Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 7

As discussed in the previous Matters of Heart post, my close friend X was having difficulty in decoding the language of Indian love. Of course, you need to learn Morse code to understand the language that relies completely on reading body language and crooked pick-up lines. (“What a wonderful weather for a long drive!” means “Will you join me for a long drive and go to places unknown so your family can’t catch us snuggling?”)

So, even after I happily supplied the explanation (a rare accomplishment), she remained incredulous. She was sure that if Y has wanted to take her out on a date, he would have said so. He didn’t need to resort to this round-about way of showing interest in me first.

I could only sigh!

One day, she came to college in a really foul mood. Apparently, Y had told Z (another male friend) that she was engaged. He had been very detailed about the ceremony and Z was sold on the idea. Z had then told his aunt who knew X and she called on her family phone to congratulate her.

Since family phone offers no privacy, she was having a difficult time in keeping it from her parents. If they found about this prank, they will obviously ask the most obvious question: Who are Y and Z and how come she is friends with them and their relatives without telling her parents?

You see, in small-town India of early 2000, no girl spoke to a boy without parental supervision. X had just struck a friendship during extra-classes in a co-ed institute and kept it under wraps to avoid any parental obstruction. It was a regular practice in those days. No girl in her right senses would talk to her parents of all the boys she was acquainted with.

Boys, however, could boast about all the girls they had befriended (or claimed to befriend). No pointed questions were asked from the male counterparts. Girls, however, were usually grounded.

Now that the conversation had happened on the family phone (no mobile phone in those days), she had to lay it very thick to avoid detection. Pointed questions were asked. Her standard answer–“a friend (obviously female) called”–was not sufficient. She had to go through the details of the call ensuring that all her facial reactions on the call matched the explanation without revealing the truth. Not satisfied because the conversation was whispered but finding no reason for open hostility, the parents had dropped the matter. Obviously, the next few days would involve close scrutiny.

While it was uncomfortable, X was mainly upset because of the loss of trust. She was clueless why Y would lie about her. She wanted to confront him. But she had to play the good girl and go home on time after college to avoid any further issues.

I offered an insight yet again based on my previous assessment–“Y was deleting competition. Once Z heard of the engagement, (having no way to contact X to confirm the news because he would obviously not call X on home phone), he would have bowed out. But, Y had not counted on relatives being involved.”

X was not satisfied with my assessment because it now implicated two male friends–Y and Z– and suggested that they “liked” her.

But she had run out of all possible excuses for Y’s odd behaviour. Unfortunately for Y, no matter what his reasons were, X now wanted revenge. She was angry enough to take my advice and I let my inner vamp take over.

A couple of weeks later, X came to college wearing a heavy gold ring on her ring finger that belonged to her mother. Two of us went to meet Y after college hours. She was still unsure how it would act as revenge (engagements were usually happy events) but I insisted her to try. There were no relatives involved at Y’s front so there was nothing to lose.

Once there, she declared she was engaged–that her parents had found her the most amazing husband and marriage is due in three months. (To learn how the process of finding a husband for a daughter works, please look at I do: The Indian Way series.)

To make the charade more believable, we carried a box of chocolates as a “gift from her fiance’ ” and offered him a piece as celebratory sweets. We discussed a whole lot of believable lies coming from my experience from my cousin’s recent engagement–the families being in touch discussing the matter for a long time, the sudden visit of boy’s family, quick arrangements and engagement on spot.

We also gave him the details of the amazing ‘boy’–looks based on my brother and education, job, family and other details of my cousin…

For a Home run, I thanked him for the joke from earlier, and assured him that his words had acted as a prayer and have landed X with a such a wonderful future.

As expected, Y congratulated X and we took his leave to “further spread the news”. I am usually not a sadist. But as I sat in the auto for home, I laughed all the way eating the “celebratory chocolates”.

Later that day Z, who was already in on the plan, informed X that the news had hit home and Y had called him to tell him about the “real” engagement; that he had consoled him with the standard “it was bound to happen someday” statement; and that Y had assured him that “he was usually quite happy these days” with a tone akin of a funeral.

Z didn’t tell him the truth for a month. Considering they were best friends and spoke every day, I would say, it was needlessly cruel…

But what would I, who never had boyfriend, know about the matters of heart?

🤣🤣🤣


Picture by Kelly Sikkema

Posted in Random Thoughts

Requesting prayers

Earlier this year, I was complaining about how it rains all year in India, except the rainy season. Apparently, Nature has taken upon itself to prove the likes of me wrong.

This year, we have had relentless rains during the rainy seasons leading to many landslides across the country. The result was massive destruction and loss of countless lives. Those who survived have lost homes and livelihood.

The entire state of Punjab has been flooded since it receives water from five rivers. And it is not the only one. Thousands of hectares of crops have perished, including those right outside my city. From my third storey rooftop, I can see river Yamuna swelling to the point that I can’t see the other shore, drowning all the crops of the local farmers.

Considering that farming is the primary vocation in India, the loss can lead to starvation of farmers. We are all heading towards a time when cost of food, and hence cost of living, would shoot up tremendously and would be beyond the means of millions of those people who lost everything except their lives.

My prayers go with these people and we are all trying to see what we can do to help them.

Posted in Poetry

Yakeenan | Urdu Poetry

Ye Waqt yakeenan meri saut hai.

Tere aane aur chale jane ke beech

Jo mauhalat hai,

Ek lamha hai;

Tere ja kar wapas aane ke darmiyan

Jo fasla hai,

Ek zindagi hai;

Tere ja kar laut ke na aane ka dar

Har pal maut hai.

Ye Waqt bazaahir meri saut hai.

Translation:

Waqt: Time

Saut: A merciless co-wife (translated as rival here since it clarifies the intent)

Time is a ruthless rival.

A second’s respite once you arrive

And then you leave.

A lifetime stretches when you leave…

.

.

.

Until you arrive.

Every moment wondering if you’ll return

To me is death.

Time is a ruthless rival.

Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 6

Author’s note: My Matters of Heart series is about Indian dating culture and my failsafe ways of dealing with it. This is the sixth part. To look for the rest, just search for Matters of Heart in the Search box.

India may be the land of many languages but regarding the matters of heart, it is pretty much the same–vague! At least, small town India in my teens was like that. You needed to learn Morse code to be able to receive a signal.

That could be because if a guy didn’t hit the mark with 100% accuracy at the correct time and in the correct place and correct company, he might spend the rest of the month in a hospital ward with both hands and legs, and skull in bandages–if he was lucky!

If he was unlucky, he might land up in jail for eve-teasing, harrassment and obscene behaviour in public, or even end up starting a full-scales riot spread across several Indian states–especially if it was a Hindu-Muslim union he was looking for.

As I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts, until the age of 20, I never got a proposal. But honestly, I probably never recognised an attempt to propose. Many of such incidents were due to the vague language signals, which relied solely on reading body language and breaking code words (such as, “I am going for a movie alone.” means “Do you want to come for a movie with me?”).

Considering that I am rather thick in that department, it took me several years of quiet contemplation to understand the full meaning of a lot of these conversations.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one. My friends were equally befuddled. Most being bookish-nerdy-artist variety girls, they all had similar unyielding conversations. Surprisingly enough, I was sometimes able to break the code for them (but never for myself). Unfortunately, my decoding style used to put their hackles up and they would start avoiding the guy making the moves.

So I had a close friend (let’s call her X). Once one of her close friends (let’s call him Y to rhyme with a “guy”) told her that he “liked” me. Now, in those days, “liking” in India was the code word for “kind of crazy about and wish to take on a date”. Note that I had met him only once for 15 minutes in an office setting. When X expressed her surprise, he added, “Yeah, there should be somebody to drive around on my new bike!” And then, when she offered to pass the message to me, he said, “No! No! Promise me you won’t tell her I said that.”

So obviously, X told me. It is the girl’s code to share everything that is expressly forbidden.

Technically, this was the first non-proposal I had received, or I should say the first time a guy had clearly shown any interest in me. It didn’t get me interested. It got me curious. I had to dissect this conversation to see where it came from and where it was going.

Because the three statements together did not make sense: while it is natural to “like” someone and want company on a new bike, you need to tell the concerned person to get that company. Why expressly forbid?

Also if I was a guy, I would never want someone like me just to drive around on a new bike. Men LOVE bikes. They are their equivalent of a lover. (I have a colleague who has the name of his bike tattooed on his arm.) So, if they want a girl for a new bike, that girl will have to be a new-bike equivalent: shiny and polished-to-hilt girl with red glossy lips, eyelashes that are thick enough to be braided, plucked eyebrows, manicured fingers and pedicured feet, and fitted in a dress that shows it all.

A girl who new knew make-up and is a walking ad for “Just Books” wouldn’t fit into the image of the “bike” girl. Besides, I owned a new scooter and would never ask a lift from anyone anyway. So, the statements were not making sense.

Naturally, I wanted to ask Y directly to save me the decoding effort. But X told me that it would look like a breach of confidence to him. And I would move mountains for X. So, I had to solve this mystery on my own, trying to join the dots but always coming back in circles.

What did Y mean by…

Could he seriously consider sharing his new bike with me? I mean, I could take it for a drive…not with him in the back though…

What if he didn’t mean it and was just saying for the sake of conversation…a very dangerous conversation with a potential of public beating?

And why would he bluff to X?

Then inspiration hit–Dil Toh Pagal Hai (One of Shahrukh Khan’s movie–the god of Romance in India)!

Y was testing waters. He was checking X’s reaction to see if she would be jealous, like Anjali in Dil Toh Pagal Hai when she saw her best friend show interest in another girl?

If he was actually meaning to ask her out, he would draw her attention to his intention of getting a girl (and to the fact he had acquired a new bike). Since she was a close friend, it would switch on her jealous-friend track and (considering she wore her heart on her sleeve) it would show on her face.

But the plan backfired because X was truly disinterested. She offered to pass on the message, leaving him scared that I might walk in with my brother and he would have to be admitted in a hospital for broken bones (if he was lucky!).

I offered this explanation to X, telling her that she had a secret admirer who was wondering if he should ask her out. But she was as thick as me, “Naah, if that’s the case, he could have simply asked me.”

Yeah, right!

Posted in Fiction

Mellifluous

Author’s note: Thank you, Beetly Pete and John Melon for the story ideas.

He was mellifluous. Not his voice–I hadn’t heard it yet. I am talking about the person himself.

As usual, I was late and had to run from my office with my backpack on my shoulders to catch the last bus to my town. I preferred Fridays to visit my parents when it was relatively spacious, as compared to Saturdays when, apparently, the entire world was travelling home.

After a lot of running and jostling, I finally managed to get on the bus. I was still trying to catch my breath at the door while searching for an open seat when I saw him…

…and never looked away.

It was the peace on his face that drew my eyes–a peaceful ship in the sea of turbulent waters…

He wasn’t a regular or I would have remembered such a face. His skin was light brown, and the dimples made him look rather ‘pretty’–if a man can be called ‘pretty’ without being offended.

As I slowly walked forward in the aisle, I realised he was in a deep sleep–how he managed to sleep amidst all the honking and sweltering heat was a mystery to me. But the way his chest rose and fell gracefully with each breath left no doubt that his lights were completely out. His hands resting in his lap looked fluid, even though there was no movement. His black hair flew gently with the wind from the open window and he seemed completely oblivious of my scrutiny…

…or my existence. Somehow, the thought bothered me.

I sat down a couple of seats ahead of him. I would have sat next to him, but the seat was taken by another female. She sat looking rather bored, consulting her watch often, as if wishing for the time move faster. She seemed completely unaffected by his presence.

Was it just me, then, who felt the tug towards him? I wanted to offer her my seat, so that I can sit with him–afterall, she didn’t seem to care either way. But it would be very conspicuous, completely irrational and totally unlike me. Why would I want to sit with him? I didn’t even know his name! Also, I wasn’t a big town girl. I was never friends with boys and my dealings with them were strictly on need-to-know basis. Dating was unheard of in my family and going after a boy made me feel like an overachieving fool.

Not that it stopped me.

I tried to think of other things, like my favourite food waiting for me at home; my father waiting at the bus stand (since it would be dark by the time my bus reached there); my mother waiting at the door, worried why I hadn’t turned up yet (even though I always reached at the same time)…

But it didn’t seem to make a difference. I kept looking back at him–intent on making introductions once he woke up.

Finally, the girl got up and got down the bus and I took her place in a flash.

I was blushing now because people had noticed how I had hurried to get to him. A lot of these people have seen me ride this bus for an year now. We had exchanged gossip on the way to our various destinations. Now they watched my walk of shame back to my seat to retrieve my backpack that I had forgotten in my hurry to secure this seat. They looked at me with me interest, some of them raising their eyebrows in obvious questions with knowing smiles.

I was also blushing because, as I sat back, our shoulders were touching. A small-town Indian girl that I was, I never had a boyfriend, and the only other boy I ever touched was my elder brother–to get piggyback rides. Of course, I sit next to other people in the bus and in office. But it never felt like this–like I was stealing a moment. Pathetic!

I didn’t like sitting next to him though. It was difficult to look at him properly now. But I could tell his profile was even more interesting. The crow’s feet around his eyes reminded me of happy times; of hikes and dips in the river; of lemonades and jokes; of shared family tales and good-natured ribbing…

It was still light outside and he slept on. His closed eyes were peaceful amidst the various traffic jams that our bus was stuck in. Even the sunlight falling on his face didn’t seem to bother him. His breathing was even and restful–like soulful music meant only for my ears. It made me drowsy. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t want to disturb his peace. Surely, we can talk once he woke up…

An old fellow Friday traveler woke me up at my stop. The seat next to me was empty except for a gun wrapper. I felt my stomach drop as collected my backpack.

“He waited for you to wake up for eons. Kept stealing glances but didn’t want to disturb your sleep though. So, when his stop came, he jumped over the back of the next seat.”

Sensing my disappointment, she gestured at the gun wrapper with a smile, “I saw him scribble on it right before he left. I think he left his number for you.”

Posted in Poetry

Mulaqaat | Sher | Urdu poetry

Milti nahi thi ghadiya jinhe ashique se milne ke liye,

Rote hain ghanto se wahi intezar me dafeene ke liye.

In rukhsar ke moti kafan pe chamak chhod jayenge.

Chali ja! Zamaana haazir hai ilzam dene ke liye.

Translation:

Who couldn’t find seconds for love,

Is here crying for hours at my funeral.

Pearls from your cheeks will leave a sheen on my shroud.

Go away! For the world will see it and blame you aloud.


Author’s note: Sher in Urdu poetry is a couplet with a central idea that can standalone as a separate piece.

It also requires a certain word balance, somewhat like syllables in English poetry but much more complicated since each letter has its own weight. It is clearly outside my range of abilities. 😊 I just try to balance syllables where I can.

Posted in Fiction

Mooning

Midnight. At the windowsill,

Moon reminds me.

Sprinkling silver pixie dust,

Lighting up the path

For Words to find me.

Sleep spreads its blanket

On the neighbouring bed.

Enraged Jealousy urges me

To shake awake

The Sleepyhead.

Muse nudges the

Story hiding within.

Spying the pen, she retreats,

Fearful of the ever-

judging Punctuation.

Sleep warns Desperation–

Inching towards her patrons

to seek help.

Sense prevails.

Who wants grumbly audience?

Responsibility cautions

To wait for the first light.

Unacceptable though,

I watch Moon sitting on the windowsill,

Sprinkling moonlight.


Author’s note: I have not learnt writing poetry, but I dabble with it sometimes.

  • I have tried a 1-2, 1-2-3 dancing style here.
  • Personification is meant to build a crowd on an otherwise quiet, lonely night.
  • I have also tried shape-writing to bring a sense of repetition where you return from where you start.

Please let me know which part of it worked and what sucked. 🙂

Posted in Nature stories

My Neighbour: The Cocophonix

Author’s note: Last year, when we shifted to our new house, a welcoming party of six Jungle Babblers came for a visit. This is the tale straight from the horse’s mouth.


I was sitting on that wire when I realised the window was open…finally! I was so excited to meet the new neighbours, so, I just hopped on the ledge. And what did I see? All asleep!

Lazy bones!

It was 6 o’clock. My bretheren and I had been awake for the past two hours already–had breakfast and a flight across the river…

These city people must understand this is not how things work in our countryside.

But you can’t really go around delivering sermons to new people…the best way is to welcome them and then, politely, show them how things are done.

So, I decided to begin our association by giving them a song of welcome–the best way to introduce them to the delights of the early morning country music. I began with my favourite: The Aeroplane. My bretheren joined me as well.

It came out so wonderfully refreshing that the woman woke up right away, jumping to the window where I sat. Her eyes were wide and looked at the street in bewilderment. I was amused. She must be wondering where all that energy came from.

Smiling, I introduced myself. She looked me with her jaw dropped open. A fan already!

Her daughter was stirring, roused by sound of music.

I decided to give them a special piece that the child would surely love: The Chainsaw. I started with the highest notes I could pick, followed by my bretheren.

The child stirred further and the mother said something–I couldn’t really hear her over our music. But she was flapping her wings. These humans have never really learnt to use their wings but I could see my music was making her wish she could fly. So I added more vigour, urging my brothers to give it their best.

Alas, humans are unpredictable like cloudy skies. You never know what they would do next. The woman swung a broom at me!

Now, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s sentiments. I would have accepted a rose but broom is certainly not my style. Firstly, they are too heavy. Secondly, so many twigs of the broom wouldn’t have fit into my nest.

I tried to continue singing but when the broom came too close, I decided it was time to say a rushed goodbye.

After that I tried a few more times of different occasions but with the same results. After the fifth time she offered the broom, I decided it was better to keep my distance.

I think I have hurt her feelings . But I really can’t go building another nest for every fan! What would my wife think?

Posted in Fiction, Random Thoughts

Something

Scared by the darkness,

She looked back. Nothing.

Something told her, her shadow wasn’t following.

.

She couldn’t be sure–

It was too dark.

Surely she would know if her shadow was still her part…

.

She would feel it

Sticking to her shoe…

Certainly there would be something…a slight cue?

.

Unknown, unreasonable,

Fear crept in.

Panic filled up empty crevices within.

.

She rushed back

To the streak of light.

Her shadow was there the other night.

.

Travellers swear,

In car headlight,

A phantom dives under their speeding cars. Every night…


Author’s note: Some people working in graveyard shift in Gurgaon back in 2014 used to say that a phantom woman would dive under their car’s front wheels. Every night. Scary! 😨