Y is for.. Yearbook tale

When I got her friend request on Facebook, I could not recognise her at first. I scrolled her page to see all the pictures and realised she was the same, quiet girl from school.

I still remember the first morning she had walked into our class of 45 students. Her sparkling white shirt over crisp grey skirt partitioned by a brand-new grey and red belt already disassociated her from the rest of us. It was our last year in school, and parents were not keen on spending on new uniform for their 16-year olds. Eager to start a new life, we were not interested either.

‘Where can I keep my bag?’ she inquired upon entering.

‘You can place yourself in the front row, Ma’am will come and find you a spot,’ I replied trying to stop myself from smiling too much.

She kept her belongings on a bench and looked around for the timetable on the softboard, and then started to copy from it for future reference.

My friends and I stood in the last rows and spoke about her in hushed tones. ‘I hope I am not separated from you because of her, you won’t even have much space to sit!’ Payal remarked with her eyes rolling.

‘Shh, now don’t be mean. I can easily fit in with her,’ I said putting my hand on Payal’s mouth. ‘I am worried how the boys will react.’

The boys had occupied the last row at the opposite end and had been chuckling all along. Every student who entered kept his bag on his seat and joined the hullabaloo. Suddenly one of them walked up to the blackboard and changed the number of students from 45 to 48. There was a loud uproar on their side.

Payal and Riddhima could not contain their laughter. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh with my old classmates or feel bad for the newcomer who was, thankfully, unaware of the joke.

The school bell rang, and it was time for our first period. Mrs. Newton entered the class and looked at fresh entrant in the front row.

‘Ah, you must be Yati Shukla,’ she said, lovingly putting her arm around the new girl. She looked around and introduced her to us. And then her eyes stopped at me, the class monitor. ‘Nisha, you will sit with her and help her adjust, is that ok?’

‘Yes Ma’am,’ I answered picking up my already packed bag. The boys looked at me with their mischievous eyes and I pretended to be completely fine with the shift.

Mrs. Newton took the attendance and stood up to scribble the number of students on the board. When she turned, her fingers stopped for a few seconds reading the number 48. We all thought she was conjuring a harsh punishment in her head. There was pin drop silence in class. She calmly took the duster and changed the number to 46. Then she turned around and looked at me and my eyes dropped with shame. At that moment we both knew that Yati won’t be making many friends this year.

And that is why I was surprised to see that only 10 years later, she had 1500 friends on Facebook. Yati now had perfectly sculpted body and oodles of make-up on her face which made her look very different from the chubby girl she was. Many of her photographs included celebrities from Bollywood, and on further stalking, I realised that she was a celebrated Public Relations Manager for countless.

And then there were my other classmates, all 44 of them, on her friend-list, some successful, some stuck in the same era, but none who had bothered to talk to her in that one year of high school.

W is for... Worthwhile

Sid is the first of my four children. And as the world knows, firstborns are a mother’s first love. Sid is mine. He was coming back home after 12 long years with his wife and so many memories came rushing back.

As an older brother, Sid is calm, patient, caring and loving. As an eldest son, he is responsible, brave and has always shown great initiative. So, when he called me that afternoon to discuss his situation with Triya, I knew he was dealing with one of the hardest decisions of his life.

‘Mum, she says she doesn’t want to have children. I don’t know what I want,’ he said sounding extremely concerned.

It was 3 p.m. in India, meaning it was 5.30 a.m. in New York. My son was never a morning person, it had been a long night.

‘I see. Well, do you love her?’ I asked trying to get my thoughts together. In the last one year, all Sid could talk about was Triya, and I already knew how special she was.

‘Of course. You know I was going to propose to her next month in the Bahamas. She somehow gauged my plan and told me upfront. She wants to marry me but says that she will never consider having a kid. She seems determined, Ma.’

Triya reminded me of my sister Seema when she was younger. When Sid was born, she was there with me to help me with every single chore. She cared for him like a mother would, but when she got married, she decided that she would always want to be childfree. She said she found kids extremely needy, she found motherhood like a guilt-trip and that she thought she loved her life the way it was and didn’t want to change a thing.

‘I am worried that even if I decide to let go, I might resent this later,’ Sid continued from the other side. He told me about Triya’s life and her struggles with her mother as a teenager. Her reasons were justifiable, and given my experience with Seema, I had little doubt that Triya will change her mind.

‘You have looked after your siblings as your own children, Sid. I believe you know a little bit about having kids. Now it is up to you – if you love Triya and want to spend the rest of your life with her, then you need to stand by her decision,’ I explained, couldn’t believing the words that were coming out of my mouth. Sid was going to be one of the heirs to a generation old, multi-million, family business. His children were going to be my first grand-children and I was already looking forward to his return and starting a family. This could change everything.

-

Today was their fourth wedding anniversary and Sid said he had a surprise announcement to make. I had my thali and everything ready to welcome Triya in our home. Sid had promised us that he would work in an American bank for a while and then come back to handle the investments part of the business. His father was looking forward to this, and I was looking forward to spending more time with my two kids, and possibly, a grand kid.

‘Mum, dad, Triya and I have decided to open a primary school for underprivileged children. This way we will be involved with many young lives and will be able to make a difference,’ he declared after settling down.

I looked at Triya sitting next to him, with her hand in his and her eyes gleaming with pride. If there was a mirror, my eyes would have looked the same.

You can read more about Triya in :

 K for... Kapalbhati

 M for... Mama of Four

P is for... Proposal

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. Also, I am new at this ;)

U is for... Unexpected

‘Honey, the guest list is ready, when do you want me to send out the invites?’ Kiran asked as she put her arms around Dhawan who was sitting on the dining table chair. Dhawan kept his phone down which had her picture as the wallpaper and kissed the front of her palms pulling her in front of himself.

‘Whenever you think it is okay, my love. But first sit down and try this,’ he said taking out a pouch from his pocket.

The solitaire was the size of a football and it fit Kiran’s ring finger perfectly well.  ‘Oh, honey, you remembered?’ Kiran exclaimed getting up and kissing Dhawan on his lips.

It was a long-promised anniversary present from Dhawan. Although Kiran could walk into the jewellery store and buy a whole rack, Dhawan liked to surprise her with small gifts every now and then. It was like a tradition.

‘Your suitcase is packed for your London meeting. You have to come back by Wednesday, okay?’ Kiran said her eyes fixated on the ring.

‘But the party is on Sunday, why do you want me back so early?’

‘I want you back because I miss you when you are not here. And I know you can finish your work by then!’

It had been 25 years to Kiran and Dhawan’s marriage, but they were still the envy of their whole circle like when they were newlyweds. They ate from the same plate, stayed by each other’s side in every party, danced in sync and laughed like best friends.

‘Tamanna is also going to say a speech – something on the lines of how she wants a partner like you and have a marriage like ours. Isn’t it sweet of our daughter?’ Kiran stated gleaming with pride and sauntered towards the kitchen.

‘They don’t make couples like us anymore,’ Dhawan quoted with a chuckle and Kiran laughed in agreement.

As always, she dropped her husband at the airport that afternoon and kissed him goodbye. ‘Come back sooner than you promised, okay?’ she demanded with a pout on her face.

‘Only if you don’t disturb me with a thousand phone calls to discuss our anniversary party!’

‘Ah, now you watch out, I will call you a million times.’

Ram babu, the driver, rolled his eyes from behind the wheels. This couple was too sweet for his appetite, yet he had to listen to all their mush talks when they were in the car. All his friends had some gossip to share, he had none. He was missing out on all the extra cash his fellow-drivers were making from their bosses to keep mum about their respective affairs, while Ram babu just got his monthly salary and nothing else. He had to pay a price for their fidelity.

Maybe your boss has a mistress in London, he goes there every month, Billu had said in hushed tones a few weeks back.

It was possible. Or maybe madam has a boyfriend in the ashram in Pune otherwise she didn’t seem the type who would listen to bhajans for days every few months.

‘Ram babu, take me to the jeweller,’ he heard Kiran say as she closed the door behind him.

‘Ji Madam,’ Ram babu retorted, curiously looking at his madam trying to find clues. He could drive to the jeweller with closed eyes, Kiran went there to buy jewels like he went to the market to buy vegetables.

After she got off the car to walk into the store, Ram babu got a call on his cell phone. ‘Ram babu, I think I have left my second mobile phone in the car. Find it and take it to your home. Err, do you like Black Label whiskey? I will get a bottle for you,’ Dhawan blabbered from the other end.

Ram babu hurried to the back seat and found the phone under the cover where Dhawan was sitting. He kept the phone in his shirt’s pocket and replied, ‘Found the phone sir, you don’t worry about it,’ he said giggling to himself as if he had just won a lottery.

While looking for the phone he noticed his madam had forgotten her purse. He picked it up and rushed to the store. The security guard stopped him asking where he was headed.

‘Kiran madam is inside, I want to give her this purse,’ informed Ram babu showing the purse to the guard.

‘But madam is not here yet. I think she must be having tea first with her friends in the hotel next door.’

Ram babu scouted the restaurant, but there was no sign of Kiran. Disappointed, he decided to wait outside in the car.

Half an hour later, he saw Kiran come out of the hotel. She then walked inside the jewellery store next door.

Five minutes later, Raj sir, whom he knew as Tamana’s friends’ father, hurried towards his car from inside the hotel.

‘They took one hour to fix my ring,’ Kiran said angrily entering the car.

Ram babu just smiled starting the ignition. ‘Madam, look, isn’t that Raj sir’s car. I just saw him walk out from inside the hotel,’ he clarified staring at Kiran through the rear-view mirror.

He had unexpectedly hit a jackpot today.

S is for... Socially Distant

Let’s not tell some people when this quarantine is over – read her status

It wasn’t as if she was the favourite of all, or incredibly famous

It was a snide remark for all those she hated

The list was enormous, she had herself stated.

Her reasons were not petty – Jay loathed religions

Maya was a racist, Kaushik never listens.

Kavita was not charitable, Benjamin was a pain

Nora was very messy, Kuber had donated his brain.

To each his own was never her way of thinking

She debated with each one of them, never left without judging

Each conversation was fiery, always ended with an abuse

Not once did she change her mind, was rigid in her views

The numbers kept increasing, slowly everyone was in it

She detested one and all, was now socially distant.

First there were people who cared, but not anymore

She had chosen to be isolated with arguments that were uncalled for.

She led her life with great pride for standing up for what she believed in

Didn’t make any friends, was always confined within

Years passed, her mind didn’t change

She was fine, it was the world she found strange.

With books, music and art, she filled her days

She fought her loneliness, but not her rigid ways.

She named her help in the will before she passed away

‘To the idiot who cleans my house’ was all she had to say.

P is for… Proposal

I had been going out with Triya for a year now. We were introduced by our parents when they came to see us while we both were working in New York. It was a strategic match – we would laugh. My father was a builder in Delhi and her family owned a well-established cement company in Gurgaon – a match made in ‘concrete’ heaven!

‘Remember how horrified I was when my father asked me to ask you out? It was like I was a preppy again!’ I exclaimed looking into Triya’s eyes peeking through her thick mascaraed eyelashes. She never left home without her pink gloss lipstick and two applications of mascara; she had told me once. It didn’t matter to me though - she was beautiful inside and out.

She just smiled sipping through her third Manhattan. Normally, by this time, Triya would be hopping around singing Sonu Nigam songs making Americans chuckle, but not today. Something was bothering her.

‘Is everything ok? You look preoccupied, hon,’ I asked her a third time.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ she stated standing up from her bar stool, fixing her purse on her shoulders.

‘Uh, ok. If that makes you feel better. I’ll just settle the cheque and see you at the exit.’

As I stood at the billing counter I glanced at my worried girlfriend. I had a bad feeling about this. We had an argument last weekend, but nothing so significant that she would break-up with me for! I was planning to take her to the Bahamas very soon and propose her. She might have other plans.

‘How were your drinks today Mr. Sehgal? You’re leaving early,’ questioned the bartender from behind the counter.

‘Everything was great, we ..uh…we just have a thing.’

I walked towards Triya, her slender body leaning on the exit door. She was staring through the glass door at the tall structure across Times Square, lost in a world of her own.

‘Are you ready to go?’ I patted on her shoulder and curled my arm around her petite waist.

‘Can we go to our favourite spot in Central Park? Or is it too late?’ Triya asked with a very serious look on her face.

‘Of course, we can,’ I answered without hesitation.

We grabbed a cab from outside the bar and within 10 minutes we were on the bench next to the fountain in Central Park. Nothing was said between us, I didn’t even want to ask.

‘The Triya you know is very different from the Triya I grew up with,’ she muttered grabbing my hand.

‘I know darling, I know your struggle with the weight.’

‘It’s not about the struggle. I loved it – more because I emerged victorious from it. This is about how those years changed my outlook in life.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, still puzzled about her predicament.

‘You know I love you Sid. But there is something you need to know. Something that I had decided years ago which could alter your feelings towards me.’

‘Hey! Nothing, nothing in this world can change how I feel about you… about us. If this is about you gaining those 40 kgs back, I am up for it. In fact, I’ll look forward to it, that way I will have more of you to love!’

She laughed. For the first time today, I made her laugh. This was rare. We were a happy twosome endlessly sharing jokes and stories from our respective business schools. We had a bunch of friends from the banks we were working for who always envied our companionship. I loved how we both were intellectuals and not nerdy, how we were both from a wealthy background, yet grounded. There was so much in common.

‘You don’t understand Sid. My head is screwed up in many ways.’

‘I…’

‘No listen,’ she interrupted. ‘I am just going to come out with this ok. I know where we are heading, and I want to make this clear before we do. I… I don’t want to have children. Ever.’

 ‘Okay.. uhh..’ I didn’t know how to respond to that. I came from a family of three sons and one daughter. We had a party growing up. How would someone not like kids was beyond me.

‘I saw how my mother struggled trying to bring out the perfect version of me. Every single day she would look for ways to make me thinner. She stopped going to parties because she didn’t want the conversation to turn to her and consequently, my weight struggles. She felt guilty for being too harsh on me and that made me feel guilty for making her go through this. I turned out great – straight A’s, charismatic, and successful. But I don’t want to be that person who wants to fix everything that is wrong in someone’s life. I don’t want to be in a position where I have to make that kind of a decision for someone.’

‘What kind?’ I asked, pretending to understand but failing miserably at it.

‘The kinds that makes you want to control every step of someone’s life,’ she stated, with her voice becoming softer.

‘But you can be the type of mother you want to be. Now that you have a guideline, you can easily skip the part that makes you be a Hitler,’ I said wrapping my arms around her, trying to make her laugh again. We were in our late twenties; I was not even thinking about kids.

‘No. You can’t change my mind about this. And if it’s a deal-breaker for you, we can decide to take separate paths.’

‘Uhh..Triya!’ I really didn’t know what to say. ‘Can we cross the bridge when we get to it?’

Triya looked at me through her blurry eyes and moved from the bench to the floor on one knee. ‘Sid Sehgal, I love you and would love to spend the rest of my life with you. But before you say yes, you must think very, very carefully. Are you ok with having no children, no children at all?’

I stood up and helped her get up. I took her hands and embraced her tight. Behind her was our favourite fountain, our go-to spot when we were happy, sad, anything. This place had seen it all – our past, our present and possibly our future, which, right now, I was very unsure about.

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You can read more about Triya in :

 K for... Kapalbhati

 M for... Mama of Four

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. Also, I am new at this ;)

O is for... Old and Happy

‘But you promised me when I turned 30 in Goa, that you’ll take me to France when I turn 60,’ I told him in my sweet, mushy voice.

He always, always did as I said. He didn’t have to, but he did. Like last week – I was feeling too wobbly to step out, and he wanted to go to the club to play golf. I didn’t want to stay alone at home, so he changed his plan to go the next day. We stayed in, ordered vegetarian thali from Mrs. Heera’s kitchen and watched reruns of Game of Thrones. It seemed funny in 2042, but in 2019, it was the best show we had.

‘Babydoll, you feel exhausted just going to the club, France is 5 hours by plane, remember?’ he replied with a funny expression on his face.

‘So? We will just sit by the Seine and watch the Eiffel Tower light up multiple times. And this time, the lights will shine on your bald,’ I stated running my hand on his shiny head.

‘Get away from me, you old bitch!’

He hated it when I touched him before he took a bath. It was one of his many quirks. I thought all his little things were annoying yet adorable. He would never, never let me eat from his plate – a decision he had made when we got married 34 years back and ate from the same plate with two cameramen standing on our head. It was midnight and he had not eaten since 3 p.m. First the pandit ji got late for pooja at his place, and then the Baratis won’t stop dancing. He couldn’t stand the shenanigans. ‘We could have gone for a court marriage you know,’ he had said on the stage. ‘I was ready, your mom wouldn’t agree,’ I had replied pinching his butt from above the uncomfortable Sherwani.

‘Acha, what do you suggest pumpkin pie, can we go to Vegas?’ my eyes had widened with just the idea of that moronic destination.

‘Vegas!!! That is 14 hours away. You will not go to the plane’s loo and then curse me the whole time for not stopping you before embarking on a painful journey.’

‘Arre! I’ll carry that portable urination device with me. Don’t you worry about my bladder needs!’

‘We are not going to Vegas. Want to go to Shimla? We haven’t been to Wildflower for a while now.’

‘You mad man! Shimla is just 2 hours away - I’d go there for tea. Not for my once in a lifetime 60^th birthday!’

This conversation was going nowhere. I needed to divert his mind, give him good food, and then emotionally blackmail him the next morning.

‘Acha leave it. Want to play a game of Rummy?’ I questioned holding a deck of cards

‘Ok. Whoever wins gets to decide.’

‘Fine.’ I agreed without flinching because I knew that only I will get to decide.

We sat slouched on the sofa with oldies playing in the background. A cool summer breeze was blowing in through the balcony doors. I covered myself with a shawl and dealt thirteen cards. I took out the joker and we started with the game. Ten minutes later, he won.

‘Goa it is babydoll.’ He stated triumphantly.

‘You always do this. We always go where you want to go. What about my desires? It is my birthday. My father always did as I said, you can’t even do this much?’

‘Ok baba. We will go where you want.’

‘And what if I get sick and then feel tired?’

‘I’d push you around in a wheelchair. Or we’d just sit by the Seine every day and watch Eiffel Tower lights sparkle in your eyes.’

‘I love you sweet pea. Let’s go to Goa this year, we will consider France next summer when I am a year younger,’ I said jumping to his side, slathering his wrinkled face with a hundred wet kisses!

And that’s how we never, never found any reason to fight.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. Also, I am new at this ;)

M is for... Mama of Four

Triya occupied a little more than one seat wherever we went, yet I was teased for being a mother of four. They never said it to my face, but we heard the hushed mutterings. The world always exaggerates, I would defend, and would ask Triya not to take it to heart.

She didn’t.

But I did.

‘I have a plan for you Triya,’ I declared when she brought home her graduation degree. She was a brilliant kid, I never had to worry about her academics. I had only one concern on my mind which gave me sleepless nights. Ever since she was a teenager, I was never without a proposal. It started with slimming pills suggested by Mrs. Verma, followed by naturopathy devised by Pragya, switched to feeding a fat cow once every fortnight as advised by Jaya, and so on.

‘I am going to convert our farmhouse into a retreat centre for you. You will have a nutrition expert and a gym instructor visit you every day. I have assigned two caretakers who will be at your beck and call 24/7,’ I announced. ‘Me and you father will visit you all the time.’

I am sure her heart would have sunk hearing this. Just a few moments prior to this she was rejoicing the fact that she was awarded a gold medal from the university. She had planned to take all her friends and celebrate this joyous occasion in the hills of Shimla at a five-star property. Suddenly the idea of a ‘retreat’ must be sounding like a gory one.

‘Mama!’ Triya screamed. ‘I’ve promised you I will shed twenty kilos this year. I will study at home, work with dad in the office and be available for whatever you decide to put me through. Why do you want to take this extreme step?’ I saw tiny lines of tears trickle down her eyes.

She must have thought of all the people I had met and spoken to in the last few weeks, she was extremely smart. This required a lot of strategizing against her and only my sister was capable of formulating such a devious plot.

‘This is Shanti Masi’s idea, isn’t it? I should have known you two were onto something. All those visits to the farmhouse were not for a party…were they?’ I heard Triya ramble while I just stood next to the dining table with a solemn face. She scored a 100/100 yet again.

‘You need to sit down first.’

She was furious, yet she grabbed a seat. Triya was always such an obedient kid. When girls her age were having tubs of ice-cream, she was eating from a box full of sprouts. She cheated only once a week, yet she lost only a kilo or so in a whole month. I was disappointed, and Triya could gauge my sadness in my eyes. My prayers had failed me yet again, and another remedy had rendered useless.

‘Triya, I know this is a very difficult thing that I am telling you to do. Next year you will be gone to America to pursue higher studies. There will be no one to cook low calorie meals for you. You will not have time to exercise. You have to reduce by at least 30 kilos, how will you be able to do that? It will be harder than it has been in the last 6 years, and you know how hopeless all your previous efforts have been?’ I explained calmly.

Her tears wouldn’t stop, and she was beginning to cough. ‘So, you are saying I will not be able to go out or meet my friends during this period?’ she asked trying to understand the plan through her pain.

‘You could. But only the ones who support you one hundred percent in your effort, who understand that you are on a regime that cannot be broken at any cost,’ I said, almost sounding like a military officer. ‘Look Triya, I have seen you heartbroken. When all your friends had a boyfriend, and you were a third wheel, you would cry yourself to sleep. I want you to have any man you desire, and for that, you know what you have to do.’

‘Make you a Mama of one,’ said my sensitive girl and walked into her room.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. I am new at this, so please be kind!!!

K is for …Kapalbhati

‘You take a deep breath in, and then just push your stomach in and out while quickly inhaling and exhaling. How difficult can it be?’ Rama questioned in a rather rude tone.

It had been six months since she was training Triya. They started at 98 kgs and were down to 79, which was an achievement of sorts given how difficult the situation was.

‘It makes me go totally out of breath; I can’t believe it is called Pranayam which is supposed to mean ‘control of breath’. Can’t we try some other exercise?’ Triya retorted looking longingly at the lush green outdoors.

She was sitting on the gym floor of her 10-acre farmhouse in the outskirts of Gurgaon.  All her friends had completed graduation and applied to foreign universities while doing a temporary job while she was stuck in this ‘retreat’.

‘You will have plenty of time to study, work and party. This is your only chance to shed that extra weight and become presentable,’ Mama had been reiterating for a while now.

But Triya was used to being called a fatso with a golden heart. Without the weight she would just be a glittery soul, she had told Mama with a chuckle.

‘They tease you and you believe their antics. All your friends – Tia, Maanya, Rahul, Akshay – they humour you because you take care of all their needs. When it comes to marriage, no one will look into your sparkling heart, they will just look at your chubby face.’ Mama had told her when she had revolted against the idea of being at this self-developed rehab centre for her.

She was correct though. In the last six years, she had come across many charming boys ready to befriend her, but none who would ask her out on a date. When she met Akshay in high school for the first time, she was completely smitten by his good looks and charming personality. They went out many times to fancy restaurants, danced together in clubs, took trips to Goa and Kasauli in a group, but each time she thought they were getting closer, Akshay would mention some other girl and how he was totally in love with her. After two years of paying all bills for the gang, Triya gave up and started going dutch. That’s when Maanya and Akshay became an item.

‘Stop procrastinating Triya. Kapalbhaati Pranayam will flatten your stomach and at the same time, keep you motivated. You’ve done well so far, just a few more months and you will be ready to sway any man off his feet,’ she heard Rama say who was trying to regain control of her emotions.

Triya closed her eyes and started the process. Each time she exhaled, she imagined the front of her stomach touching her spine.

‘Very good, we need to do at least a 100 in one go,’ Rama stated somewhere in the background.

A hundred. Triya had forgotten how many times she had scored a hundred in school and college. When she fell short by ten in her second-year psychology exam, she had rummaged through the university library for hours even though it did not matter. When the dean felicitated her in the graduation ceremony, he had quoted this incident to inspire other students.

’98, 99, and 100. Well done, my girl. Now 9 more rounds. C’mon, you can do it!’ Rama exclaimed sitting cross-legged in front of her. ‘One, two, three… stomach in, stomach out,’ she continued.

One, two, three, Triya started in her mind. Once out of this place, she would start working towards getting into the top three Ivy League schools. Eigheen, nineteen, twenty, she counted. Eligible boys would line up outside her apartment and she would have to choose. Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, she continued. She would perhaps go for the chubbiest of them all.

‘Ninety-nine, hundred. Way to go!’ Rama squealed once again. ‘This is not only good for your abdomen, but it is great for your heart and mind too.’

Triya smiled thinking about her last thoughts. Her heart and mind were in the right place, she was just doing this to make Mama proud.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. I am new at this, so please be kind!!!

I is for... Ila ki Amma

Ila ki Amma carefully rolled up her ponytail into a bun and tucked her cotton blue saree on her rather hefty waist. She then separated the big dishes from the small and started rubbing them one by one with dishwashing soap.

She hummed music from Bollywood while washing the plates, then sang folk songs while doing laundry, and while she mopped the floor, she chuckled from time to time, perhaps thinking of some funny anecdote which she would share with Mummy later.

After finishing all her work, Ila ki Amma sat on the chauki in the kitchen, dunked Parle G in her chai, and spoke to Mummy about her day(s).

‘I’ve told you many times to give Bitiya sugar and curd in the morning during her exams, but you always forget. She will come fusht, I am telling you,’ I heard Ila ki Amma tell Mummy. Ila always sported a big round black dot of kajal on her forehead till she passed class 7. I don’t know if she ever came fusht, but she did ward off evil. ‘Kaala tikka protected Ila from the monkey that entered our house 10 years back, you have to trust these things,’ she repeated the story for the hundredth time.

When Ila turned 14, she revolted, and her mother could not fight her way back onto her forehead. They didn’t speak for a week; Mummy had found out.

After sharing her wisdom on yoghurt and sugar, Ila ki Amma left our home for the next one. ‘I will come,’ she declared while leaving because I am going was a wrong thing to say.

She worked five houses including ours. Each home had a devi of a Bhabhi and a devta of a Bhaiya. Roma aunty cut her salary from time to time, but Ila ki Amma 'understood' and blamed it on their financial troubles. ‘Where will you find such a maid who is always so bubbly,’ Mummy said to Daddy when he grumbled about her singing.

‘She is too much. Very noisy,’ Daddy complained reading the newspaper. ‘Where does she stay? U.P. administration has ordered demolition of a long list of jhopdis near our house. I wonder if she will have a place to live from tomorrow.’

This was serious. There was a lot of illegal construction near our locality which was home to many low-wage income workers. The government interfered from time to time, but they were resilient. Whenever they pulled down a series of homes, the workers would find temporary accommodation at their relatives, and build back after a few weeks. ‘Where else can we go, this is our home and close to where we work,’ Ila ki Amma would defend.

Next day Ila ki Amma didn’t come till 11 a.m. Mummy got worried if her house was destroyed and she was now homeless. She started doing the dishes with my help and prayed everything to be ok.

We weren’t expecting her the next day too, so we finished the chores early in the morning. At 9.30, Ila ki Amma entered our home with a morose look on her face.

‘What happened? We heard about the demolition.’ Mummy asked her with concern.

‘Oh yes, municipality sent cranes yesterday and broke our doors and windows. We had to pack everything and leave.’

‘You could have taken leave today also, why did you come?’

‘Why wouldn’t I come? We already knew about this since last week and so I had shifted everything to my brother’s house two days back.’

‘Oh, I thought you must have been under stress yesterday so that is why you didn’t come.’ Mummy said.

‘Arre nahi, Bhabhi. Actually, yesterday when I was leaving for your house from Savitri bhabhi’s house a black cat crossed my path. You know what an evil omen that is. I had to turn back and go back to my brother’s house. Too much risk.’

Mummy took the chauki in the kitchen and sat down with her palm on her forehead. Ila ki Amma was an item.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. I am new at this, so please be kind!!!

H is for... House Politics

Mrs. and Mr. Vinod Agarwal had three children. The third child was a son, born because the first two weren’t. Incidentally, Mr. Agarwal’s younger brother also produced a son in the same month. They rented the colony garden to throw a lavish party for the entire neighbourhood to honour the arrival of their two miracles – Ashu and Abhi. We were a bit surprised because Mrs. Agarwal and Lata aunty, the second daughter-in-law of the house, never saw eye to eye. ‘Marwari hain, to save money ofcourse,’ I had heard mom tell Rekha aunty.

When Ashu was ten months old, Mrs. Agarwal decided she wanted to go to a kitty party hosted in a bungalow which was 100 metres away. She asked me, her 12-year-old, friendly, next door neighbour if I could stay in her room for an hour because who asks the adult sister-in-law in the next room. I was usually more at the Agarwal house than my own, savouring their bhujias more than my mother’s sukhe alu, so this was not extraordinary.

It was a surprisingly pleasant summer day and I was totally engrossed in my books from the library. I hogged on to dal, chawal and a whole of mango, hoping nothing will spill on the pages. Between spoonsful of deliciousness, I told my mom I’ll be baby-sitting. Her expressions were less than agreeable, but when it came to Agarwal house, she didn’t bother much. I was just a family member there as I was here!

I let myself into their house and started climbing the stairs. The ground floor belonged to Mr. Agarwal’s parents who were constantly watching every move of mine.

‘The girls are downstairs,’ Dadima said in her shrill voice. ‘They are sleeping.’

‘I am going to meet Aunty,’ I replied turning back and literally ran lest she started questioning me like Karamchand.

Mrs. Agarwal was dressed up in her finest blue saree. With matching bangles and a platform sandal that I hadn’t seen since Ashu’s party, she looked happy to be stepping out after months.

‘I will be back in an hour. Just feed him this milk if he cries,’ she said handing me the bottle. ‘You won’t get time to read your book; he is a handful!’ she added.

Now Julian was about to solve a great mystery. He, Geroge and Timmy were all set and so was I. As soon as she left, I knocked on Lata aunty’s door. I told her Ashu was alone in the next room and I could take Abhi too and they could play together. ‘Did you ask Bhabhi?’ she asked.

‘No, but she will not know.’

Ashu and Abhi had never played together. Apparently, Lata aunty was loved by the entire family only because, according to Mrs. Agarwal, her firstborn was a son. Even though Mrs. Agarwal was the elder one, she never felt she was given much importance. There are bound to be differences, I had heard mom saying.

I flipped through the last pages of my Famous Five while Ashu and Abhi managed to play with each other and the bucketful of toys for more than 45 minutes. Meanwhile, Lata aunty served tea to her in-laws’ downstairs, took a quick 15-minute nap and brought me a piece of samosa.

‘It’s time. I need to take Abhi back in my room.’ she said picking up the little munchkin and started walking out.

Ashu tried to crawl behind them but I picked him up. He let out a whimper and so I grabbed his bottle and started to feed him. Just then Mrs. Agarwal came in hurriedly and inquired ‘Did he bother you?’

‘Not at all, he was his sweetest self,’ I said while handing Ashu to her. I kissed him goodbye and walked out of the room with the finished book in my hand.

I closed the door behind me and peeked into the next room. Lata aunty gave me the warmest smile and a flying kiss and I wondered if Ashu and Abhi will be playing together anytime soon.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way into this blog through fiction. I am new at penning fiction, so please be kind!

G is for…Granny

The stories were interesting, the gestures had become warmer, well, at the age of 79, she looked like the kindest one.

Since I knew about her exploitative side too, I never cared for her much. Mom never shared her experiences lest it influence our opinion of her, but me and my sister had overheard every ugly deed of Granny and drew our own inference. However, I never expected she would go this far.

We were chit-chatting over a cup of tea. Granny sat curled on her spot on the bed in her white cotton nighty bought by my aunt from the streets of Bandra. ‘My dad was the wisest person on earth. He found your grandfather for me and married me into a wealthy family. I have vivid memories of him from Karachi…’ I was listening to her half-heartedly since this was my hundredth encounter with memoirs from Pakistan.

My wedding was just a week later, and I wanted to spend whatever little time I had with each family member. What if my mother-in-law turns out like Granny and doesn’t allow me to come home over false pretexts?

I had seen very little of my Nani since Granny came up with terrible excuses whenever we were to leave for Indore. When I was 10, she twisted her ankle just the night before our train and demanded to be bed ridden for a fortnight. I clearly remember that because I had to put away a stack of Pinki comics that I were to read on the train in my pre-chosen corner berth. I thought of this as an emergency and decided not to show my disappointment. Plus, mom promised me a barbie set when I had thrown a tantrum in the morning.

‘My mother taught me how to make chapatis, I make the softest ones. I will teach you tomorrow,’ Granny continued with pride.

‘Mom already taught me; I just need practice.’

‘But I make better ones. Even halwa, I will tell you how to make.’

‘Fine.’ I didn’t want to argue with her.

I thought of my 12^th birthday when mom had made lunch for the entire extended family. We were happily sitting and relishing a delicious halwa for dessert when my uncle exclaimed, ‘No one makes this better than Maa..’

‘Oh no, I would have never put such little ghee and sugar. This tastes like a poor man’s meal,’ Granny had added quickly.

At that moment I suddenly felt the sugar was low too and asked mom for a spoonful. I understand now how furious she would have been at that point, and how I must have added to her sorrow.

‘When you have children...’ Granny said waking me up from my nostalgia.

‘Arre Dadi, let me get married first!’

‘No. Listen. When you have children, make sure you massage them the right way. I will teach you. Had your mom done my way, your legs would have been stronger, and you would have not been weak like you are now.’

I looked at her in disbelief. What if she had said the same thing when I was 14 and looking for answers? I wanted to give her a lecture on massage, children, parenthood, and most importantly, my medical condition. Yet I chose to pick up my cup, finish the last bit, and just walk away, because my halwa or chapatis might or might not turn out the best, but my values had.

Throughout the week Granny kept pushing me to learn things from her, but I told her how she had already taught me a lot. She had taught me the greatest lessons in what not to do.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way to this blog through fiction.

F is for...(Our) Father, in Heaven

There was a huge church in the middle of our school - the highest in the country, we were told. In the pre-google era, we believed anything anyone told us. Beyond the chapel and the main praying area, there was a lodging for nuns and the principal of the school. As I told you, the church establishment was enormous.

Our classrooms and other recreational areas were all around this church. After keeping our bags in the classroom, me and my friends walked to the chapel to pray. We prayed in the school assembly also, followed by a prayer before lunch and then a prayer after all the classes got over. We prayed a lot back then.

Like every morning, Miss Camphor visited the chapel today as well, solely for religious purposes. We always got frowning looks from her. ‘These girls giggle and spoil my 5 minutes of peace before the screaming begins in the class. Why are they even here?’ I overheard her saying one day.

Her hair was graying, and she lived alone – you can’t expect anything but frustration from an old spinster like that. We were ruthless in our opinion of her, but so was she. She wore the same dress every day – a floral frock that ended at her knees with a leather belt at the waist. Legend had it – a boy made her furious in 1987 and she hit him hard with this belt. None of us ever dared to make her angry.

Today was my first day in class 5 and as my good fortune would have it, Miss Camphor walked into our room as our class teacher. The eerie silence was the type I had never experienced before from my class of 50 boys and girls. When she was scanning the class, her eyes stopped at me for more than a few seconds. She knew me as the giggling girl from the chapel, just as I knew her as the creepy teacher in the school.

‘There will be a monitor in this class which will be changed every two weeks. You will be the first one starting today,’ she said pointing at me.

My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t even know how to look at her, and now I will have to report to her on a daily basis? ‘Yes Ma’am,’ I heard myself saying.

‘You are her favorite already, remember not to get on her wrong side,’ Sakshi muttered from the row behind mine while a few boys chuckled in hushed tones.

After the fourth period got over, we joined our hands to say our prayers before eating our meals. Miss Camphor asked me to meet her outside the staff room before the break got over. ‘Yes Ma’am,’ I said shivering at the prospect of interacting with her.

‘Mom made baigan bharta for you,’ Shakti said passing her tiffin to me. I gave her whatever little was left in my tiffin. We finished our boxes in the first period itself, there was no fun in eating in the lunch break.

Normally I would eat my tiffin and then Shakti’s and then grab a bite from Sakshi’s. Not today. ‘Why did she choose me?’ Nobody could answer.

I passed the church building to get to the staff room. I recited ‘Our Father in Heaven’ all the way up there hoping that the fourth prayer of the day will help me. Several teachers were sitting in there sharing their tiffins with each other. Miss Camphor saw me and called me inside. She took out a Monitor’s badge from her cupboard and clipped it on my shirt and then started to walk away.

Nothing was said between us. Suddenly she turned around and asked me to wait. She brought her tiffin and offered me a piece of cake. ‘You finished your tiffin in the morning, you must be hungry now.’

‘Errr..Noo Ma’am..I..’

‘Take a piece and stop giggling in the chapel. Also, don’t mention the cake to your classmates,’ she smiled and walked away.

While walking back in disbelief of how I was just treated, I looked at the church. Standing there, for the first time in seven years of being in this school, I wanted to find out if it was indeed the tallest one in the country.

Y is for... Yearning

Grandma moved her fingers, waving coyly as we flew over the valley of Dehradun. A tiny droplet filled her eye and she let out a crooked smile.

“You still miss him?” I asked being fully aware that I was disturbing her.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you still missed him."

“That man left without saying a word. What do you expect?” 

“I expect anger.”

“Anger, resentment, jealousy... they all go with time, son.” She said with her smile intact.

“Even when you are betrayed?” I was confused.

“Love is a much stronger emotion than any other. Unfortunately for some, it is very hard to let go.”

“But..."

“Shhh.”

She looked down the window pane and smiled again. She wanted to go back to her dream. Her gaze was fixed... as if he was waving back at her.