Sacrifice

Vulnerable. Why was I so vulnerable. I stood in front of the mirror, staring bitterly at my reflection. Forty going on twenty eight. Or so people told me, envy writ large on their faces.  If only they knew. Envy was something that ruled my life. That and frustration. Resentment. Guilt. These were my companions. day in and day out.

The mirror showed a petite fair woman. Long straight silken hair pulled back tightly across the nape. The figure was immaculate,  unspoilt by child birth. For I have no children. Married since I was twenty eight. But living the life of a spinster.

When did I lose control of my life ? How insidous is the passage of time.

"Mehwash !" The voice was low, imperious nevertheless. Reverie broken, I was up instantly. Conditioned by years of subjugation. " You are a terrible person, " I told my reflection." That there, is your mum. The lady who after years of suffering endless medical treatments, bore you and your sister. Treatments that savaged her body and left her a chronic asthmatic, a severely overweight diabetic confined to a wheel chair. It wasn't her fault ! None of my wasted life could be her fault. For I, as a responsible adult had made my choices. Now I was living them.

Entering the dark room, I snapped on the lights. "Ma ! " I said, a trifle rebukingly," At least leave one light on. " Her voice, initially cold, snapped, " You have to remember and switch them on, right ?" Then, " You will have to call the servant, my pamper has to be changed. I tried ringing the bell, but she never hears it, does she ?"

Contrite, I bent by her bed. "Turn over Ma," I said gently. "I'll do it. "

"What do you pay her for, why cant she stay by my bed ? You know I hate for you to do these things." Her voice was angry, the frustration evident, as was the helplessness.

"I don't mind ma, you know that. " As I finished and rose, I could see the tears in her eyes. Bending over and hugging her close, I allowed a few of my own tears to fall unseen, before I composed myself. " Shh. Don't cry ma. I know you love me, I do too. We don't need anyone else, when we have each other, right ? Hey, you know what happened today ? Aisha mausi fell down while chasing the pigeons ! " Ma was aghast. "What ! Sit here and tell me all about it." So began our evening gossip session. Soon, she was laughing animatedly, while I sat beside her,  assembling her nebuliser. It was easy to distract ma. After all I had a decade of experience handling her.

 After she was asleep, I retreated to my room. Book in hand, I tried to read, but found myself drowning in reverie. It hadn't always been like this.  Growing up, with my sister for company, mum had been sickly. Multiple miscarriages, and infertility treatments left her bloated and overweight. But she managed to lavish all her care and attention on us. Our childhood had been near idyllic. Holidays abroad, a wonderful holiday home near the sea, where we holidayed almost every week end. Dad, who is a doctor himself, made sure we studied well. Shaheen was now a qualified orthodontist, I had a degree in chartered accountancy. Earned after dedicated backbreaking study. A colossal waste. Of studies, time, finance. For all I ever did with it .

Then came the proposal. He was a young chartered accountant. He had seen a photograph of me from a cousins marriage and he was taken by me. So was I when he came home with his mum to meet us. The marriage happened a year later. On my wedding night, I sat on the marital bed, a shy , coy, bride. For that night I had forgotten my sick mother. She had cried, had been crying from  many days. More at the thought that now she would be at the mercy of the servants, I sometimes thought cynically, immediatly feeling guilty and torn. For I was worrying about her too.

A year after, Akram dropped the bombshell. He had been offered a job in Dubai. A fantastic salary and all the perks of a job working for one of the biggest realtor in Dubai. He looked at my face as he announced his decision to take it up. My face lighted up. Away from the confines of family, I still spent a good part of the day at my mother's home. I would finally be able to set up my own home. Maybe even take up a job and have a fulfilling career ! Oh, I was happy, as we lay awake that night discussing our future. Both he and i loved travel. We would explore Europe, the world, before we had children. I slept that night blissed out with my dreams. The only cloud on my horizon was the thought of my mother.

Entering her room, I paused. Was she asleep ? I was just about to retreat quietly, when she spoke, "Come in, beta.  you are late today." I sat beside her, took her hand in mine. "Ma, I have great news ! Akram has got a job in Dubai ! " Full of my happiness, I lay down beside her, airing my dreams. So full of myself  was I that I didn't notice her lack of response. Suddenly I realised that she was still. Too still. Leaning over to see her face, I saw that it was ashen, The eyes closed. Yelling for the nurse, I cannoned out of the room, grabbed my cell phone, calling the emergency numbers. Soon the ambulance wailed into the lane, mother was taken to hospital. "The heart attack was  almost fatal. We managed to save her this time. Good you were with her, Mehwash. " The doctors voice was grim. The recovery was not easy. Ma turned even more fatalistic and cranky. I had to stay with her almost continuously, as she would not tolerate anyone else caring for her.

Akram was understanding. At first. We decided he would go alone. After he settled in, I would follow. As soon as Ma improved.  The day he left was the bleakest day of my life. Never had I been so torn. Ahead was a life full of promise. Behind was my sick mother.

The months turned into years. Each time I approached my dad or my sister, they would beg me to stay just that much longer. Busy with their flourishing careers, they balked at the thought that they would have to handle ma.

Akram meanwhile, grew more distant. The once a day phone calls turned into once a week, then once a month. Then came the letter seeking my consent. For him to take a second wife. I cried for weeks. My agitated family now decided that I should join him as soon as I could. Shock sank in when he refused to have me join him. He was in love and was willing to divorce me. Fearing the shock would be too great for my mother, the family decided to let things stay as they were.

Here I was then. "Main aur meri tanhaai, aksar ye baatein kartey hain...." Amitabh Bachhan's deep tenor resonated from the television. What would he know about this gut wrenching loneliness I carried in my heart..
   

Capsule of a Life..

She stood towering over me. When i dared to look up, i could see only her thick dark legs with the prominent varicose veins, before i lowered my gaze again. All of five, it was my first day at school. Twenty odd students, of which i was one. That day i discovered that drawing was not going to one of my skills. She was the drawing teacher and she had commanded us to draw a... a Chilly ! Which for the life of me i couldn't.. my hand was shaking so much. Thankfully the bell rang before my turn came to display the sorry squiggle that i had drawn, which i would have had to display to the class ! We were herded out to the water taps, where in this room milk was served to all the children. Big mugs which we had to down before we were allowed to file back to class.

Lunch hour. Nobody told me that it was that, and that school was not over. There i sat, weeping silent tears, on the bench, before i heard her sweet voice. My sister. whom i had presumed had left without me, and gone home. She sat down beside me, held my hand in hers and opened my tiffin box, assuring me all the while that she would never leave without me. Smiling broadly thru the tears, i made short work of the biscuits before happily bounding off to class when the bell rang.

The rickshaw ride back home was fun. Both of us climbed into the first available one and off we went. After having paid him the princely sum of fifteen paise, we embarked and rushed up to the home and mum.

Welland Gould Smith. My first school. Where the fees were something in the region of thirty odd rupees.

And so we studied. I until class seven, ben until ten. For some such paltry sum. Then first sis shifted then i did to Calcutta Girls High School. Nearer home and walking distance. Our Principal there was an American. A fine lady always accompanied by her fierce dog, Mesca. Not that she needed one, because all us girls were already in awe of and highly intimidated by her. A tall lady, sparkling eyes glinting behind her spectacles, who mwas queen of her domain, indeed of all that she surveyed. You never knew when you would meet her, around which corner of school. When first i went for admission with my dad, i was a shoo in.. "Oh, Tasneem's sister."  And admission was that easy. In those days. I was bad at maths, scraped thru with a woeful 45% in the boards, ICSE in class ten. Topped in English with 90, though. But then, we studied in candlelight most days, because of six and seven hour power cuts that lasted entire nights sometimes. I remember working on problems at twelve at night, with two candles on either side of my desk. I, who was normally in bed by eight p.m. No Television, and the government made sure our night vision was honed !
Taking tuitions was a big NO. An insult, because only very poor students took them, and that too was hushed and never spoken of publicly !

In spite of the pathetic marks, i ended up in class eleven, with maths and science as my subjects, the aim being to give the medical entrance exams, which dad had decided we both would give. My pathetic math scores put paid to those plans. But i greatly enjoyed my years at CGHS. I was one of about eighteen students! We were thick pals. Our group consisting of a punjabi, two sindhis, one bengali, a south indian, a christian, a marwari, and a muslim, myself ! Talk of national integration. We ate greedily from each others tiffins, organised parties and raffles, even a junk sale, and sold drinks, rasna, at break times, thanx to our enterprising President, and my best chum.

Winter was in the air when i casually strolled into school, wearing my black cardigan, as we called sweaters in those days. Early October. Until January. Climate change ? Whoever heard of it. The P word had not been sighted as yet. The ozone layer was very much intact and the world rotated along peacefully, as did ours. We were nor scared to walk the roads, and as children played happily and safely together, while our parents went about their work. Books were our sole companions. Pods meant peas, and pads meant periods! For music we tuned radios and fine tuned them to 'catch' our favorite stations. Hippies were the rebels, and only the beatles really made us go weak in the knees. Junk food ? Was ice creams on sundays, and if dad was feeling relly indulgent a coke, to which i always preferred a pineapple drink. Then we went home, dad climbing the stairs, with his two girls giggling atop his shoulders !  

The Intrigue

He lay on the floor. His body arranged neatly. His shirt straightened as if by a loving hand. His brown locks falling on his forehead, covering up the wound inflicted by the gun. He must have been a handsome man when alive, in his early forties. His eyes looked unseeingly at the ceiling, his face frozen in an expression of surprise. A woman knelt beside him, weeping uncontrollably.

"Cut ! " The director's voice restored the normal chaos to the sets as everyone started to prepare for the next shot. The actress got up, dusted her knees, looking at the director enquiringly, " Mr. Suresh, was the shot good ? " Then, after noting his absent minded nod, she turned to her co star. " C'mon, Vij, get up." As she extended a helping hand, something stopped her in her tracks. The hole that covered his hair, was not visible, but a small dark red trickle, still oozing ominously, was spreading on the floor. As she bent to peer closely, she looked at his face, ashen now, then screamed and scrambled to her feet. Within seconds, the entire disbelieving set was crowded around the actor. For he was not play acting anymore. Never would. He was dead.

 Inside his dressing room, the wife sat, staring blankly at the walls. Simone appeared bewildered, in shock. Having been married just three months ago to the man of her dreams, she was the object of great sympathy. Her face though swollen with tears, was still unbelievably pretty. Black curls framed a small heart shaped face. Great luminous eyes, sparkled like champagne, her small upturned nose crinkled when she smiled. Love at first sight. He had been the handsome hero. She, the famed, powerful, directors daughter. A match made in heaven.

Hysteria having finally subsided, Richa, the main female lead sat in her dressing room. Her face was streaked with mascara, sweat and tears having wreaked their havoc on her face.
"The shot required me to race into his room after i hear a gunshot. When i run onto the stage, i see him lying on the ground dead," (here she paused and broke into sobs ). Recovering again, after a sip of water, she continued. "I sink to my knees in disbelief, then weep long and loud in shock. I did just that. I heard the sound of a shot and after counting fifty, I was supposed to run up to the bedroom from the hall below,  i ran onto the stage. Seeing him lying on the floor, i was concentrating on my part, and rushed forward to complete the scene as i had been told to do. I.. I did not realise that he.. he was actually dead. It was only after the director cut the scene, that i realised that there was something very still, unnatural in the way that he lay on the floor... That he was not getting up, or moving.." With this she dissolved into tears again. Patting her shoulder consolingly, the detective moved away from the room, into the corridor, where the wife sat. Towering over her stood her father, a giant of a man, belligerantly barking orders into his cell phone...

Dear readers,
 Here i leave you. Tantalised i hope. Enough to complete the story ? Just give me the killer and the motive. Or else i will . But only after i receive a few solutions to this christiesque mystery. Go on. The cleverer the answer, the more votes you get.. Clue ? It has to be one of the characters already introduced.


And now for the solution.

The detective, Binod, sat back with a sigh. Why couldn't the murder be as simple as my dear reader suggests, simple . Straight out of CID. For the simple reason that there was no proof of the motive.

Recreating the events of those crucial hours had been difficult. The man had seemingly been absolutely alone when he had shot himself. Then the obvious conclusion was to be a clear cut case of suicide. If only the hole where the bullet had entered had been on the right sight. It wasn't. The man was right handed, as vouched by hundreds of ardent fans who had his autographs. So the hole should have been to the right . How would a right handed man put a gun to the left temple to take his life ? So maybe it was not as clear cut as the murderer wanted it to be. The problem lay in unearthing the witnesses. For the present suffice it that  all everyone knew was that he had committed suicide.


"Can I come in sir," the quiet voice belonged to the man who was responsible for the stage lights. "Ah yes, " Binod looked up to see a small neat looking man, fortyish, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, standing at the door. "Sit down, Satish. " He sat looking a trifle nervously at the detective. "According to your statement here, you were sitting on a small platform above the stage, from where you had a birds' eye view of the stage." Leaning forward, Binod looked into his eyes. Was it his imagination or did he see a slightly alarmed look in them, before he looked quickly away. "Tell me what you saw."

"Sir, I...I already told your detective, I was taking a toilet break, after I had finished my end of the work. It was only a rehearsal after all. I... I left soon after Vijay entered the stage. I.. I am diabetic you see. I need to er.. go often."

"What did he look like, any signs of nervousness, desperation ? "

The technician shifted uneasily on his chair. "No, sir. Not that  I saw. He was concentrating on the script that he held in his hand. Absorbed in reading it.

"What about the pistol ? "

"I thought I saw it in his hands. He seemed to be twirling it around in his hand."

The detective sat back in his chair, making a few notes. "Anything else that you might have noticed ? Who else was on the stage apart from him ? "
"I didn't see anyone else, sir."

"That's it then. You may go. " This time the relief on his face was palpable. He rose hurriedly to leave.

"Just a moment. You said you saw nothing. Perhaps you heard something ?" The tension on his face was back. He sank down onto the chair. " N... Nothing , sir. Nothing !"

"Then why are you so nervous ? Why did you sit down again ? " The detective's voice grew stern. Loud.

"Tell me what it was that you heard. A conversation, a noise ? Tell me !"

"I...It..It was maybe my imagination.." Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. " as I was leaving the stage, I heard someone  climbing the stairs to the stage.  It's made of wood and there are loose boards from years of wear and tear. I remember being surprised, only Vij was supposed to be on the stage. Then I heard a small thud, and a soft curse. As if someone had dropped something. Unfortunately I was in too much of a hurry to think too much of it. I left." He looked down embarrassedly.
   
"Who do you think it was, did you hear the voice ?"

He paused at the door, turned and replied slowly, " It sounded like a female voice. I thought it was probably Richa since she was due on stage next. " Having said that, he realised the enormity of the implication and swabbing at the copious amounts of sweat on his face, he stammered," i...i.. don't mean it THAT way, of course, just just a guess sir. No, no it cant have been her, just my imagination." Still shaking his head, he quickly retreated thru the half open door.

Binod sighed. Getting up from his chair, he paced the room, brow furrowed in concentration as he reflected on what he had heard. A knock on the door had him sink back into his chair.

The Authority Figure

Crash !

The noise reverberated in the stillness of the afternoon. Awoken from her siesta, she bounded towards the kitchen, from where the noise had come. As she burst thru the door, her eyes widened in disbelief, no! shock! The chicken curry she had laboured over all morning lay strewn over the floor. As she swung around to berate the maid, she saw instead Ammaji, her mother in law, eyes dilated in horror, palm held over mouth as if to stifle a scream, cowering in the corner. Taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart and boiling mind, she took a wash cloth, bent over the mess and started mopping up. Once there was space enough to walk out, and her urge to shout had subsided a little, she stood up. "Koi nahi, maaji. Chaliye aap kamre main under." As she took the old ladies hand, she could feel her it trembling within hers. She herself was feeling angry, then sorry in turns for both of them. "What happened, Maji.?" she couldn't resist asking, keeping her voice low, her initial fury abating at the old lady's distress. "I...I thought..I ought to help you.. You.. you have guests for dinner, and all that cooking to do.. I make those curries.. always.. so.." she trailed off apologetically. "I'll manage, ma. You relax. Just lie down for a while. " so saying she helped the old lady to her bed, helped her lie down. As she turned to leave, maji caught her hand, the look in her eyes made her cringe with sorrow, sympathy, hell.. pity. "I'm of no use now no, beta. What will you do now that i spilled all of it. I so wanted to help, you know.." she tailed off, a tiny tear spilling from her eyes, and trickling down the wrinkled cheek.....

The marriage rituals had just gotten over. The young bride, looked a trifle warily, at the imposing figure standing at the threshold, surveying her almost critically, waiting to welcome her into her new home. Tall and statusque, she stood. Clad in a blood red saree, Durgaesque, huge bindi over big kohl lined eyes, she was easily the most authoritative figure in the room. The most striking too. The archtypal Mother-in -law. As the young bride met her mother in laws eyes, she swallowed. How on earth would she fit in. But as the mother in law helped her cross the threshold, she saw her eyes mist, and somehow she was reasssured.

Life had not been easy. Easily the authority figure, nothing happened in the home, that was not approved by her. From the everyday menu, and the household accounts, to the naming of her grandchildren, and the welcoming of guests, she was second in command. Always the 'bahu raani ', she thought bitterly. Young and educated she strained at the leash. Many a conflict arose because her husband would not hear of separating from his parents. After one such row, she was summoned into the presence of her father-in-law. A mild, gentle man, she never heard him raise his voice with anybody. He had long ago relenquished the house to his efficient wife, acting as mediator or judge only in rare circumstances.

"Beti, are you happy here ?" was his first question. She looked up, shocked. "Yes, baba, why wouldn't I be?" "Are you sure you wouldn't like to live in a separate household," The question came from the shadows. The voice was that of Maaji. She looked up stricken. "No ma. It's just that.." She paused. "No one ever asks my opinion or lets me make even small decisions. I feel i am of no use, I exist in name alone...She stopped, thinking she had gone too far, her outburst would be misconstrued as rebellion. "I see. Would you like to come to work at the office ?" The question took her by surprise. "Yes, oh yes baba ! " Her face lighted up as she looked at them. "From tomorrow. Would you like to work in liasion ? Or some other department of your choice ? So it was agreed and so life took a new turn for the 'bahurani '...

Life became easier. She easily took over her role as business woman, earning the respect of the men folk in the house. Her mother inn law however remained just that. Home was her territory plainly, as she continued to be the ultimate authority consulted for all things big and small.. Sometimes there was a stand off between them, subtle, simmering differences. For the sake of peace, the younger always retreated, by doing so relinquishing whatever little authority she did have.

The death of babuji, came as a great shock. Having come to know him well over the years, she had grown to love him for the gentle, understanding, father who always sought her opinion and consent on all business matters that she dealt with. Greater than her shock was that of her mother in law's. She went into a deep mourning from which she emerged after the mandatory four months. Having come to terms with her loss, she was now determined to transfer her affections to her son. Hawk like she oversaw his meals, his clothes, even berating the children if they ate what had been left for him.. This led to friction between the two women, the younger resenting the older still more, now that she was encroaching on her territory.. At the slightest hint of a dispute, the older woman's eyes glimmered with unshed tears, hurriedly causing the younger to retreat. Emotional blackmail was not something she could handle.

The heart attack when it came was sudden. The hospitalisation and the ensuing rest period affected the house drastically. She had to leave the office, and take over household duties, which caused her great anguish, for by now, her office was her refuge, her second home. Mundane duties of the home had her frustrated. The dowager, even though sick, tried to enforce her own opinions and methods of working, which irked the bahu even more. Each was frustrated and cried great tears, alone in their rooms. The former at having to leave her bastion, her home. The latter at having to juggle home and mother in laws tantrums and dictates. Even the servants, kept reverting to the elder lady not wanting to get into her bad books.

Slowly, the wheels of time rolled along. The old lady got back onto her feet. Admit it or not, her authority helped greatly to restore some semblance of normalcy. She took over the supervising of the kitchen, which freed the younger woman to work from the home, for which she was grateful, but still unwilling to let go of all authority. There was a compromise of sorts, a slow reversal of roles. Perceiving her as as the paymaster, the household now looked upon the younger as the ultimate authority. Slowly the older lady backed off, retreating into her prayers, only sometimes battling the winds of change. Her relationship with her bahu was cordial but distant. The finely etched line of formality always keeping her at arms length..

With a sigh, she bent over the stove. Having restored the old lady to her room and wiping her tears, for the first time in her life she had hugged her. They cried together, then having reassured her she could substitute the curry with a daal, she had hurried back to the kitchen. As she worked feverishly to restore order, she couldn't help but reflect.. Hadn't she always sub consciously battled to win the old lady's affections, her respect. To be regarded and treated as an equal. Maybe she had never truly appreciated her. Maybe the spilt curry was a small price to pay..

Twist Of Faith

I stood on the periphery. Of life. Thus it had been. Thus it would always be. With acceptance, came a resigned serenity. For I was different. Differently abled. One armed in a world of two armed people. When you are destined to be different, you become very adjusting, accomodating. You are always relegated to the background. Someone to be pitied, scorned or worse, to be helped by every Tom, Dick and Susan who comes along.

As a child, I was seated in the first row. For heavens sake, I remember telling my mum, I'm not blind !
But I took advantage of my situation, sometimes. Like when the girls fussed over me, and yelled at the other resentful fellows for taunting me.

Youth brought a different set of problems. I  no longer wanted or liked being pitied. I wanted to be loved, admired for myself. After all I was good looking. Had worked long hours at the gym to have a sculpted body. Alas, there were no takers. I watched admiration turn to pity, concern as the girls checked me out. Every time I turned away. The unshed tears burning up my heart. I turned bitter, cynical.

That was until she came into my life.

That day had been a sad day for me. I had been invited to my best friends marriage. To be the best man, observing at close quarters, the girl I was enthralled with getting married to my bestie. Getting out of the car, I was about to cross the road, when I saw a biker hurtling down the road. Talking into her cell, the girl crossing the road was directly in his way. Reacting instinctively, I leapt across, sweeping her aside with my one good arm, both of us ending up in a heap by the side of the road. Stunned we sat there. That is until she got up, brushed herself and started yelling at me. I looked up at her in astonishment. For God's sake, I had just saved her life ! As people started to mill around us, she extended a hand, pulling me up. As if she had saved me, not the other way around ! Then after a brusque, " You ok ? " she ran off in the opposite direction leaving me in the midst of a crowd. The type of attention I dreaded most. Seething, I strode off, having to head back home to change my clothes.

The next day, as I entered college, I heard a voice calling out my name. Turning, I saw it was her. Scowling I turned back, when a small hand tucked itself into mine. "Hey. I never did thank you for saving my life, " said she. Then she stood on tiptoe, to land a kiss on my cheek. Time stood still. As did most people who knew me on campus. Here was a pretty girl kissing me!  Me ! The background guy. Always the best man never the groom ! The smile stayed on my face for the rest of the day.

So the friendship bloomed between us. Every day I would wait by the college gates for her. She would come in, take my hand in hers and we would stroll in. I had no idea why she did that. I had no illusions regarding her either for she was already betrothed. In a long distance relationship. With a childhood sweetheart. I loved her but as one would a buddy. Because she was a girl, there did exist a what if ? between us. But only on my part, I guess. I confided in her. Things even I didn't know were bottled up within me, I found myself telling her. We went to cricket matches and discs, coffee shops and restaurants. She pined for him, I could see. I pined for just such a girl and companionship.

Alas the day came when I stood looking on at her reunion with her fiance. She had insisted I go with her to the air port to receive him. I was even more chagrined to find I actually liked the man. From there on, I stepped back. I assuaged my aching heart that she had never been destined for me. In the hopes of a romance, I was not willing to lose the best friend I had ever had.

We kept in touch. She emailed or called almost every other day from distant Canada.  Four years went by. Years in which she strangely made no mention of husband or child. For now she was both a wife and a mother. Her parents had moved to Canada, too, I heard, to be with their only child.

The job offer came like a ray of sunshine. I found myself coming alive again after many years. I was headed for Canada, Toronto, where she lived. I would work there, I promised myself I would see her only very occasionally. Also it would be a surprise. My visit to her home. The flight landed and I stepped out into a freezing, blustery winter morning. A strange feeling flooded my heart. I was soaring higher than the planes around me, so happy I was.    

The week went by in a flash. I had received her mails, but of late she had been sounding depressed. I waited anxiously for the weekend to come, settling down into my new job in the interim.

Her house was beautiful. Just as she had described it . A small neat garden surrounded the red stuccoed roofed house. I stood outside taking deep breaths. Who was I kidding. She would always be my true, my only love. Heart pounding, I rang the bell, holding the flowers i'd brought up to hide my face. The door opened. A beloved, beloved face shone in front of my eyes. Then I dropped to my feet. Holding that beloved body in a tight hug, even as the flowers dropped to the floor. I looked at her face, for what seemed like hours. The delicate lines that etched the beautiful sparkly eyes I had known. The unruly curls escaping from the tight knot behind, framing her pixie face. Oh. How I had missed her. But why was she sitting. Why did she not stand up to greet me ? Hug me ? Then It hit me. Stunned I reeled back. She was sitting on a wheel chair.

The story was painful. Tearfully told. She hugged me, and I held her close even as a deep wail of pain rose from within her. A car accident had taken not only her mobility, but also her loving husband from her. She had'nt told me because she had to fight her battles to regain her life and that of her little daughter. With the help of her parents she ran a creche and lived in the hope that life would reclaim her enough for her to provide for her child.

We got married in the next month. Life was cruel. To reward me, it had caused her great deprivation. But i was there. I would always be there for her.           

Cupid

The cell phone. That ubiquitous piece of metal. Such a small thing, capable of so much mischief has not been invented since.. since Dennis the Menace. Read on.. read on, dear reader..and judge: Friend or foe ?

It seemed to Ravi, that he had been waiting for hours. But then, he was waiting for the college hottie on campus and he had managed to land a date with her. So wait he would. The cell, of course had played cupid to this strange love story. For he was the campus nerd, the one no girl spared a second glance to.

Scene 1
A bustling college canteen. A worker scrubbing the floors, pauses pats his pant feverishly, as if he has a case of poison ivy, then leaving the bucket and mop dashes off outside to coo lovingly into the errant cell.
In walks the college hottie also absorbed in a cell conversation, a high pitched monologue actually, ticking off a long suffering boyfriend, then after a series of shrill "hello.. Hello.. HELLO..'s" she stomps a delicate foot.. straight into the bucket, which skids.. and not unlike insy winsy spider, she slithers and falls with a thump on the floor, landing almost at the feet of the nerd.

Like a modern day Mumtaz she lies hapless, wet and bedraggled on the floor, one hand fumbling for her skirt, the other for her cell. The nerd stoops to help her up, then winces as a banshee yell resounds in his ears. The girl has just realised that her cell has landed in the bucket and drowned. Hurling his hand aside, she leaps up to rescue her cell, then realises its dead. As she bursts into tears, the nerd flips open the cell exposes its innards, then strolls to the air conditioner vents exposing it to the hot exhaust. After five minutes of having the entire campus eyeing him and the girl, he nonchalantly rubs it against his sleeve, then profers it to the girl who squeals in admiration then, plants a kiss on his virginal cheek. Grabbing the moment, he asks her for a coffee. Unable to refuse the modern day Gallahad, she nods absentmindedly as he very cleverly dials his own number from her cell, thus saving her number in his for posterity.

Scene 2
A spiffy Ravi is hanging on to the street pole for dear life, adopting different poses, eyes and ears on the alert for her appearance. An hour later, a Ravi, shoulders sagging is desperately making calls that go unanswered. As he attempts to move, body drooping, feet dragging, he hears a voice from behind, hailing him. He turns to  see Ishita, his competitor and fellow nerd holding out his cell. He must have dropped it after that last desperate call, he realises.  He holds out his hand to take it, then accidently touches hers. A sudden shaft of lightening seems to run through him. He looks pleadingly at her, "Coffee ?"

Why hadn't he noticed her smile before he wonders, and her luminiscent eyes as he sits across her enjoying the debate of Cassius versus Brutus with her. A loud crash resounds from the opposite corner of the room. A girls raised voice heaps insults on the hapless boy sitting across her. She stomps out of the coffee shop in a huff. His phone starts to ring, even as he cowers behind his table, cringing as his truant date marches past him. Ishita looks at him. He holds her gaze and disconnects the phone. All he ever needed, he realises is sitting beside him.

An Alien World

The girl was pretty. Or rather she had very pretty eyes. Luminous, dark orbs glinting curiously at the passers by. The rest of her was covered by the hijaab, the head to toe black robes of the Moslem women. What was she doing in Singapore I wondered..

The Mercedes was wending its way smoothly along the coppery gold streets. It glided slowly to a stop at the traffic lights. Excited, unable to contain myself, I leaned out to get a better look. Where I come from that was surely banned. But besides the car was a young couple. I leaned out of the car, shocked, apalled ! The girl was wearing unbelievably short shorts ! Her slick halter top revealed a generous cleavage. and most of her back was exposed, shining white! Allah ! Surely she would be arrested ? Or worse, some man would swoop upon her and carry her off ! She turned to sneak a look at her husband. But he was absorbed in a phone call, seeing with unseeing eyes. As she watched, the girl turned to her companion and bestowed a loving kiss on his lips. The smile they shared, the spontaneous holding of each others' hands as they crossed the road, stayed with her for a long time.

Strange country this.  Looking around her as the lights changed and the car purred ahead, she realised that she was the only one staring! People all around were self absorbed, busy with cells or simply intent on crossing the road. Indignation, anger almost, flowed through her. Why was the girl not being accosted, dragged away to the police station ? How heinous, shameful was her behaviour ! She stole a glance at her husband. An imposing looking man. He was handsome, if much older than her. After all she was his second wife. This trip was a honeymoon, of sorts. A working holiday for him. He had indulged his wife and allowed her to accompany him. The mullah had recommended he go to Malaysia. Prayers at a particular masjid and the powerful herbs sold by a hakim there always guaranteed the birth of a son. Singapore was the business end of the trip.

He turned to see his wife, bristling with indignation as she pointed at a model displaying a bikini in a passing lingerie shop. He laughed and said something in Arabic, which had her blush a beetroot red and pull the mask attached to her burqa over her eyes. Indeed they were in a country of infidels. Surely on the day of Qayamat, they would burn in hell, she thought.

I stood looking out of the window. The luxurious suite of the hotel was a gilded cage. My husband had left at ten in the morning, before I had barely awakened. Awake I was though and restless. As I paced past the windows, I looked down to see the blue glistening waters of the swimming pool. What I saw had me thunder struck ! Women lay on the beach chairs, wearing almost next to nothing. Their upper bodies were naked, just a nonchalant towel thrown over their chests. The lower extremities were just covered with the tiniest of cloths, not big enough to be even called underwear. As I stood aghast, I saw men swimming in the pool too. One emerged from it, and making his way past the sleeping women, settled down beside a woman, who leaned over to say something to him. They both sat up and taking a bottle of lotion the man began to rub it all over her back. The sheer brazeness of it all had me standing their mouth agape.

The knock on the door startled me. Reaching for my hijaab, I put the chain over the door before opening it a tiny fraction. The girl standing outside wore housekeeping uniform : pants and a short top. Her face, though was unmistakable. She was the same woman I had seen at the traffic lights. As I looked inquiringly at her, she spoke, first in English, then seeing the incomprehension on my face, in Arabic. Smiling hesitatingly I let her in. Then, unable to stop myself, I told her that I had seen her yesterday at the signals. Eager to know more about her, I struck up a conversation, asking her how she came to know Arabic. She told me that it was one of the languages she had learnt in school.

Time flew. As she set about cleaning the room, we talked. She told me about Singapore schools, how women as well as men, studied together, underwent compulsory military training together after university. The woman standing before me was indeed a confident, smart young woman. She apoke five languages, earned her own living and was going to marry her boyfriend after a month. When I pointed at the pool, she smiled, then told me that was the way women dressed while swimming. What I saw before me was a world, that was free. Free to live, dress, move, earn, marry even, as they wished ! By the time she was gone, I had glimpsed a world so alien to mine, it was almost like another planet.

Alone for the entire day, I had lots to think about. Within me raced mixed emotions. I was superior to her where my station in life was concerned, or was i ? Determined to find out more, I called her back.

The next day, I was up as soon as my husband had left. Actually I was so excited I had hardly slept the whole night. Having dressed in a hurry, I waited anxiously for the clock to strike ten. Five minutes before, I walked out of the room. My mouth felt dry, my hands shook as I hurried to the elevators. For the first time in my life, I was going out unaccompanied ! That too, in a foreign country. An alien, alien land. As I walked towards the doors and out of the hotel, I broke into a sweat, wondering if she would be there. Praise be to Allah, she was. Hijaab firmly in place, I walked with her towards the car I thought she had brought with her. Alas, to my horror ahe was pointing towards a small motor cycle ! Before I could refuse, she had hustled me onto the back seat, carefully arranged my hijaab around my legs and we were off.. !

I asked her anxiously, " Are you sure we won't be discovered ?" Not only would it be catastrophy for me, she would lose her job as well. "Ah, she replied, "Don't worry. I'll have you back in good time."
As we zipped thru the streets, a strange exhilaration rose within me. Eagerly I took in all that she was trying to tell me, show me. Wide eyed, I took in the sights, smells and sounds of this lovely city. The bird park was an amazing place. I watched as the fabulously colored birds flew about, sometimes at will, sometimes in obedience to commands. How free were they, how magnificent their surroundings, how loved were they ! For lunch she took me to a Macdonalds outlet, letting me stand in line and ask in broken English for a burger, fries and a coke. The best meal of my life ! Next stop was the beach. We walked together, I took her hand in mine, as we waded thru the shallows. As I walked, a strange kind of happiness bubbled through mu entire being. For this day, this moment I was Me. Not a daughter, not a wife, not one in a sea of black, but in a multihued, serene, liberated world. Just being Me. Just being.

As we rounded a rock, Maria, for that was her name, asked me to stop. Before I knew what was happening she had pulled off my hijaab ! Stunned I looked at her at first, the protests, the fury I ought to have felt dying within me, as I slowly stepped out of it. I raised my hands, then my face up to the skies. Was I alive, still ? Hadn't I died and gone to heaven ? I must have ! The spray from the sea stung my face, my black tresses flowing freely around my body, as if aping the hijaab. Time stood still. I walked, I sat, arms wrapped tightly around my knees. I stretched, even ran a bit on the sands. I picked up shells, even a starfish that had washed ashore. I waded into the waters, up to my waist. Maria just sat and watched me.


I didn't know what  time my husband came to the room that night. Even he must have been surprised to see me fast asleep as early as ten, when I had been pacing the room upto twelve the previous night, exhorting that  I could not sleep, after having been cooped up the entire day.

We left Singapore the next day. Maria, came to the room before I left. I slipped her a card along with my diamond ring. A marriage ring I had no use for. For it shackled me. But was a symbol of liberation for her. My ties were of compulsion, I was the caged bird. Hers were of love, and so she flew. High up into the azure skies of Singapore.