them to tick the boxes.

This lockdown has made me calm and has helped me re-discover myself! I spend time doing things I love and  I cherish my time. I know this time will pass too but now I will ensure that  I do not lose myself in the maze again!

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Reflection-A to Z Challenge



Reflections lead to learning. I agree. It allows you to relive your past and if it has been a pleasant one it adds to your sense of well being. This is exactly what the reflection on this challenge has help me to achieve.

Years back, thanks to my niece Nisha and sister Deepika, I started blogging. Life happened and the blogosphere faded away from my life. And then came the 'Lockdown'. Once the chaos started settling I started thinking about getting back to blogging. Earlier in the week a chance conversation about A to Z Challenge at a read meet got me thinking. I registered. Just for a lark.

April 1 dawned and I had no clue what I was going to write about.  Writing fiction seemed easy and I decided to write short stories. But did I struggle? Of course I did, and how!! With no back-ups ( alright, I had 3-4 stories  which I edited and uploaded) but most were written and posted on the same day. Did I want to give up? Yes -many times. The pressure of planning, writing and editing, along with endless household chores and work commitments, drove me crazy. Thanks to the encouragement by my fellow-bloggers, I plodded. And here I am with 26 posts under my belt!

I know planning helps, but this month I realised how imperative it is  to produce good work, so hopefully next time around I will be in a better place. The satisfaction of achieving a goal as well as building the courage to share my work have been my key takeaways from this challenge. Thank you#BlogChatterA2Z Challenge for this opportunity.

I read many interesting blogs and enjoyed the journey immensely. Here is a list of my favourite bloggers. Show some love to them and hop on to their blogs. You will love every one of them. 
 Nisha Punjabi  Sonia Dogra , Noor ,  Ira Mishra,  Arti Jain Shweta Suresh,  Srivalli,  Pradeep Nair,  CRD

Inspired by some of you I have also jumped on to Instagram. Do follow, comment and share if you like it.

vignettesbyarti


Much love to you my dear readers for reading, supporting and helping me live my dream.

Do keep dropping by.

Zeenia

Z is for Zeenia

Pappa has been gone for a week now. Silloo called from Toronto last night.

"Zeenia go and check the old house. See if you find the property papers there.We will need to settle . Did you find a will ?"

"No I don`t think he made a will Silloo.  He didn`t even know who he was , where he was. How would he make a will?"

"I have no option but to trust you.Check his cupboard will you ? I will call you next week again," said Silloo.

Zeenia opened Pappa`s rickety wooden cupboard. His faded white shirts were folded neatly next to a few old stained Payjamas.  She yearned for his presence when the sweet sickly smell of Ponds Talcum powder that he kept at the top shelf , hidden from plain sight, filled her entire being.She rummaged through the drawer, pushing aside a few rusted coins, dirty crumpled notes till she found the small wooden box. It creaked softly as she opened it and found what she was looking for. A huge big rusted key. The key to their house in the old mohalla.

She clasped the key and held it close to her heart as she slipped back to that terrifying day 30 years back. Mummy had collapsed and then Pappa had gone with her to the hospital in an ambulance. Silloo had shut the door and both the sisters sat huddled in a corner.Waiting. Soon it was dark and the lone bulb could do little to dispel the darkness in the house. 

"Silloo, I am hungry," Zeenia had whispered.

"There is milk." 

"Nothing to eat?"

"Maybe a slice of bread. Let me check."

"No bread also. There is a packet of parle-g. We can share."

Zeenia lips trembled as she tried to suppress the hunger gnawing her stomach.

"Dolly," Silloo whispered, Pappa will be home soon."

Tears ran down her cheeks. Silloo never called her Dolly. Only Pappa did. She knew right then that  something terrible was going to happen.

Silloo gave her 6 biscuits and a full cup of milk. But it was not enough. Never enough. She was always hungry.She wanted so much more.She finally fell off to sleep on the lumpy mattress, clutching Siloo`s hand for comfort.

It was still dark when the sweet sickly smell of Ponds talcum filled her whole body. She squinted her sleepy eyes as Pappa picked her up. She heard Silloo ask him, "Mummy is gone forever?"

"Shhshh we need to go Silloo. Hold my hand, "he whispered.

She could feel her body flap across Pappa`s shoulders as he locked the main door. 

30 years and not once did they go back. And now Silloo wanted her to go there for some property papers. How dare she ask me to face it all alone? But there was not much she could do. She shut the cupboard and walked to the window. She needed to breathe. And then she spotted Pappa`s rocking chair. She sat on it holding the key close to her heart and finally wept as she realised she was no longer Dolly. Only Zeenia.

You can read more about this family in my A2Z Challenge posts Aala and Eddie

Dear Readers..It has been a fun ride this month.I resumed blogging after a long hiatus and  enjoyed the challenge. Thank you for reading and appreciating. I will be seeing you all around. Take Care

Xerox

X is for Xerox



Xerox! You would think I am asking or telling you to make a copy of something. No I am not.

That`s my nick name. I am Xerox.

Yea that`s what everyone in my colony calls me. I have a twin sister you see.  Tapur. We are 13 now. Identical twins.  Only difference is that she is full 4 minutes 22 seconds older than me.Yet I am the Xerox and she`s the Original.

 Ma is the only one who can tell us apart. Baba calls us Tapur-Tupur. For him we are one. But Ma claims she sees us as two different girls. Yet she buys the same clothes, same shoes, same hair clips, same hair-bands, same socks for us. Identical. Only difference is the  colour. It is always pink or red for Tapur. I get yellow or blue or any other available colour. Even our school bags, water-bottles, tiffin-boxes, pencil-boxes, swimming gears are identical. Everything is identical.

Yet I am labelled Xerox! Why is Tapur Original?


Why ?

Vanessa

V is for Vanessa Girty

She frowned as she looked in the mirror. She could spot a gray hair struggling to slip out from her smooth high bun. She picked up her trusted silver scissors and snapped the errant hair as close as possible to her scalp. Now there, she looked prim and proper. She adjusted the scarf around her neck, tucked her white blouse neatly into her black pencil skirt and  pulled her skin-coloured stockings smoothly over her hairy legs. There was no time to shave this morning- not after she had to spend an hour cooking lunch for her useless brother and equally stupid sister. They were quite rigid about cooking duties.  Surely one of them could have exchanged the lunch duty.She was the one who had to leave early morning. Both the buffoons left for their offices only by 9:30 a.m. They could take over  the morning cooking but as stated earlier-they were buffoons.

She slipped on her high heel shoes-they killed her knees and back -but then they were an essential part of her and played a big role in portraying her as the formidable Miss V. Girty. She wore her maroon lipstick and patted some talcum powder on her neck and finally dabbed some eau-de-cologne. It was frightfully expensive- but she had to wear it, after-all she had to smell pleasant and not like some fisher-woman from the docks!

She picked up her boxy handbag and armed with her floral handkerchief she was ready for school. She glanced at her wrist watch. The huge dial held together by thick black straps showed 7:15 a.m. She was well in time. That snake Ganga won`t get an opportunity to act smart today. He thinks he can get away with his impudent behaviour. He jolly well knew that Miss Girty held the reins of the Accounts section and was now gaining favour with Mother Superior as well. But that did not stop him from trying out his strong-arm tactics with her. She knew how to crush such creatures under her pointy heels. Today she planned to eliminate him forever.She walked into her office at sharp 7:45a.m.

Soon Ganga walked in and slid the muster on her table and she skimmed through it. Mr J. Britto`s signature was missing. The next second Mr Britto materialised in her office and drawled in his sexy voice, “Good Morning Vanessa. Apologies. Can I have the muster please?”

Miss Girty got so flustered that she nearly dropped the muster on the water jug resting on her table. She just nodded dumbly and handed the muster to him.How she loved being called Vanessa! She wanted to flutter her lashes and act all coy but that Ganga stood there grinning like the cat who got the cream.

She knew that today she would have to sign his fraudulent requisition slip for 4 bulbs again!

p.s.  Yes it is  Miss Girty from Francesca and Ganga Prasad in my A2Z Challenge

Tarudi

T is for Tarudi



Dear Tarudi

I always believed you. Every time you told me. Every single day ."This too shall pass."

But it did not pass. Not for a single minute in all these 3 years.

I wish I had not waited for it to pass.

Had I known it would be so  easy, I would have not lived with disgust. Do you know how suffocating it is to be surrounded with so much filth, so much crap all around you ?

Why did you drill this acceptance, this complacency into me? I looked up to you Tarudi and you let me down.

So Tarudi, let me tell you You can do it yourself and not just wish, "This too shall pass."

Love

Saloni

Saloni

S is for Saloni


The Bin

Have you seen the big shiny bin  on the sidewalk?
Full of filth and crap .
The stink is gagging me.
It has to be emptied.

There comes the garbage van.


Dedicated to my late husband Sahil.
                                  From  Love and Life By Saloni.

Quasarbi

Q is for Quasarbi

"Quasarbi," called out Sandhya.

"Why are you screaming? Who is dead?"

"Quasarbi please help me. Just this last time" sobbed Sandhya. 

"That h****** has come home drunk again?"

Sandhya sniffed, "for the last time."

"He has been telling you that since 16 years. And you still believe him."

"This time I managed Quasarbi" she whispered.

Quasarbi`s eyes widened in horror 

"Just as you had told me. Smashed his head with the bat. He was so sloshed he did not fight back." 

Quasarbi took a deep breath. She had managed to do the same with Kadar. She could handle this.

She embraced Sandhya,"Just do as I say.Come we need to clean him. And place him on the floor.Cover him with a sheet and then we  beat our chests and weep."

Sandhya wiped the blood that had trickled on the side of his face. Then dragged him to a clean spot and covered him with a sheet. The whole neighbourhood had gathered and some whispered. "He was not so bad. Only if he was not a drunkard."

 

Tears blinded Qusarbi`s eyes as she looked at Sandhya sobbing inconsolably. There is only so much one should take she thought to herself as she wiped her tears and enveloped Sandhya in her arms.

Paawan

P is for Paawan


Paawan.
He traced the name delicately in his diary.He wanted to add a syllable to it. I.
And then he could be Paawani.

"Paawan," he heard his mother call out. The pen slipped from his hand. His heart thumped and he quickly closed his diary, "Yes Ma."

Omen

O is for Omen

The recorder crooned

"Silent Night Holy night.

All is calm,all is bright"

The night was cold.

The moon sliced into half by the bars

as he looked through the window.

It was a silent night

but the calm eluded him.

He threw the vase and it crashed

into smithereens.

The recorder crooned

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Neel

N is for Neel


"Mamma you got a neel again?"whispered little Aman as he gently moved his fingers on the ugly bruise peeping from under her blouse.

"Hmm," she nodded.

"You slipped again?"

"Yes"

"You should be careful."

"Yes," she whispered as she gathered her 5 year old in her arms.


Neel means Bruise in Hindi.

Marriage

M is for marriage



Peaches and cream is what he wanted

Coffee and chocolate is what he got.

He kicked and shoved and pushed

The bruises healed but the scars remained.

Francesca

F is for Francesca

Fanny straightened her knee length skirt and tucked her blouse and slid her feet into the black sandals. Much as she loved to strut in her pencil-heel shoes, she knew that it was these flat broad strapped sandals that would support her comfortably through the day. She opened the zipper of her sturdy black bag and checked if her wallet, pencil case and keys were in place. This was a routine every morning after had forgotten her keys twice in a row. She could not open her locker and had to manage her class without her copy of grade 4 Maths book.

“Mummy I will see you for lunch.”

 She bent and kissed her mother lying listlessly in bed.

“Ayah will come by 9. Don`t trouble her. And eat your breakfast and fruit Ok?”

 Her mother grunted.

  

"I better rush, its nearly 7:35 a.m."

Fanny walked briskly to school. She was nearly breathless, still she increased her pace as her tiny wristwatch inched to 7:45 a.m. She had to catch hold of the peon before he left with the muster at 7:55 a.m. and placed it in Miss Girty D`souza`s room. How she hated Girty!  Just yesterday she had berated Fanny in a high-pitched voice.

“Ms Benedict. Surely you know that the reporting time is 7.50 a.m. I have told Ganga Prasad to get the muster in my office only at 7:55. I give full 5 minutes of grace period. And still I see you hovering around my office at least once a week.”

“Sorry Miss Girty”, she had apologized in a small voice. “Ayah has not been coming and I have to help Mummy..”

“Miss Benedict, we all have problems.”

“Yes Miss Girty” replied Fanny as she hung her head in shame.

“Good morning Miss,” chirped a little girl.

“Good morning,” Fanny smiled vaguely and continued her hurried pace. Thank God for giving her the wisdom to keep away from her pencil heels. She would have never made it on time she thought as she entered the staff room at 7:51 a.m. breathing heavily. Ganga Prasad was already there waiting to clutch the muster and run to Miss Girty`s room. She gave him a triumphant smile, 

“Ganga Prasad, Good morning.”

“Good morning Missji", he mumbled. He hated it when all teachers reached in time and signed the musters. He would feel as if he had lost a match!

As Fanny walked towards her locker, she noticed the white sticker with her name F. Benedict had started to peel. I will replace it today she made a mental note. She kept her over-stuffed bag and pulled out her plastic tiffin-box and took a big bite of the jam sandwich and gobbled it down hungrily.She had a class in the first period and would get to sip tea only after that. She picked her math book, pencil case and the big wooden ruler as she shut the locker and pulled the key out and kept it safely in her pencil case. She walked out to the ground for the morning assembly.

“Hi Fans. Looking good,” leered Derek his eyes moving appreciatively from her face to her legs. 

She gave him a disgusted look as she continued walking.

“You coming for the mass this Sunday?”

She looked straight ahead and kept walking till she nearly bumped into Mr Britto.

“Hey Francesca, how are you this morning?” he gave her a big smile.

He was the only one who called her Francesca and this was the only time when she felt glamorous. Else she was content being Fanny. She felt her legs go all wobbly and clumsy and her tongue was thick as she tried hard to muster a cool off hand, "Fine."

 Dennis Britto was a charmer and knew the effect he had on the gullible Miss Francesca Benedict. He winked at Derek who scowled back. Derek hated this slimy creature. What the hell was appealing about this snake? Fanny really was daft, he muttered.

 “I will see you in the interval Francesca. Keep one jam sandwich for me, will you?”

Fanny was delirious. How would she plod through the next four periods she wondered? She wanted to kick herself for not wearing her pencil heels. From tomorrow I am going to get up early so I have enough time to walk in my heels to school, she pledged silently.

Eddi

                                E is for Eddi (pronounced Ed-di)

Eddi picked up the frayed diary and flipped through the pages. He couldn`t remember why he had picked up the diary. What was he looking for? He frowned. Maybe someone`s number? But whose? He paused and looked around in confusion. Maybe he had to look up someone`s address? But why? Did he have to visit someone? Or maybe write a letter? He shook his head trying to jiggle and get his memory back in its rightful slot. Nothing. He still couldn`t recall. He sat down on the wooden armchair with the diary still in his hand. This time he flipped slowly and spotted an old photograph. Eddie looked at the black and white faded image with white patches. He fumbled for his glasses hanging from a thick white string around his neck and peered at the picture. He couldn’t read. He wiped the glasses with his vest and tried again. This time he could read “Eddie and Aala, June 1, 1956.” 

Pappa , shu karu thu ? Dolly called out.

“Nothing. Just was …”, he stopped. What was he doing?

Dolly walked up,”Where did you find this picture? Your wedding day.”

“Is it?” He looked at her questioningly.

“Yes. You look good Pappa.” She plonked a kiss on his forehead and slipped the picture back into the diary. She picked up the chipped tea cup from the table. God knows why Pappa wanted tea only in this cup. Most days he lived in a haze yet he cribbed if she got him tea in another cup.

Eddie looked out of the window desperately trying to remember his wedding day but nothing would come. Not even one fragment. He sighed. There was no point. He got up and walked to his cupboard and pulled out a shirt.

“Pappa what are you doing?”

Eddi did not reply as he silently slipped on the faded blue shirt. Dolly walked in the room holding a pan, “You think I won`t know when you open the cupboard. Come on. Sit here.” She pushed him on the bed. 

“You know you can`t go alone. The doctor has said no.”

“What does the doctor know? I am fine”

“I will take you later. Let me finish my cooking.” Dolly said sternly.

Eddi glared at her but did not protest. He sat quietly for a few minutes. He heard the cooker blow whistles and then heard the tap running. Dolly would be washing utensils and this was his opportunity. He slipped out of the door silently and walked briskly. Even at 82 he was agile. He could even sprint a bit if he tried. Only Dolly believed he was incapable of doing anything without supervision. Some days she even insisted on feeding him, specially a curry or dal.

‘You will drop it all over the place Pappa.”

 But the days she urgently needed milk or eggs or bread, she  conveniently forgot the doctors instructions .She is just like her mother. Aala. He stopped in his tracks. The picture flashed in his mind.  Aala. His wife! How could he have forgotten her? The witch. He kept walking as memories came flooding back, a kaleidoscope of images nearly blinding him. He slowed his pace as he recalled sitting in his tiny one room flat in Khorshed Bagh.

“Eedu, just think about it. Her father has 22 properties in this city only. And some in Bahruch also. He will divide his property among the 3 daughters. At least 7 she will get.”

 Mamma was always good with numbers. Eddie sighed. Mummy was right. He must overlook bow legs, big bulbous nose, bulging hips. All of it. Aala could be his ticket to prosperity. The wedding was a simple affair. Mr Sooi was old and in a wheelchair. He wanted a court marriage for his daughter. “Whatever expenses we save I will give you in cash”. Aala was happy to get a husband and Eddi didn`t mind the cash. He wore his only suit for the wedding while Aala struggled to look pleasant in a beautiful ivory saree with multi coloured rossettes. They clicked that  picture after the registration at the local studio. 

The first couple of years were alright. They were blessed with 2 daughters. But soon after that Mr Sooi passed away. Without a will. And then began the tussle for his properties, house and bank locker. The 3 sisters filed cases of forgery and cheating against each other. The court battle started and dragged on with claims and counter claims. Aala would spend hours searching for papers, statements, property deeds and wait outside lawyers office trying hard to understand their gibberish. Eddie took over cooking and cleaning which had never been his forte and slowly life crumbled. The house was soon a stinky hole with dirty, sticky jam and ketchup bottles, stale bread and soggy biscuits. Every morning Eddi would buy 4 eggs and one packet of milk. He would meticulously place one egg on the wooden table for Aala and 2 eggs for his daughters near the stove. The milk packet would lie in the empty fridge till it was slit open to make ovaltine for the girls and milky tea for himself. The cobwebs in the house increased and the fine layer of dust soon became a thick blanket covering every corner of the house. Aala continued with the paperwork as Eddi struggled to plod through the days. Later Taadi became his beloved partner and most evenings he would lie sloshed in bed, too dazed to even eat the scraps of food Aala placed on the table. He couldn’t recall why they fought, but  most evenings he would stumble out of the house and Aala would scream, "Arrey ******** ! You have spoiled my life.”

The two girls Dolly and? And ? He wracked his brains. He couldn’t remember the other girl. He had hit a wall again. He looked around. He was in the middle of a huge garden. Eddi saw a wooden bench nearby and went and sat there. He could hear the faint siren of the ambulance and he remembered climbing in the van holding on to someone`s hand. Who was that? He squinted his eyes and tried hard  to concentrate. He was tired. He just didn’t want to push himself to remember. Maybe some things were best forgotten.

A is for Aala

Aala. No this isn’t about a clothes whitener. This is about a person- a woman to be precise- who lived in a Mohallla in a city in North India.  Aala was short and plump with a foul mouth. You could hear her screaming at her husband Eddy (pronounced Ed-di)  “Arrey Haraami, pacchi tamey jataveesh?” All the kids in the neighbourhood were scared of this crochety woman.  Every morning you could spot her limping to buy a half loaf of bread from the panwala just at the entrance of the Mohalla. She didn’t talk to any of her neighbours and no one really cared to even make small talk with this grouchy woman. No one had ever been to her house, except Mrs Sinha ,who had once ventured into this dangerous territory. “She is really weird. You know she keeps the bread on her table and no one is allowed to touch it. Not even her daughters”.

How do you know that? “Mrs Tripathi mumbled trying to chew her paan and spit at the same time. “You are antaryaami”?

 “ Na rey baba, I am no anataryaami. I am just a simple woman surrounded by paagal people. I know, because one day her daughter asked me for 2 slices of bread and so I went into my kitchen and got 2 slices on a plate but when I came back to the door she was now where in sight!  So I walked to their stinky apartment. And what do I see from the half open door? The small loaf sitting on the wooden table. Why would the girl, what`s her name ?

“Sillo”, Mrs Singh  provided the name helpfully. 

“Ya Silloo.  Why would she come to borrow 2 slices when she had that half loaf at home ? Socho ? And then she just snatched the plate without even saying thank you and shut the door. They still haven’t returned my plate! A few days back I ran out of milk and needed just half a cup to make tea- You know Mr Sinha cannot drink black tea, this man I tell you’’

“So what happened then behenji?” interrupted Mrs Tripathi.

“Arrey this Parsi woman scowled and said “doodh nahi hai”. I saw there was one small packet on top of the small refrigerator. I pointed it to her and she said that the packet is Eddy`s and he`s not home. And then slammed the door on my face. What kind of husband-wife are they? My loaf, your milk Hey Ram I tell you these Parsees".

“Mrs Sinha it is not about being Parsee. This woman is only paagal,” Mrs Tripathi declared.

There were talks that Aala came from a wealthy Parsi family and had inherited a few properties-even if they were old dilapidated buildings in a small town-and a trunk full of beautiful sarees. No one had of course seen her wear any. She was always dressed in an old chequered nighty which just fell short of her ankles. Grey hair with random and rare streaks of dirty brown bunched in a messy ponytail No not like the ones that girls deliberately wear these days! Some days she would look a little clean with a knee-length floral frock and broad flat brown sandals with straps holding on desperately on to knotty rough ankles.  On these days you could spot ugly veins protruding from her dry scaly calves. She would wear a chequered handkerchief tied like a scarf, knotted under her wobbly chin.  Apparently, on these rare days she went to the local bank to withdraw cash. Sanju and his friends would wait patiently on their balconies with their ammunition- paper planes and little stones. The minute Aala crossed their apartment and whoosh the planes would land all around Aala accompanied by sharp little stones falling like confetti all over her. Aala would look up viciously trying to spot the by now invisible devils , “Tamaara gadhera ma baap kiainya che?”  Sanju and his friends would duck down and giggle.

And then one early morning the Mohalla was rudely awakened by the screaming sirens of an ambulance. Aala had collapsed outside the bathroom. The whole mohalla gathered around the ambulance as they wheeled in Aala strapped on to the stretcher. Eddy climbed in wearily and the ambulance sped away. Days melted into weeks and then months. Aala did not come back. No one missed Aala`s loud screams, nor did they ask about her. Except the children in the Mohalla. They didn’t have their target for paper planes and stones. Little Sanju asked his mother one afternoon, “Mummy, when will Aala come back”.

" I don’t know beta and I don’t care".  Sanju slumped back in his bed dejectedly.

A to Z Challenge 2020- Theme Reveal

I hope this challenge will inspire me to come back to the blogging world. I have been writing all these years, just missed doing it here!

I really have no clue as to what I will write about, but I think I will write fiction? All this while , this space was like my journal but now I want to try something different. Lots has happened since my last post in 2015 . Life happened , I moved on and then I took a U-turn :-).

So there. Look out for my posts , every day starting from 1 April 2020, and give me a shout when you pass-by.