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Message From 4IW Team

Team 4indianwoman — Sun, 11 May 2008 01:22:41 GMT

We thank our writers for your active participation in our discussion thread, "Should 4IW give priority to writers who participate actively in our platform?" A special thanks to those of you who actually read our initial message in this thread and understood the message we were trying to convey. We have taken a note of your suggestions made through this discussion thread and also through your many emails. We will definitely consider your suggestions if we implement any policy change in future.

Happy Mother's Day to everyone and welcome to this week's Mother's Day Special edition!

We once again remind our writers not to use any pen name while participating in our blog portal and discussion board.

A warm welcome to our new writers, Nandini Ratnaparkhi and Kirti Desai!

In Short Stories - Bringing Up Mother By Chandra Ghosh Jain, Jaipur, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 04:01:34 GMT

Sohail and his father looked rather attractive, in their spotless white kurta pyjamas picture perfect in their bereavement, as they sat with bowed heads, sharing the sympathy their friends and well wishers came to offer on their tragedy. Nobody talked about it, but it was there, screaming loudly in the silence. Why did she do it? What was it that she lacked a wealthy rich husband and such lovely children? There was in this silence, an affirmation long rumoured, that she was hypersensitive ready to go off at a tangent. Poor Sangvi saheb, how grief stricken he looked!

All the people gathered closer around him to show their solidarity. Now there was Natasha, appearing rather puffed, her mother should have at least spared her a thought. Thank god Natasha was married. Under the present circumstances, even the bravest would baulk at the idea of being associated with such a stigma of unnatural death. Now for boys things are different, Sohail has a girlfriend tucked away somewhere. Someone whom both his parents had disapproved of; for absolutely different reasons.

Ma had disliked Ayushi on sight, with here skimpy dress and awful giggle. She was too obsessed with her legs and arms. There was nothing beyond modeling and dresses. How Ma had despaired, Sohail not this? But he seemed completely enamoured. All his friends found Ayushi very attractive and extremely successful. She was aiming to become and international model. Papa's was annoyed that although Ayushi had a reasonable education, she didn't come from the right strata of society. Her father was just some retired wing Commander. So Sohail was torn between the two and it appeared that Ayushi would soon tire of him.

Mothers can be quite a handful, mused Sohail. Or is it only mine that was so different? Other children had mothers who fitted into a mould. Oh they were all highly qualified, doctors, successful business women but as mothers they were so unlike Ma. Well Ma was so deceptively conventional to look, at.

Long black hair, large kohl rimmed eyes, a round red bindi setting off her fair face to perfection. She always sported demure long loose salwar kameezes and for formal wear she wore those elegant, exquisite sarees.

"Ma, Ma," called out Dadu from his room.

Dadu had been keeping indifferent health and was living with us for sometime. As far as we remembered Dadu was always ancient, only recently he had become cranky as well, demanding that Ma feed him and always hang around him as if he were a small infant. Ma was fairly impatient with him.Our Ramswaroop dealt with him in a very dutiful and obedient manner. But Dadu would cheer up only when Ma was around.

Dadu maintained that Ma was the reincarnation of his own mother, born to him as his daughter in this life. So he lavished all his affections doubly on her. No wonder she was so spoilt! She grew up to be a very willful and independent person. Dadu would often reiterate that we wouldn't love her as much as he [Dadu] loved her.

Ma just dismissed these jealous statements with a shrug. How could her own children not love her, she so doted on them?

"Sohail, called out Ma with a twinge of irritation, don't hang on to the phone for so long, I am waiting for my staff to call me about the interview they had gone for."

Ma was working with a magazine, and had recently become it's editor, so she was taking her job rather seriously.

"Ok, Ok I have finished, called or rather shouted out Sohail. You and your magazine what rubbish you publish, continued the young fifteen year old. What is this you have written about marriage? You don't believe in it?"

Ma had replied that marriage was like a contract - and like any contract people cheat, or it breaks up. What was more important were the emotional ties. You care, so you will be tied to each other, not the other way round.
"But what about the rest of the family?"

"The same principle applies, if you are emotionally bonded, will you take care, and otherwise no amount of marriage will give you security or protection."
"What about the children?"

"They will receive affection and loyalty only on this basis: not because any legal contract gives them a right to love and protection. Marriage was started as a means of keeping a woman from going away, when man began settled agriculture. It reflects the man's insecurity more than the woman's. The rules made were unfavourable to the women, so how can I uphold anything which goes against my interests?"

"Then why did you marry?"

"Otherwise, you and Didi would have been in trouble. Society is not as yet ready for such ideas. Besides, this might lead to greater decadence, as most people are selfish and can't see beyond their own self interest and enjoyment. So the woman might be left holding lots of babies at the end of the day."

"Ah, so I was right you can't do without marriage!"

"Unfortunately as a means of coercion not as you assume it to be ties of affection and loyalty. Yes I do sound cynical don't I; but darling that's the truth."

Ma had rushed off to receive the all important call. But that was her all over so unpredictable, like the sudden showers in the midst of a hot summer. Refreshing, rejuvenating yet unexpected all the same.

Mamma, "Didi is on the phone again, why don't you stop her," complained Sohail, "Mamma, Sohail never let's me talk, to Ranjeev in peace - he's always hanging around," exclaimed Natasha, slamming the phone and flouncing off.

Ma hurried behind her, "Don't take him so seriously, he's just a child".
"A full grown man, and he goes on and on about Ranjeev's beard and his rather arty tastes."

Ma just smiled, but this annoyed Natasha, she flared up,
"It's all very well for you to smile, Dadu let you have his way, when you wanted to marry Papa, but Papa will never agree to my marrying Ranjeev. He doesn't come from the right background; his father is just a government school teacher."

"Well sweetheart, isn't it too early to think, of marriage, why don't you concentrate on the exams that you are giving. Once you have a job, you have that much more leeway to manouver."

She was rather worried about Natasha her first born, how tiny and helpless she had looked, feelings of fierce protectiveness flowed through her towards the baby. I will never let anyone hurt you so long as I am alive. Her husband and his family had viewed the arrival of a daughter with gloom. Her mother-in-law had forbidden any show of pleasure. The only low key celebration they had was during the Krishna-paksh phase of the month when the moon was on the wane. It was driven home time and again that if she had borne a son the celebrations would be on a grander scale.

She had often wondered when the persecution would end. It had taken a substantial amount of energy to allow Natasha to grow into a confident woman with a mind of her own. Deep down inside her she knew that when the crunch came Natasha would choose to follow the conventional route, it was easier, safer.

*                 *                      *

It was beautiful morning, with sunshine streaming down from a clear blue sky, giving comfort on a winter day. Winter holidays were always so brief, thought Sohail, as he picked up his bat.
"Just one more over," he pleaded to a rather determined mother.
"Well at this rate we will never get to see the migratory birds at Guda."
"Mamma, I am going to get ready," answered a more obedient Natasha.
Ma was such fun; there was never a moment of boredom with her around.

Those were the puppy dog days, reflected Sohail. Ma patiently initiating them into the wonders of reading; ever ready to explain the meanings, the nuances of difficult words. Summer holidays were even better, long hours spent lazily floating in the pool, afternoons playing scrabble, watching some old Hind film, or just sleeping off the long hot summer afternoons. There were times when Ma would get worried about our handwriting, and insist that we do a page each of Hindi and English, handwriting daily. Didi did hers diligently. This underlined my disinterest; and made Papa wonder whether I would amount to anything very much in life.

Even Papa would be relaxed and organise an outing to some remote hill station as Jaipur would be so unbearably hot. These jaunts would more often leave us tired and deflated though we dare not admit it to Papa .There were attempts also to make us learn classical music and dance, much to Dadi's discomfort. She would be muttering to Papa, "Girls' from good families only dance and sing in family weddings, and so on, on the same lines. Papa, of course surrendered to a determined Ma, who dismissed these views as archaic. Not that it helped anyone in the long run, Natasha lost interest by the time she reached high school, and Dadi remained offended till the end. We would also mess around with mud and clay, turning out some monstrosities, which would be proudly exhibited as Sohail's work.

I came back from college to find Didi in a flood of tears, and Papa smoking glumly outside. There was something terribly wrong as nobody responded to my cheery, Hi, everybody I am home.

So Papa had dismissed Ranjeev totally! Poor fellow he was a good sort, but then Didi had gotten through her UPSC and managed the Income Tax service. While Ranjeev had failed in all the three attempts. twice managing up to the viva level. He was quite bright just tough luck, I guess. Ma appeared as woebegone as Ranjeev. She took Natasha's decision to break up more seriously than Didi herself. Ma had grown quite fond of Ranjeev.

Later he did receive a teacher fellowship for Harvard, but by then even he had grown bitter. Ma you were too idealistic, how could Didi have waited for him indefinitely? Besides, Didi was always closer to Papa and also in awe of him. It was better for all concerned that Papa found a match for her, which Ma accepted with a little persuasion. There was always a little coolness between Ma and Didi after that. I guess that's the time Ma got more dependent on me and it was also the time when Shaina entered our lives.

Papa and Ma had always been a complete whole each was incomplete without the other. Through the many years of their lives they had been one, yes they had their share of slanging matches, terrific rows, but it amounted to nothing. I had heard Papa say often enough, while commenting on other men's affairs, that it's only those men, who have love marriages who, dare to stray from the straight and narrow path. The women with arranged marriages would sigh with relief, and Mamma would be smiling benignly; secure in the knowledge that despite Papa's proclamation, he would never embark on another adventure.

When we were young Mamma seemed such fun daring us to do all sorts of things, surfing, deep sea diving, canoeing. Participating with us with an abandonment of a child. As we grew older, we began to find her enthusiasm, embarrassing. We were constantly carping, Mamma you laugh too loudly, everyone is staring at us, or your swimsuit has too low a neck line. To which she replied dismissively, with a laugh, I should wear a burqua and swim. But all our criticisms could not get her down. Not that we intended to either. We loved her too much to let her be therwise.

I think it was the Shaina episode that left her, shattered. She just could not trust anyone again. Can one ever be objective about someone who comes as a tempest in one's lives? That fateful evening dark storm cloud had gathered, it was stiflingly close inside. Suddenly the storm broke. The raging winds blew fine sand into our faces. Nature appeared to be in as extreme a fury as Mamma. I watched helplessly, as she raved and ranted of the years gone by like a desert waste. How I hated Papa for reducing Mamma to this wretched state.

Shaina was a complainant in one of the many dowry related cases Papa dealt with as an advocate. She was an engineer, and her marriage had not worked from day one. There were beatings, starvation and other forms of torture. She apparently bore it all. To preserve her father's honour. Papa was taken in by her youth and her innocence. She was using him to ensure that the case went in her favour. Shaina, I wonder what really went wrong with her marriage, because she was so adept at manouvering, men and situations and looking like a lost cause, and Papa just loved lost causes. Ma had sensed danger; tried to prevent Papa from getting involved, but can one stem the tide by wise words. The phone calls became more frequent, the meetings more regular till we were all carried by the current........

The Shaina chapter didn't last for long, when it ended however Papa discovered himself in the ruins of an old desolate building. Mamma had left for Delhi, her head office required her there. I was in and out of hostels and moving ahead in my life. I guess it must have been terribly lonely for Mamma. Somehow it's difficult to imagine her as lonely, she who was so vibrant, had filled our lives with the colours of a rainbow. The times that we spent together so much remained unspoken in an attempt not to reopen old wounds, could it have been better, if we had just let down, wept, cried like the days of old?

She was more silent of late, morose and withdrawn; Papa would stay with her, when in Delhi. She was courteous, polite and correct. He wanted to be forgiven, but Mamma had become a stranger, she did not wish to be involved meanwhile; Ayushi's patience was running out, she had given me an ultimatum, now or never. Ma, you didn't spare my feelings when you said all those things, about girls who sway their hips to earn money and adulation. I wanted to get back at you, somehow, that's why I blurted out, 'Papa was right in carrying on with Shaina, you would stifle any one with your outdated ideas.'

It was almost as if I had shot her through her heart. Her eyes dilated with fear and anger and then immediately a curtain was drawn on them Mamma I am sorry, let's not fight. Let's not quarrel Mamma do you hear me......

                                              ** The End **

In Short Stories - THE BONDING THREAD By Shail Raghuvanshi, Palakkad, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 04:03:25 GMT

All rushed to Salem. At least, the sons did to see their ailing mother. Suddenly, out of nowhere a kind of unity had sprung up in the family induced by the fear of losing the only thread that was holding them together. The heart attack and the subsequent hospitalization of their mother had made everyone dead scared.

In the flurry of activity, of visits to home and hospital, of fear and regret, everybody forgot one person who was in reality the most affected by this sudden development – Sashidhar, the eldest of the children, born to his mother when she was very much a girl herself. He stood outside the ICU room, the fingers of his right hand constantly rubbing the lines on his forehead at regular intervals. His siblings and other relatives walked past him resenting his presence. He, the eldest one had always been the quiet kind. The others often mistook this trait for arrogance. Life had it’s own way of shaping a person’s personality. An unwanted aborted stint in the army had left Sashidhar quite shaken by events early in life. His deceased father’s high expectations of him as the eldest son had resulted in the trauma that faded over the years but still lay lodged in the deep recesses of his mind.

Consequently, he became a quiet retrospective person closeting himself from the world and the games that society played to survive. He kept his conflicts to himself. Only one person in the whole wide world understood him and that was Saraswathi, his mother. With only eighteen years separating them he was more close to her than her other children who were born much later, when she had matured both physically and mentally. No wonder they all ignored him at times. He seemed an oldie, more of a father figure to his siblings than a brother.

Saraswathi had two other sons, Shankar and Suresh. Even at the age of sixty nine Saraswathi was comfortable visiting her sons in different cities as it gave her a change from her otherwise monotonous life. That she went wherever and whenever she was needed did not strike her as being made use of. She delighted in the aspect of meeting people and keeping in touch with her relatives.

And now, Saraswathi was sick. And Sashidhar, in whose house she had been living for the past few months had not seen it coming.

‘Why did I not recognize the symptoms?’ he kept asking himself again and again.

“Only a gastric problem” he had told his mother as he left for work that morning.

“Take the Anta acid tablet and you will be just fine,” he had advised her when she had complained of a slight pain near the chest a day ago.

The next day, she had to be admitted after her doctor son Suresh had taken her for one of her regular checkups in the hospital that he worked in.

‘It is all my fault,’ Sashidhar told himself as if echoing Suresh’s thoughts.

‘If only she had stayed on in Chennai, she would have been fine,’ he thought and this time he seemed to be echoing the thoughts of Shankar.

‘But, what was I to do when Ma had wanted to stay with me? Could I have rudely refused her!’ he thought again.

The permanent shift from Shankar’s place in Chennai to Salem where Sashidhar lived had not been easy. Firstly, Shankar had been used to having his mother around for so many years that even imagining his home without her seemed just not possible. Secondly, like all mothers she could be trusted for any unexpected situation. And thirdly, since both he and his wife were working, his mother’s presence at home served as a security blanket for his children who came home tired and hungry every day after school. It was his mother who fed them and helped them tidy up.

‘I suppose a mother just cannot be replaced,’ he thought, ‘even by a wife!’

He had even asked his mother whether she was unhappy living with him and his family.

“Nothing like that Shankar. I am quite comfortable here. But, you should not fret. You have had the best years of my life. Don’t your other brothers need me too?”

“But Ma, I have never stopped you from visiting and staying with them every now and them!”

“You haven’t. But, I am not talking about holiday visits. I have grown old now. I do not know how much longer I will live and….”

“Ma, don’t say that,” Shankar interrupted.

“Just listen to me Shankar,” Saraswathi gesticulated impatiently. “With God’s grace both you and Suresh are well settled in life with good jobs and affectionate families. But there is one person who has no such emotional security to fall back upon.”
“Oh! You are referring to Sashi Anna. If that is the case then, we can ask him to come to Chennai.”

“Come to Chennai and do what? Will you get him a job at his age?”
“But, why does he have to work now? I am earning well enough Ma.”

“You have mentioned this to me. Never say this again,”
reprimanded Saraswathi. “Don’t you know how self respecting your brother is?

Had you been in his position would you have agreed to leave your job in Salem and live on what your younger brother earned? Tell me!” Sarawathi demanded.

That did it. There was nothing else that Shankar could say more.

Suresh who was stationed in Salem too had initially wanted his mother to live with him. But, his wife was dead against the idea.
“No means no” she had told Suresh. “I am happy as I am now. If your mother comes then I will have more work on my hands.”
“Nothing like that,” Suresh had argued. “She will help you in the kitchen. In fact, she might even teach you how to cook some of her tasty meals, something you just don’t seem to know after so many years of being married!”

“That’s the main reason why I don’t want her here. You will go on complimenting her qualities humiliating me in the process. I don’t want all that tension.”

Exhausted by all his attempts to convince his obstinate wife to be a little adjusting and practical, Suresh gave up.

Saraswathi too was particularly specific about living with her eldest son.

She had told them all, “You have families to take care of you. My Sashidhar is alone. I need to be with him.”

In the hospital ward, Sashidhar was feeling sick, his guilt eating him piece by piece. Days passed into weeks. Every day after work, he would come to the hospital, see his mother and return to an empty house. Only a few months and Ma had made her presence felt so much in his life and home. It was not that he had not missed her all the years she tended to her other children and their respective families. He had understood her responsibilities. But, her absence now in his home was killing him! Afraid of losing the only unconditional attachment he possessed in his life, he was feeling miserable. His brothers’ insensitive behaviour did not make life easier. Never having been close to him gave them more reasons to judge him responsible for their mother’s ill health.

Slowly, Saraswathi recovered. She came back home. To Sashidhar’s house. One evening, Sashidhar made her favourite cup of ginger tea for her. They talked into the night of old times, of times when she used to protect him when his father used to display his frustrations on Sashidhar and beat him. They recollected the past; of all the good times the family had shared, of the movies the whole family used to go together once a month as a ritual thirty years ago. Flashbacking into the past and talking about the old days gave Sashidhar a kind of peace he had not experienced for years.

As he closed his eyes that night the last thought in his mind was, ‘Our bond will never break.’

That night, Suresh called up wanting to speak to Saraswathi. Sarawathi took the receiver. As she listened to Suresh speak her expression changed to death pale.

‘I hope you are okay now Ma. It is that son of yours who did it all” Suresh screamed angrily into the phone. “Had I not come to see you then, God only knows what would have happened! He thinks he knows everything. What right has he to play with your life?

What has he done for you anyway?”

“Enough Suresh,” Saraswathi interrupted indignantly. “What you said today never say again.”

“But Ma….”

“NO. You asked me what he has done for me? He has taken care of my sons when they were helpless after their father died. That is what he has done for me. Have you done even a little of that? My heart was stressed when you took me to the hospital. It has broken now.”

Saying this Sarawathi put the receiver down with sadness and tears.

The next day being a Monday, everybody was getting back on the road of daily living. Shankar had gone back to Chennai. Suresh was busy again with his hospital work. Every family member went about their work with a sense of pride at having done their bit for their ailing mother. Back to their respective jobs, a flurry of calls suddenly made them grapple for that old thread again.

That week the family attended two funerals. Saraswathi’s and Sashidhar’s! One had passed away because of a broken heart and the other of a heart healed. One had passed away in despair and the other in peace. Only Suresh and Saraswathi knew what had ripped the bond that had held everyone together for so many years. The accuser had become the accused!

** The End **

In Flash Fiction - The Mother’s Day Gift By Surabhi, Bangalore, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 04:30:49 GMT

“Hey look at this one, Shreya” said Mithi. “This seems to be a real good deal. A facial, pedicure, manicure, hair wash, styling and colouring all within 4 hours and that too at a discounted rate”. “Oh No, Mithi that beauty parlour isn’t as famous as this one. This is slightly steep on our budget, but come on, our Mom is worth It.” said Shreya as they surfed the internet for the city’s best beauty parlours. Shreya and Mithi were bright and bubbly eighteen year olds. They decided to celebrate Mother’s Day in a very special way. Their mother Padma was a simple housewife, who never thought of any thing beyond her home. Her daughters and husband were her world and she seldom thought about herself.

When the d-day arrived, Padma opened her eyes to find a fragrant bouquet and a Mother’s day greeting card lying beside her. She read the soulful words and fought back her tears of joy. She was proud and happy to have such daughters who thought that she was the “world’s best Mom”. She walked out of her bedroom smiling but was shocked to see the girls busy in the kitchen early in the morning. The girls’ came running upon seeing her. They gave her a tight hug and screamed in chorus “happy mother’s day Mom”. “Thank you darlings” said Padma smiling. “The card and the flowers were simply lovely, you made my day.” “Now, what are you up to in the kitchen?” she asked. “Oh Mom, we want to give you a day off from the kitchen.” said Shreya. “Yes mama, we are in charge of breakfast, lunch and dinner today. You get to rest.” said Mithi. “But….”fumbled Padma. “No ifs and buts mama, it’s your special day, so relax and enjoy” said Shreya.

Breakfast was no less than a circus. Padma’s husband Mahesh was a fussy eater and he had to tolerate burnt toast and a salt less omelette for breakfast. But keeping the occasion in mind, he decided to bear with the girls. The enthusiasm of his daughters was almost infectious and he too knew that his wife Padma deserved this and more. He gladly told the girls that he wouldn’t be coming home for lunch and would order something at his office. The girls were a little disappointed but they knew their Dad very well. He wouldn’t like anyone’s cooking as much as their Mom’s.

After Mahesh left, Shreya and Mithi gave Padma another surprise. “Mom, you have to get ready fast.” said Mithi. ”But why?’ asked Padma “you are going to spend some time in the beauty parlour today” said Shreya excitedly. “Beauty parlour, I haven’t visited one in years” said Padma sounding bewildered at the very idea. “Oh Mom, we want you to take some time out for yourself. After a facial and other stuff, you will feel very relaxed and refreshed” they said. “But, lunch? And the other housework? There’s so much to be done sweeties.” said an exasperated Padma. “Oh come on mama, forget about everything for a day.” said Shreya. The girls refused to adhere to Padma’s pleas and sent her to one of the city’s best parlours.

At the parlour, Padma’s mind was constantly wondering about things that were left undone at home. She was also deeply concerned about Mahesh and what he would do for lunch. She knew that he would probably skip lunch altogether. She had to put her act together and do something for dinner at least.

At the parlour, the beautician kept speaking to Padma, asking her to come more regularly to the parlour. “You must do something about your wrinkles and dark circles’ she was saying but Padma’s mind was lost in a world of her own. But she had to admit that the entire treatment had left her skin glowing and it did feel very nice to look at her reflection in the mirror, all done up. She opened her purse to pay up, but the beautician was quick to stop her saying that her daughters had already paid for the special mother’s day offer. Padma was touched. But she wondered where they managed the money from.

Back home, she was all alone. The girls had rushed to college and Mahesh was of course at work. Seizing the opportunity, she hurried to the kitchen to fix up dinner while the girls were away. She was busy for the rest of the day, tiding up the house and doing the things that were routine for her. In the evening, the girls came home giggling to see the glowing face of their mother. “Oh mama, you look nice and fresh. Did you enjoy it?” asked Mithi eagerly. “Of course I did!” lied Padma. “And did you catch a nap in the afternoon?” asked Shreya.

“Oh yes” replied Padma. “In fact I probably overslept” she said.

Happy and contented, the girls went to their room to freshen up. But when they saw the house neat and tidy, they knew that their Mom had been lying. They came out of their room disappointed. “Oh Mama, you dint rest, you were busy doing your usual chores” whined Shreya. “And we were hoping your day would be special” joined Mithi. “Of course it was special my dear daughters” said Padma feeling more in control of the situation than she had in the morning. “Your gestures and thoughts made me feel very special indeed. But I have to do what needs to be done everyday right? She said smiling. “But...” the girls weren’t convinced.

“Your Mom is right” said Mahesh as he entered the house. When he looked at Padma he couldn’t help noticing how nice she was looking and he gave her a look of admiration.
Suddenly, breaking from his thoughts, he said “I hope there is something decent for dinner” looking at Padma. Before she could respond the girls looked at each other. They were supposed to cook dinner today. They stood up to go into the kitchen but Padma held their hand and gave them hot cups of tea instead.

“Dinner is ready” she announced. The girls were disappointed to hear that. Before they could think of anything to say, Mahesh beamed with relief “Thank goodness for that” he said. The girls decided to keep mum. As though reading their minds, Padma spoke “Girls, believe me you have been excellent today. By the way, where did you manage the money for my gifts? Was it financed by somebody?” she asked, looking at Mahesh. The girls got their enthusiasm back and answered “Mom, we won the state level dance competition. And we used the prize money to celebrate in this way!” said Mithi.

Padma and Mahesh were overwhelmed by pride and emotion. “Now, that’s more of a reason to celebrate” said Padma. “This is the best gift a mother can get” she thought to herself.

** The End **

"Mere Paas Maa Hai" By Kirti Desai, Bangalore, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

She is omniscient! You remember her in

Agony: “Oooee ma! Ab kya karoon”

Ecstasy: “Mamma mia! What a chick?”

Revenge: “Maa kasam! Main tujhe nahin choonga”

It is the first word that a baby utters. She is the epitome of love and sacrifice, ultimate woman, complete woman.

If you haven’t guessed it till now, I am talking about Ma, Indian mother. In India we have put mothers on pedestal. We have heard stories of Yashoda and his NandLal (That besides the point that she didn’t give birth to him!) I grew up seeing Nirupa Roy as mother in films and hearing the famous dialogues and references to Ma: “Mere Paas Maa hai”; “Maa ka pyaar bhara dil”; “Maa ke haath ki bani roti”; “Maa ke kaath ka thappad”; “Maa ka aashirwad”.

Like diamond, Ma is forever and just as valuable. Reams of paper and reels of films have expressed the love of a mother. So when my doctor said with a smile on her face “Badhayee ho, tum maa banene waali ho”, I felt as if I am on top of the world. My mother & mother-in law were ecstatic, “Now you will be complete, you will have a purpose in life”. And after almost a decade of motherhood, I am yet to find time to feel!

Those “nine months of my life”, I changed physically. I had a huge belly, varicose veins, and swollen ankles. I looked like an elephant. I was vomiting almost throughout, was bed-ridden. Everybody – from my mother, mother-in-law, buaa, chachi, aunties, maids, and iron-lady started giving ‘a word of advice’ or talking about ‘how was it for them’. Once “my bundle of joy” was placed in my arms, I cried, I didn’t know how I would take care of her. As years have passed, I am getting all the more confused.

I have to contend with choices galore-not just of Bournvita or Horlicks kind, cuisine also – South Indian/ North Indian/ Chinese/Italian and so on. It is besides the point that my son always wants to eat paani-puri for dinner or would want to eat Curd-rice in a Chinese restaurant. There is the dilemma of working mom vs. stay at home mom, nuclear families vs. joint, my list is endless. And I can never, never get it right. Mere housewives are looked down upon; working moms are on guilt spree. In other words - na ghar ki na ghat ki!

I seem to be grappling with so many questions. Should I give a course of antibiotics to a child who is ill and let the house sleep; or do I go for healthier alternatives and prolong my (oops!) child misery? Should I count bag of potato chips as a vegetable (potato is a vegetable just like tomato and spinach as my daughter explained) or junk food? Or should I consider it as a ‘health junk’? Should I be stern just like my mother was and use her favorite word ‘NO’? Or should I remember every child psychology book that I laid my hands upon, about the how a child psyche is even more fragile than that crystal doves he is about to smash? How damaging it is for a child to listen to ‘No…No…No..’ from his own mother?

I suppose my mother or her mothers did not seem to have much time agonizing over various aspects of child raising. No junk food, no gadgets and they had more than 2.4 children -1.5 is the hubby dear ( Baache to baache baapre baap) and remaining, if you can work out, .9 is for two kids. It is easier to handle kids than their pitajee! They, I mean the mothers before, had less time to spend on children as such. They didn’t have Oprah to tell them how inadequate your child feels if you don’t read him the story at bedtime. It’s beside the point that she doesn’t have one!

I surrender to the fact that my children are undisputed king and queen of the household. And I am surviving being a mother!! I do agree with Oprah that "Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother." To be a mother; to feel the pleasure and pain; one needs to be, you guessed it right – mother!

Glossary:

“Oooee ma! Ab kya karoon”(Oh mother what should I do)

Maa kasam! Main tujhe nahin choonga” ( I pledge on my mother, I shall not leave you)

Mere Paas Maa hai” ( I have mother)

Maa ka pyaar bhara dil (Mother heart full of love)

Maa ke haath ki bani roti (Mother's food)

Maa ke kaath ka thappad (Mother's slap)

Maa ka aashirwad (Mother's blessing)

Badhayee ho, tum maa banene waali ho (Congratulations – you are about to become mother)

Buaa( father's sister)

Chachi (father's brother's wife)

Na ghar ki na ghat ki! (neither here nor there)

Baache to baache baapre baap (children are children but their father!!)

Pitajee (father)

If only you were here today Mother…By Shail Raghuvanshi, Palakkad, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

A mother’s love is God’s substitute on earth. Seldom do we realize it, taking her for granted. Only when I turned mother did I realize where my mother figured in my life. One press of the motherhood button and my mind flashbacked one after another all the experiences that connected me with my mother. Today, I stand tall as a mother united with her in spirit and soul.

I remember writing my first Mother’s Day article way back in 2002 for a woman’s magazine. I also remember the look in my mother’s eyes as she read the article. I am grateful to the Almighty for inspiring me to express my love for mother when she was alive. Many of us are not so fortunate. In fact, even today, when my mother is no longer alive I still have a lot of things to say to her which I felt I could have told her when she was alive and kicking.

I wonder whether I could have asked for more. From infant to adult, from daughter to wife to mother, she has always been there for me. We shared emotions as wives and then as mothers and there could have been no better friend, something only a kind God could bestow upon a daughter. Today, when I want to tell her that I love her more than I ever love anybody else, she is not here to hear me. She is not here to feel the unconditional love I feel for her now- something I had wrapped within my soul showing it to her in bits and pieces when she was alive.

Way back in Bangalore when the weather was cool and pleasant, with little pollution and no sign of any software boom to explode in our tranquil lives, my mother’s life was centered on me. Even to the extent of being teased for being so protective about me, she built her life around me. I still remember her help me put on my red cardigan everyday in the cold Bangalore morning, handing me my lunch box filled with something delicious (which I sometimes can’t manage to cook for my own son!), standing near the gate and waving to me with the usual words, ”Dhyaan se jaana beta.” As I recollect it all life comes to a standstill with me wondering, ‘is this life, to be lived in memories of the past?’ Today, when I want to share my little joys and frustrations with her, I feel lost.

When my son remembers his Naani and cries I console him telling him that God has been kind to give him a grandmother who lived so long just for him. I never got to see any of my grandparents! I tell him that Naani loved him so that is why she was there for him.
“Then, why is she not there now if she loves me so much?” he asks in return.
What can I say? I tell him that Naani needed some rest, which she could get only with God. Had she been alive she would have had to cook and do so many other innumerable little tasks. Child that he is, he gets convinced and goes about his way. But, I can’t say the same for me. Even two years after her demise, I grieve in installments – in the kitchen, in the bathroom, when nobody is around. I grieve alone.

Grief will not bring her back again as she roams about in her astral form exploring new worlds even as she tries to free herself from the bonds of her past. By grieving will I be holding on to her freedom trail, I wonder. I have no answers. So, I wrap my love for her in my heart again tied with pretty strings of fresh flowers and a gentle breeze to be opened when I see her again some day, in a life beyond…. I love you Ma.

MY MOTHER’S SPECIAL GIFT By Lesley D. Biswas, Kolkata, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

When my daughter was born, I not only became a mother but she made me understand that my mother was a very special woman. As Oprah Winfrey says, “Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother”; I realized the meaning in full.

A mothers love cannot be repaid and neither does any real mother want their child to pay back, but the least that we can do, is to appreciate this gift. My mother was one very special lady who inspired me to be a full-time mother at a time when the world is propagating a notion of woman’s liberation – that undermines motherhood as an unwelcome predicament.

My mother was a very simple woman. She never wore make-up and had no personal ambitions for her own glory. She devoted her life to raising her three children and according to me, her life was no less satisfying or successful that any working mother of today. She showed me that motherhood is fulfilling in itself. But what makes her unique is this very special gift that she gave me. My mother gave me her presence in my childhood years so that I could enjoy good times. Although I had to share her attention with my brother and sister, she was there at our beck and call. Always cooking, washing and gardening (I don’t remember ever seeing her resting); she made us feel secure. When I suffered a heartbreak, she comforted me despite her heart aching. Unfortunately as kids we often term this selfless love as parenting responsibility and degrade her never-exhausting efforts to keep us happy.

Today I m a full-time mom myself and I realize how daunting a task it is to nurture your children. I do not deny that I have also been made to reconsider my decision when I m forced to wade   through my daughters temper tantrums. But having said that, these moments of trial are soon overwhelmed   by the countless bounty of joy motherhood provides us mothers. I cook for my daughter; watch her favourite cartoon Tom and Jerry and we laugh together; and I take her on cycling expeditions and hear her pour her heart out when her friends are hurting. We celebrate little joys together, which are the actual milestones that change our life and matter the most in the long run.

Had my mother not been there for me when I was a child, I wouldn’t have understood the importance of being a full-time mother myself. Probably I m missing out on other things that other mothers rate more important but   I know that at the end of the journey, when I sit back and look at my life’s achievements, I will have enough to count to make me proud and also to make my mother proud of me had she been here.

Where Motherhood is an Enigma By Suneetha, Trivandrum, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

Bhavani teacher is 66, and still in search of her evasive motherhood.

Her life has been a series of most extraordinary episodes. She married at 18, and lost her husband to cancer after 22 years of a childless marriage. Her intense desire to bear a child led her to another marriage in her forties. Fate tricked her there too, the marriage was again child less. Then in a filmy move, she persuaded her husband to marry another time just to get a baby of her own. He obliged and soon the new wife conceived. But when the new baby was born, Bhavani teacher was denied all access to the child. Her resolve to be a mother should have ended there, but Bhavani teacher was made of sterner stuff. She took a brave step and conceived a baby through the test-tube method.

The child named Kannan, or Sai Suraj after her favorite Sai Baba came to her on 12 April, 2004 and was headline news for being born to a sexagenarian single parent, no small thing in India. The sheer joy with which Bhavani teacher accepted her motherhood brought a tear to many an eye. But the joy was not to last.

Fate interfered with the now lullaby filled life of Bhavani teacher once again on February 11, 2006 when Kannan died in a freak accident by drowning in a large bucket of water at his own home. Bhavani teacher was inconsolable and she gave herself up to Sai Bhagwan’s devotion. But her dreams of motherhood remained a burning spark in her. Bhavani teacher soon went back to medical science for help. She does not disclose details of her medical quest for motherhood, but is getting herself ready to bring Kannan back to her life once more. She keeps her small earnings apart for the treatment she is now undergoing to be blessed once more with motherhood. Bhavani teacher was seen treading the 1600 plus steps of the Jeevan Dani Matha temple at Mumbai as a penance and the media is curious about this ‘mother destined’ once more. It is hoped that the Mumbai Mother will bless her soon.

In direct contrast were two bits of news flashed in the media last week, again connected with babies and parenthood. Baby Khushi in Mumbai and an unnamed girl baby in Chennai were rejected by their biological parents because they were mere girls. In both cases, the parents argued they had had boys and were tricked into believing that they had had girls. Even the DNA test couldn’t convince them. In fact they were looking for reasons to reject the baby rather than accept it. One couple have just disappeared from the scene, while the other keeps lamenting their fate.

The mothers mentioned here stand at the two ends of a spectrum, ranging from mercy to prejudice. One mother yearns for a child while another rejects it. Both the mothers are no extraordinary specimens, but just ordinary Indian woman. Ordinary Indian woman, who has learned to reject her own blood!

Happy Mother's Day! From All the Girls (Unborn or Killed) By Nandini Ratnaparkhi, Mhow, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 04:32:55 GMT

Hi, Mom (would have been),

I am sure you must be very happily busy in your own world fussing after your beloved sons, catering for every demand of theirs, not complaining of tiredness even once.

Here, I am busy too. Busy convincing God what I should be in my ‘next’ life. He is adamant, I should come down as your son. He says that way I can teach you and others a lesson. To convey as to how wrong you- and all those who persuaded you to KILL me- were in thinking that daughters are- a burden, a hassle, a never ending expenditure, a permanent tension, an impediment, a ‘ do away with’ useless clutter.

I wish God had chosen me to be borne by a COW. That is one animal whose ‘Girl’ (child) calf is valued more than the ‘boy’ (child) calf. In fact the boy calf is actually looked down upon. The bull is given all the menial and hard work and whiplashes too, whereas the cow is worshiped and pampered for her milk. Her mere presence is considered auspicious. Poor families, who can barely manage the fodder for their cattle, do away with the bull. But the cow is kept, even past her milking days. The girl calf is certainly NOT killed, like I was, just for being of the “inferior” sex.

Even the HEN for that matter, is preferred for the eggs, with the hope of her laying a golden one some day! The SOW is nurtured and pampered for the big litter she can give which generates so much pork (and money). The pig on the other hand is slaughtered happily.

The girls born to the people BPL –poorest of the poor- too are luckier than me. These poor people prefer girls as they ‘ADD’ working hands to the family by doing all sorts of odd jobs right from the childhood; they are the source of producing more working hands AND if the worst comes to the worst- can do the flesh trade.

On the other hand, the rich probably don’t mind a girl as their affluence compensates. They can ‘give and take’ so much that they don’t mind the son-in-law as HEIR. For the daughters of rich, becoming heads of Business Empire is the obvious thing or the money can marry off any thing.
Even the neuter children are lucky ones – they are neither killed in the womb for certain, nor probably after their birth. Even they are accepted or at least tolerated; disowned maybe or given away to the eunuchs. Probably these children had a better chance than us because they could HIDE their gender in the ‘tests’.

It is mainly the ‘middle’ class for whom as it is the pay can barely make the two ends meet. Then, with the growing expenses; once luxuries now becoming necessities and specially with the ever increasing ‘must haves’, life has become very difficult. On top of it the thought of saving for ‘marring off’ the burden and taking care of her sanctity and virginity- AFTER ALL IS IT SUCH A BIG DEAL THAT YOU WOULD RATHER KILL THE DAUGHTER?

You were one of the lucky ones to be alive in spite of your feminity. And you are proud to have borne males to further the humanity. And to you –the proud mother of two sons we wish a very happy MOTHER’S DAY – after all, you can be happy only until your sons want you to be. Until they decide that you are not wanted, until they decide that you are a burden, until they throw you in the garbage bin, until they cut your limbs for the heavy anklets that you wear, until they decide your worth is nothing its just the property that you are holding which they must get even if they have to kill you.

UNTIL THEN, be happy in your motherhood and count your blessings to be alive in spite of being a ‘female’, as a mother of sons. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY FROM THE DAUGHTER YOU HAVE NONE.

Chapter 5 of ERRAND OF MERCY By Eva Bell, Bangalore, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

CHAPTER 5

Ju Daniels the namesake, rushed home hugging the bundle of certificates.

“Here at last, is a break,” she thought, chuckling to herself wickedly. She ran the last few yards of the road, slipped into a side street, and clambered up the creaky wooden stairs that rattled under her feet. All around her was a musty stench, which came from bad ventilation and overflowing garbage bins. She fumbled in her bag for her keys, and let herself into the room. It was a tiny room, and a cheap wooden cot filled most of it. In one corner, was a table supporting a tin stove. There were a couple of chairs as well.

Ju carefully made her way through the clutter. She threw herself on her bed, and purred happily to herself, caressing the bundle she held in her hand. Then she emptied the contents, and carefully scrutinized each paper.

“I wish Johnny comes soon. He’ll know what to do with these certificates,” she thought.

“I’m quite sure that my career as a sales girl is over.”

Ju was a girl of questionable reputation. At the age of sixteen, she had run away with the butcher, who was old enough to be her father. They made their way to Bombay, where they were swallowed up into a life of obscurity amidst the milling crowds. Her irate parents had washed their hands off her, and within a few months, the butcher had moved on to greener pastures. Ju had no formal education, but like most Anglo-Indians, she could speak English fluently, and had a pleasing personality. After days of hunger and roaming the streets, and constant threats of eviction from the landlady, Ju found a job as a salesgirl, in a stuffy antique shop. The salary was a pittance, and to make both ends meet, Ju had to take up other work. She chose the easiest job which brought in the best returns, and hoped that some day, when she had gathered enough money, and opportunity knocked on her door, she would start living a clean and respectable life. With this ambition in mind Ju taught herself to read and write,during the long dreary hours of waiting for customers in the antique shop.

One rainy night, Ju stood huddled against a wall, under the awnings of a building. She was wrapped up in a plastic raincoat, and the massive hood hid her face from sight. Soon, she was joined by a young man.

“Hey you,” he said, “You ought to be in bed at this time of night. “Why are you wandering about in the rain?”

Ju didn’t answer. The man was muffled up in a khaki raincoat, and she wasn’t sure if he was a policeman.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“A few blocks away,” she said timidly.

“Come on. I’ll see you home.”

He took her by her arm, and dragged her along, until she reached the block where she lived.

“If I catch you on the road again, you little twerp, I’ll hand you over to the Police,” he threatened.

Ju hurried to her room, sufficiently intimidated.

The next night, the stranger who called himself Johnny Martis, visited her.

“Just to see you aren’t gadding about at night,” he said, and settled down in one of her rickety chairs. Are you living all by yourself? No parents or husband?”

“No one. I live by myself and work in the old antique shop on Penny Street.”

“Oh I see. You work in the antique shop by day, and open your own shop at night? You’re not very far from becoming an antique yourself.”

The girl winced, and looked down at her fingertips. Why was this fellow bothering her? Who was he anyway? To whom could she turn for help?

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty five,” she lied.

“You’re not a day over seventeen. I could easily turn you over to the Police, you know. But I’ll give you one more chance to make an honest woman of yourself.”

He extricated himself slowly from the rickety chair.

“Good night. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

She heard him go down the steps two at a time, and out on to the streets.

“The devil take him,” she grumbled, “Poking his long nose into my affairs, as if he owns me.”

But she was scared and shaken, and stuck to her room for the next few evenings.

One night, when he called on her, she was standing by her window and looking anxiously down at the street below.

“Well, well, so you’re still hankering after that life, are you?”

“No,” she denied.

“I can see it in your face. If it’s male company that you crave for, I’ll move in tomorrow, and don’t you dare refuse such a good offer. After all, a bird in the hand is worth twenty on the streets.”

So Johnny came home to stay. There was no one she could turn to, in this city bursting at its seems, none she could call a friend. Besides, the man could be menacing.

“Who knows what he will do to me if I refuse?”

Ju hated him bitterly, and resented his interference in her life. But Johnny was the sort of guy one couldn’t hate for long. Having established himself as her guardian, he set out to captivate her. He would regale her with jokes, and bring her little gifts. He made a generous allowance towards house keeping, and proved an amiable companion. There even came a time when Ju was grateful that he had rescued her from the streets.

However, he kept odd hours, going out at night and coming back in the wee hours of the morning. Ju believed he was some kind of detective belonging to the C.I.D, but she never summoned enough courage to question him.

One day, a week after Johnny had moved in, the land lady paid a visit to Ju’s room.

“Miss. Daniels, I thought you were a good girl. I’ve heard that you’ve brought in a man to live with you. Either the man leaves, or you vacate my house.”

She hadn’t seen Johnny sprawled on the bed. He jumped up and moved towards the door.

“So you’re the land lady? I’ve been waiting to have a word with you. I’ve heard what you said, and if you don’t want trouble, I’d thank you to mind your own business, and not interfere in Ju’s life. You call this dump accommodation? I’ve a good mind to turn you over to the civic authorities, and have the place razed to the ground. And you’re charging such an exorbitant rent at that!”

Johnny spoke like he meant business, and the old lady started to tremble all over. Apart from renting out her poky little rooms at such high rates, she had a fine distillery in her kitchen, where she brewed hooch. The man must be a goon of the underworld. It would be wiser to cultivate him.

“Oh Sir, I don’t want any trouble. There are some decent folk living in these rooms. Besides, if two are sharing accommodation, the least you can do is to pay more rent.” Johnny advanced threateningly.

“Beat it, Old lady. You’ll not get a nickel extra, and don’t let me hear Ju complain that you’re bothering her.”

To be continued…..

In Serial Novel - Chapter 10 of JOINED IN FAINT DISCORD By Irene Dhar Malik, Mumbai, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 03:42:01 GMT

RECAP

It is Ishaani’s birthday and it bothers Aditya immensely that he cannot wish her. It bothers him so much that he invites a PYT from office out for dinner. Ishaani has had a nice enough day – lunching with her daughters and now, out for dinner with Shayan, she finds Aditya and the PYT in the same restaurant. Shayan suggests they leave, even as Ishaani finds herself consumed with curiosity, wanting to know if Aditya would take the PYT home.

CHAPTER 10

It was eventually a nice meal with ‘Badshah’ rolls, ‘Ameena’ Biryani and sweets from Ganguram’s, accompanied by a bottle of red Madeira. She was determined not to let the mind wander away, trying to guess what Aditya and the PYT were doing. Shayan was smothering her with love, and why should she care about anything else, especially about the husband she had walked out on. It was odd to spend a birthday without worrying about what to cook for a special family dinner, and how to sneak out for some time together with Shayan. She didn’t want to ask herself if she missed the family around the dinner table, the laughter, the banter. She knew the answer would leave her confused and in a state of longing. For so long, she had thought that she was pretending, and now that she had stopped, she wasn’t sure if she had been pretending. She smiled at Shayan, not too sure about the drift of his conversation.

So often had Shayan imagined this future for himself that it was tough for him to know that it was for real, and that Ishaani was now sharing his flat, his life, and smiling at him in contentment. She whom he had admired from a distance, and whom he had lost, only to find again most unexpectedly.

Ish, you complete me.

That is such a clichéd thing to say!

But you do. You really do. My life was incomplete for so long.

And mine too.

Even as she said it, she wondered if her life had really felt incomplete for the last twenty years. She had missed spending a lot of time with Shayan but had she actually felt that her life was incomplete... She felt a bit like a liar and remembered how a bossy little Abanti had once terrorized the entire family by making them rinse their mouths each time a lie or an abuse was mouthed. Of course Abu was a storehouse of abusive language right now, all childhood pretensions of being saintly having long been discarded.

Aditya was driving home, talking to the girl whose name he now knew to be Keya, though he had forgotten her surname with embarrassing promptness. He was making small talk and she was trying to talk intelligently while also flirting a bit. It was clear to both of them that he was taking her to his home, where he would take a sexual favour from this young lady. He was once again going to be making out with a woman in his bedroom and there was no longer any possibility of his wife walking in unannounced. Ishaani had not taken along her set of the keys and she was soon going to cease being his wife in any official capacity. His lawyer had recently told him that the process would be very swift and smooth since there were no unresolved issues. Just the mandatory six month wait.

They had reached. Aditya got off the car to open the gate. He drove the car inside and shut the gates before opening the door for himself and Keya. He excused himself to pour out some milk for the cat and then offered to make the lady a drink as well. She accepted, chose a cognac and he knew he was buying time. He didn’t know why.

Do you live with your parents Keya?

No, I live alone. I don’t have to go back.

She was coming on strong. He wondered if she did this kind of a thing often, or if the seeming ease was a cover for any emotions that she might be feeling. Maybe she hated him and hated what ambition was making her do. Maybe she was cool about the whole thing. She was a different generation, his daughters’ generation and he didn’t know how they felt about issues like sleeping with the boss. Aditya wondered when the earnest-faced young recruit had transformed into a woman of the world or had the earlier face just been a mask.

Keya leaned forward, carefully combining the art of picking up a glass with revealing of cleavage.

If you don’t mind my asking sir, where is your wife sir?

A sudden fit of violence seized Aditya. He gripped her arms and screamed,

She has left me. She left me for another man.

He almost dragged her up to the bedroom and made violent love to her, even though he knew he was hurting her and that nothing was actually her fault. Afterwards he cried and was surprised when she touched him gently, as if trying to ease his pain. He hadn’t though her capable of tenderness. He opened his eyes and looked into the face bent over his.

I am sorry. If you want to, I’ll drop you home in a while.

I can stay the night.

No, I’ll drop you. Just give me a while. You could tidy up… I am going through a personal mess Keya. I am sorry.

It’s all right sir.

He drove her home afterwards and then came back to his empty home. The cat purred around his feet as he let himself in. Impatiently, he kicked the cat out, yelling,

Go to your bloody mistress, don’t hang around my feet.

To be continued…

In Serial Novel - Chapter 11 of The Companion By Neha Gupta, Delhi, India

Team 4indianwoman — Sat, 10 May 2008 04:34:10 GMT

RECAP

Kabir, when scolded for breaking a glass at the breakfast table, reveals the presence of Mark, telling everybody that it was Mark who broke the glass. Vishal understands that he has an imaginary friend and suggests them to talk to his teacher. The teacher is completely clueless, and she suggests them to take Kabir to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist on counselling Kabir comes to the conclusion that he turned to an imaginary friend out of loneliness. She also says that having such friends is healthy. Imaginary friends are the kid’s alter ego who help them to socialise and deal with difficult emotions. She says that they often vanish when the kid acquires real friends.

CHAPTER 11

“Quite an impressive script, Mrs Bharadwaj!” principal ma’am handed the file to Rupali ma’am, “But I don’t understand why you want students from the primary wing. Do you think they can handle such a matured theme?”

“Yes ma’am! I’m very sure,” ma’am said adjusting her glasses, “The best thing about small children is that there is an innocence and honesty in their acting. They don’t need to put on a false mask to get into a character.”

“Agreed! But don’t you think you’ll have to work a lot to get their diction and voice modulations right? If not senior classes, you can go for middle ones, let’s say 7th or 8th grades,” suggested principal ma’am.

Rupali smiled and said, “Ma’am! I’ll handle everything. It’s a sort of musical drama with lesser dialogues and more movements. Moreover, I’ll be providing a voice-over for many of the dialogues.”

The principal was now biting her lips. She knew Rupali ma’am was a stubborn and often eccentric woman. It was hard to convince her. The script she had written was simply superb, but small kids could not do justice to it.

Rupali, as if read her mind, smiled gently and said, “Don’t worry, ma’am! Our kids will outshine all the schools in this drama competition. I’m not praising myself, but I’m sure no one would think of a musical drama dealing with the theme of beginning of life on earth, its journey through various ancient and modern inventions, and finally environmental problems.”

“Primary students,” ma’am was about to say something but stopped abruptly.

“Ma’am! Primary doesn’t mean 1st or 2nd grades. I’ll take students from 3rd or 4th, and that too from the same class. They must share a good rapport among themselves.”

“Alright! Which class then?”

“I’ll let you know in a week’s time,” she said, “And rest assured our primary kids will perform better than their grow-up counterparts from other schools.”

Rupali ma’am took her script and left the room.

****

Today she was to observe the students of Class III B. From past few days, she was conducting this strange experiment of taking the kids to the school auditorium and asking them to do whatever they like, while she would sit as a silent spectator and take down the notes in her diary. The principal did find this practice arbitrary, but found it appropriate not to interfere in Rupali’s work.

She was sitting in the auditorium and was feverishly scribbling in her diary, while the kids were running, playing, chatting and doing various such things on the stage. Suddenly, Kabir sitting in a corner talking to someone unseen caught her eye.

She ascended the stage and stood close to him, observing him. On seeing her, he got a little conscious.

“Yes ma’am?” he asked.

“Nothing child!” she smiled, “Whom are you talking to?”

“My friend Mark, ma’am,” he replied, “He is visible to only me.”

Ma’am understood the whole matter at once.

She asked further, “Why are you sitting with Mark here? Join your classmates.”

“They don’t like me. They don’t speak to me. You know, earlier they used to make fun of me. But ever since I’ve stopped wearing a ‘tilak’ and a handkerchief on my shirt pocket, at least I’m saved of their giggles,” he answered, “I only like Mark. He’s my best friend.”

Ma’am chuckled and addressed all the kids, “Okay children! Time to go back. We shall meet tomorrow.”

****

Principal ma’am wanted Rupali to reconsider her decision of taking the students of III B for the drama. She suggested her to think about 5th grade children instead. But Rupali was adamant. She had already planned the activities she intended to do with the III B kids.

Even today, as always, they all were busy among themselves in the auditorium, with Kabir sitting in a solitary corner.

Ma’am came to the stage with a big box in her hands. A peon carrying a large folding table was following her.

After the peon had set the table, Rupali ma’am placed the box on it and drew the attention of the children.

“Hello children! See I’ve got a jigsaw puzzle for you,” she said spreading the pieces on the table, “Now you all have to arrange them to get the correct picture.”

“Kabir!” she went close to him, “Join them.”

“Okay ma’am,” he said, “Come Mark.”

“Mark!” she turned to an invisible figure, “You please sit with me.”

“Ma’am!” he was highly amazed, “Can you see him?”

“Of course, dear. Ask him.”

Kabir looked at Mark. He was nodding smilingly.

“Let him give me company while you solve the jigsaw puzzle with your friends.”

Kabir joined his classmates, while Mark stepped aside with the teacher.

Soon all the children got busy with the puzzle. This was the first time when Kabir had become a part of the class. He was suggesting various pieces and children too were interacting with him.

After almost half an hour, the children stopped. There were mixed signs of disappointment and amazement on their faces.

“What happened?” ma’am asked.

“A piece is missing, ma’am,” Samhita said.

“Let me see,” she came on the stage.

She took a piece out of her handbag and fixed it into the gap to complete the picture.

“Is it complete now?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am!” the children replied in chorus.

She smiled and said, “Look children! The puzzle contained around 40 pieces. But even if you lose one single piece, you can’t complete the picture. Similarly, drama is all about forgetting the differences among yourselves and building a rapport. A group in which actors fight cannot give a good performance.”

“But ma’am, we all are good children. We never fight,” said Armaan.

“Then why do you ignore Kabir?” she questioned, “He’s your classmate, children, your friend. You shouldn’t behave like this with him, should you?”

The kids were silent. Some of them hung their heads in shame.

“So before we move further, you all have to promise me that you’ll be friendly with Kabir. Is that a promise?”

“Yes ma’am!” said the children.

“Good!” she chuckled, “Now all of you shake hands with him.”

Children came forward and one by one they all shook hands with Kabir. He was happy to gain so many friends.

“Hmm… so enough of brain exercise for today. We’ll play a game now. Alright?” ma’am announced.

“Yippee!” the kids cried, “Which game, ma’am?”

“This is a new game,” saying this ma’am made eight of the children to stand in a circle and asked Vinayak to come in between.

“Vinayak!” she said to him, “Now you have to let yourself loose and fall on any side.”

“Fall? I’ll be hurt, ma’am,” he said a little frightened.

“You won’t be. Your friends will save you. Okay, kids?”

Vinayak was still a little apprehensive.

“In a drama, you have to trust your friends,” she said, “Kids! He’s your friend. You won’t let him fall, right?”

“Right, ma’am!”

Vinayak was a little appeased. He let himself loose and started falling. His friends kept on saving him. Soon they began to enjoy this exercise.

After five minutes, ma’am asked eight other children to make a circle. This time Kabir was in the centre. Now children had to prevent him from falling. It was really an enjoyable practice.

The process continued for a few minutes until Kabir lost his balance and almost collapsed. But before he could fall, Afzal quickly came forward and held him tightly.

“See! I saved you,” he laughed.

Kabir too laughed with him. Soon the incident triggered off a chain reaction, and the whole auditorium reverberated with the merry sounds.

The children thoroughly enjoyed the time. It was the last period. By the time they set out for their homes, they were completely exhausted. Kabir too slept in the bus throughout his journey back home. Aakriti had to wake him up to get down. Even at home, after completing his homework, he retired to sleep early.

Where was Mark? He had no idea. He was too tired to remember him.

To be continued….