Tag Archives: anger

Of People and Things.

Naksh was singing at the top of his voice! “Papparah Papparah Papparah… Badtameez Dil Badtameez Dil… Ahh… Haan

“Oh shut that radio thing off and stop jumping on the bed,” Shailjaa scolded her eight year old son, Naksh!

No longer jumping, he smiled at her and stood there, the hand held radio his father bought as a gift, still blaring what people called music these days!

She was still angry at him but this child of hers could not be least bothered! He’d misplaced her earrings and she couldn’t find it anywhere. She was sure she’d given to him to go and keep it by the bedside table. She’d even boxed his ears two hours ago but he came back and sat beside her in no time! Now he was jumping on the bed unashamed.

“Get out,” she said, dropping the freshly ironed bed covers and pillow cases on the bed. “I have to change the bed sheet.”

“Mummy, I am sorry,” he said, and walked out of the room, forlorn and dejected, head hung.

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Shailjaa didn’t reply.

She pulled off the old covers angrily. Unfurling the new covers, she went to the headboard side and struggled to pick up the mattress alone to push the new covers beneath. Something fell from behind the mattress onto the floor beneath. She bent down and looked under the four poster bed. Two pieces of gold shone out to her. One within her reach, the other rolled off to the other end. She crawled under the bed and got her hands on both the pieces. She craned her neck upwards to look at the bed from under. A coffee flavored toffee was sticking out from behind the mattress, fighting gravity, pinched in place. She pulled it out too and crawled back out from under the bed. She sat on the floor, head resting on the bed, turning the earrings back and forth. They were the ones for which she’d boxed her son’s ears. She felt terrible, devastated almost. She now recalled picking it from the bedside table and having kept it on the bed. They must have gotten wedged between the mattress and the headboard during the course of the night. She lay her head on her knees and held herself close. She sat that way for more than a few minutes and swore to herself she’d put people over things here onwards.

Getting up from her place on the floor, she went out of the bedroom to look for her son. He was standing in the balcony, listening to the radio. She snuck up behind him and dangled the toffee in front of his eyes. He whirled around and smiled broadly. But then he saw her face and his smile dimmed a little. Her heart pricked.

“You want this?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

She felt sad.

But then he said, “I want the mango flavor.”

Her heart jumped with joy! “I’ll get you those later. Right now, will you please help me with covering the bed?” she asked.

He nodded her head vigorously. Then he raised a finger and asked, “Can I jump on the bed after that?”

“Yes, we both will,” she said, laughing.

Beaming with joy, he ran towards the room, and she noticed as she followed him, that his radio was lying in the balcony. She picked it up and placed it on the table – a lesson learnt.

Graciously Yours!

The Love?

Contd from “The Ideal?”

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He re-read the letter again in the dimness of the street light streaming in through the window. There was no mention of what really was going on at their place. He liked it that way. Folding the letter inside the envelope, he put it back in the diary where it belonged. He treaded lightly towards the cupboard and kept the diary on top of it. Looking at the woman sleeping on his bed, face towards him, the light unable to flit across her face, he smiled at her lovingly. He rubbed the gashes on the knuckles of his left hand. The gashes were so old, he now referred to them as birth marks. They were signs of his father’s love.

The naive woman thought he didn’t know she wrote to her mother. He loved her for how she covered for him. She really did love him. Was that how his mother was too? Nah, she was better. She never fought back, never talked back. She was always the loving mother, dutiful wife. She didn’t even show her tears to his father ever. His wife had a lot to learn. But she would  – with time. He was sure. Maybe it was time for a lesson soon.

He loved his wife a lot. The marks on her body showed that bright and loud. That was the only love he knew. That was the only love he’d ever known.

To be contd…

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

Bloodied Hell.

Theresa sat across the table from her boyfriend, Brandon. She lightly patted his hands. She looked at them. His nails were chipped, chewed at in places. There were patches of blue around his nails. She looked up at him and then looked away. She needed to be sure.

“Will you now tell me where have you been all these days? Or am I still being too clingy? You need more space?” Theresa asked, looking at the blank wall on her right. She didn’t want to look him in the eye, to show him that she was afraid and weak. Not at this point.

“Oh come on, love. You know I like my freedom. But that doesn’t mean it’ll change my love for you. Well, as long as you believe in me, I know I can make it,” Brandon said, smiling at her. He wished she’d look her in the eyes. He needed her right now and he needed her fast and close.

“Oh, someone is being charming!” she said suddenly, angry that he took her for granted.

“Someone is being cocky,” he said, surprised at her sudden change in body language.

“You used to be charming. Now you no longer are charming. And I no longer concerned. You’re like all the others now. In fact, you’re worse. Because you were once better than all of them. But now? No. No longer.” She looked him straight in the eye as she said it. She was sure he was hiding something.

“You have so much to say about me? What about you? What do you have to say about yourself?”

“What about me?” Theresa asked, waiting for him to let out steam.

“You put yourself on the pedestal like you’re someone special. To reach out to you we have to be special and different. But that is only from your eyes. If you see the world from our eyes, you’re no different from all other girls who like to lure guys in, to make them believe that they’re the one and then drop us like hot potatoes when they see us for who we really are.” She did not expect this! Steam it was, but the wrong one.

“You really want to pick this fight right now? You think I am dropping you like a hot potato? I have been a part of your life for the past four years now. Or is it five?” she asked, thumping her fist on his open palm. He grunted in surprise, more from the suddenness of it than the power behind it.

“But you? I just remember shades of you moving in and out of my life for your own pleasure and in your own time. I shouldn’t have ever picked you up in the first place.” She was now standing. She had tears of anger in her eyes.

“Hey. Hey. I get it. Don’t cry! I was just kidding around with you. I am sorry. You know we’re going to be fine. Come on, baby.” Brandon was trying to get her back before things went too far.

“Don’t baby me!” she wanted to scream. But to him, sitting there in his orange overalls, to wipe out that smile which had floored her once, she said, “Whatever you may think of me and I may think of you, the fact is – you have blood on your hands and I do not.”

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She saw his face going white. Her words had had the desired effect. She smiled.

“I think it’s time we made a clean break from our relationship and move on. And while you are at it, you might as well find yourself a new lawyer.”

Graciously Yours!

Mistake.

He had no inkling of what he’d done. He’d prised her apart, promising to always guard her, and had at the end, left her open, wounds fresh and bleeding.
She couldn’t see how heavy a burden she was for him, how hard he’d been dragging her before he succumbed to his own magnanimous promises.
She was his best mistake, he, her worst.

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

The Web That Killed.

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While the Sun marked the end of its journey for the day, colours vermillion, saffron, magenta and plum painted the skies turn by turn until the deep blues and blacks took over. Such untarnished beauty did not for once in my life pleasure me. I had lived multiple lives till I met you. I was what the police called a conman. Doctors preferred compulsive liar. The other conmen revered me as an enemy. There were no friends in my business.


Like it happens every once in a while, I met my match in you. You were my glimmer of hope. I could see myself changing, living happier and for once in my sorry life I was dying to be a one-woman man. You made me want to give up everything just to be with you. And the one person I was ready to give up everything for had to be pushed away. My lies had caught up with me finally. I was getting sucked in a web so deep that shivers would run up even a spider’s spine. And the cost I would have to pay would be my life, if nothing more.


I lied to you for the very first time today and also my life’s last. I could imagine the swirling winds of anger inside you. There was a lot you wanted to say. Your eyes gave you away. They smouldered but you said nothing. I broke your heart to pieces but you didn’t say a word. I know not whether it was your love that held you back from lashing out hatred at me or if I was not even worth hating anymore. And I guess I will never know.


As those bullets pierced through my body, your face flashed before my eyes and each lingering kiss felt closer and dearer than ever before.
I died loving you so you could live hating me.


Graciously Yours!


Of angels and demons.

Jacob walked away one fine sunny morning. No explanations, no answers, no smile and no acknowledgment of her existence in his life! Sarah was left baffled and groping at the blank expanse her life had become without him. But in that tough lesson which life gave to her to learn, she exceeded expectations. She became excited about learning – learning about herself, learning about finding solace alone and most importantly, loving herself before any one else. Because until you don’t know how to love yourself, your lover will be as lost and confused as a chicken in a bull fight.



Today, basking in the glory of the sun and her beloved’s gaze, Sarah wondered how different her life would have been if Jacob hadn’t walked out that day. She silently thanked him for being a jerk. Because of him, she stopped looking for angels to come and fight her demons.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Izza, this is inspired by your #SeptemberPosts! She’s been writing abstracts so beautifully that I couldn’t help not writing like that. I give in. I hope you like this.

We want bans.

Of recent, the Indian Government has been ridiculously infamous for banning a lot of things in India. A few instances which flash momentarily when I think of the word ‘ban’ are the ban on Uber, ban on the BBC documentary India’s Daughter, ban on Nestle Maggi and the latest in the series is the meat ban!

Since it seems like the nature to ban things won’t change any time soon, here’s a list of bans which could make the Government look slightly better in the eyes of the common people. Free PR advice! Take it more than you leave it.

  • India is a multicultural, multilingual, multiracial, multireligion (if such a word exists) country. The number of Hindu Gods alone are 330 million. One can barely fathom truly how many festivals India celebrates in a year. Here in Calcutta, almost each area has a separate pandal (makeshift bamboo structures, often elaborate and adorned) which house bigger-than-life-sized clay structures of the Gods and Goddesses as per the occasion. And there are speakers installed at each one of those which play music almost all round the festival day. Which music, you’d ask. Spiritual music, you’d expect. They play Bollywood songs. Most of which had been created by the music directors purely for the purpose of being danced on after downing a few shots at the pub. This needs to be banned, if not to spare us mortals, then at least to spare the Gods from listening to that rubbish. (A friend tells me that even blood donation camps organised by some local clubs are a flimsy excuse for playing loud music all day long.)
  • There’s a beautiful and talented cousin, Sarita, who thinks it would be a favour to ban indecent and tasteless ‘creative’ musical content produced by some artists rather than crackers on Diwali! Hers is a strong demand but then of late that is exactly what we’ve been treated to. For all those who’re unaware of what I am talking about, here’s a short list :

Laila Teri Le Legi

One Two Three Four

Dhating Naach

Saree Ke Fall Sa

Aaj Blue Hai Paani

On a serious note, I’ve met kids, both affluent and poor, who recite these crude lyrics faster than the multiplication table of 13. And if that isn’t a cause for concern, then I’ll have to look up the meaning of concern again.

  • Vartika, a friend, complains about the usage of footpaths as roads by two wheelers. (Another friend was travelling by a three-wheeler auto when the auto driver chose to drive on the footpath scaring the life out of her!) Neha from Joie de Vivre wants hawkers to be removed from footpaths. What’s happening to our pavements? They’re being used by everyone apart from pedestrians. Surely the transport ministry would want to look into that .

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : This post is in no way a ridicule of the Indian society or our Government. No nation, society, religion or culture is perfect. But there’s always hope that things will get better, sooner or later. And this is what some of us are hoping for.

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

Her Art.

As her hand moved across the sheet,
She created the man she always wanted,
Putting her dreams on paper for all,
She wanted the world to worship him.

She gave him deep dark eyes,
A mane of hair enviable even by women,
A nose as straight as a string,
A smile to floor with just one look.

In his hand, she gave him a knife,
The dripping blood adding menace to him,
“It’s time to get back to your cell,”
The nurse said taking her art away.

Graciously Yours!

Of Darker Alleys (Part 2)


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She started walking faster. She had to get to the house early to make use of all the time she could get. She wanted to get away from them. She was desperate.

She reached the house. She could see the men standing outside impatiently. Bowing her head, lowering her eyes, she walked past them silently. She felt their eyes piercing her back. An involuntary shudder passed through her as she walked in through the wooden door. It was the last time she was going to do it.

It was a beautiful house. Much better than what she had been brought up in. The elders of the house had built it with much love and money. Latticed windows, carved doors, floral designs adorning the middle of the courtyard; she fell in love with the place when she saw it. She used to imagine how she would one day take care of it. Little had she imagined anyone could be as unhappy here as she had become.

Her mother-in-law was walking towards her. She muttered instructions to her. All she caught was the confirmation that they would be back in some time. Possibly half an hour. She didn’t listen to anything else. Not anymore.

The minute they left the compound to attend the neighborhood wedding, she ran to her room. She didn’t want to attend the wedding. It was a trade. The girl was being sold and she wouldn’t know it for a while. That is how the village was surviving. The current generation had almost no girls. Who would the boys marry? They killed their own daughters and bought daughters of other parents only to sell them off as commodities once their utility was over. Higher the demand, higher the price. She preferred the dried grasslands over such fake lushness. At least back at her place, they treated humans as humans.

She had put together a few of her clothes. She was still in two minds if she should run away with her baby or alone. She knew if they found the baby missing, they would not leave any stone unturned to get to her. But if she alone went missing, they might not even bother. With a heavy heart, she picked up her little cloth bag and crossed the length of the house to leave.

She stopped right at the main door. Her son was wailing. Her only son was wailing! She opened the door. She tried ignoring his cries. She could see her freedom waiting down the road. She could hear a hungry heart and an impatient stomach calling out to her.

The mother in her had decided. She had decided to remain human. She closed the doors on herself again. Clutching her bag to her chest, she ran up to his room. Her baby wanted her. Her freedom would have to wait today.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : I do not know about other countries but I do know that such practices are rampant in India. How rampant, where, since when ~ I wish I could answer those questions with surety, but I cannot.

Picture Credits : Ishita Shah.

Of Darker Alleys (Part 1)

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She squinted her eyes to block the Sun out. She counted the coins she had and kept them in a hidden pocket, of her money bag, she had sewn in. Today was the last day she had to do this. Not anymore.

She picked up her bags of vegetables. She saw the vendor stare at her mammary glands. Shuddering at the thought of what he may be thinking, she walked away. Today was the last day she would walk away silently. Not anymore.

She walked down to her home, no, her husband’s home. The men of the village knew what she was. The women of the village were silent watchers. There were many like her here. No one said anything aloud. But the way they stared at her, spoke to her, spoke about her, gave it all away. They were all hand in glove.

Two years ago, she’d set foot in the village. She was happy at the turn of events in her life. From dried grasslands into lush green living. She thanked her fortunes every day and showered love on her fortune changer. At the back of her mind, however she always found something amiss. She ignored it again and again. Her husband’s abject lack of affection, her in-laws’ desire for an early child, the villagers eyeing her with a look that could make fathers drive back daughters into the houses forever, the pity in the eyes of some women for her; it all kept prodding at that feeling of danger lurking around nearby.

Three months ago, she gave birth to her husband’s son. Everyone at the house was overjoyed. She wanted to die. She was a vessel for them. That is all she was. She may be sparsely educated but she was perceptive. She read people’s behavior, heard them talk, noticed things around. She didn’t want to believe her fate. Her husband had married her for a child. Like the other men in the village, he would sell her off after that. The first time her mother in law hugged her was after the test confirmed she was bearing a boy. She sobbed all night.

Once her son was born, she was rarely allowed to be with him. She was to only feed him and take care of him after the others were tired of playing with him. All she became was a nanny to her own son. She had hoped things would change after her child’s birth. They did. The people of the house showered affection. On her son.

(to be continued…)

Graciously Yours!