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The way to a man's heart

by rituja joshi
It is dawn. I hear the birds chirping as the aroma of fresh coffee rouses me from my slumber. I turn over to look at Sanju. I love to see her tousled sleepy face in the mornings. She looks so beautiful, so carefree this time of the day, her hair spilling all over her face. Even after all these years, I can still spend hours gazing at her gorgeous face! She continues to captivate me, to enchant me!

Sanjeevni is not in bed, she's probably making the coffee. It is a special day, today. It is our wedding anniversary, our tenth wedding anniversary. It has been the best ten years of my life! We've shared such beautiful moments together. Sweet tender moments, priceless moments, oh the precious memories!

We are going to celebrate! No, it is not an expensive bubbly or romantic candlelight dinner at the Orchid. It is something even better, something dearer. We are leaving for Pune, this morning. On the cards is wada-pav at Joshi wadawalla stall in front of Sambhaji Park. I am keeping the promise, I'd made to her all those years back. I still remember the day ……………………… .

*******

Fourteen years ago….. 

 

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach", they say. Well in this case, I was talking about a woman. I sure hoped and prayed that I'd find the way to her heart. The girl of my dreams was Sanju, my precious Sanjeevni. I could die for her, though I don't think that would have impressed her! Sanju was a tough lass, a tomboy. She could definitely fight her own battles; slay the dragons on her own. Charming Sanju was no easy task; she was a feminist even before the term feminism was coined. It had to be something different. No expensive gifts or romantic dinners for her, besides being a student I was always broke. So, instead, I hoped to amaze her with my culinary skills!

 

But looking at the mess in my kitchen, I should have used the word 'un-skills'! My very first attempt in the kitchen had been a total disaster!

"Pavbhaji and fruit-salad, easy and simple," Smita and Viren, my confidants had proposed the menu.

"It is pretty clear-cut!" Smita had said. "Just like the TV ad says; Some potatoes and onions, some tomatoes and peas followed by Everest pav-bhaji masala. And don't forget to top it with butter!" she'd exclaimed.

But of course it was not at all so 'clear-cut'!

How in god's name was I going to impress Sanju with all this mess? My comprehensive plan was to woo my lady over dinner, a home cooked meal, cooked by yours truly!

Sanju and I, we had been friends forever. We'd grown up together. We'd climbed trees, played with marbles even hunted for snails together! You name it, I am sure Sanju had played every game in the boy's book. But a girl's game? No way! I don't think Sanju ever had even a single doll! Being the youngest in the family and the only girl, she had her way right from day one. She had two elder brothers whom she idolized and who pampered her equally. From the time she understood things she had always insisted on being called Sanju instead of the girly Sanjeevni and of course her favorite and only outfit outside school had been jeans and t-shirt.

Sanju my best pal, had always been one of the boys. But not quite! I first noticed how pretty she was when my lab partner had commented on her.

 "Hey your neighbor Sanjeevni is quite something, introduce kar na yaar!" Of course I hadn't done the good deed, no way!

Well anyway, on that particular day I was in a state of total despair, yeah the bhaji was beyond repair! It had dawned on me that peeling potatoes was an art in itself as was chopping vegetables, especially slicing onions! No matter how much masala I'd added, it still tasted horrible and I think that there was way too much salt. I had adding water to dilute the taste, had heard about that trick from someone. But the end result I'd produced was brown water with vegetables floating on top! And the taste, well rather not comment on it! There was no fruit salad either because there was no milk. It had just boiled over while I had been engrossed in the intricacies of making the bhaji.

It was almost time for Sanjeevni's arrival, when the phone rang. It was Sanjeevni.

"Tushar, could you meet me near Sambhaji Park?" she'd asked. "I know we were planning to meet at your place, but could you just come here, instead?"

"Sure, why not." I replied. Yeah why not, there was no food anyways!

As planned I saw Sanju sitting on the bench near the entrance of the park. She was looking so pretty, in a plain white salwaar khameej. Sanju and salwar khameej! Something was definitely amiss.  I was amazed to see her in this attire! She also has a small package in her hand.

"Tushar, thank god you are here!" she thrust the package on my lap. "Tushar, there is something important I want to say to you, well ask you," she sounded flustered. "I don't know how to go about it. Well, I really really like you. Well, you know what I mean?" she asked. Breathless she continued, "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach and well I did try to cook myself. I had tried to make some Pav-bhaji on Smita and Viren's suggestion. Well, but .," I could see the disaster which she must have cooked , stamped all over her face! "Open the package," she said.

Puzzled I started unwrapping. And guess what, inside were four wada-pav's from Joshi wadawalle, my favorite! Sanju didn't really have to say anything further. Not that she had to say anything in the first place, she was already occupying the special place in my heart!

*******

The rest is history. Yes, we sure have shared a lot of such delicious moments together! And I am looking forward to many more, just as promised fourteen years back. Joshi wadawalle, here we come! We've been doing this every year on this special day. Today is twenty-third of March, this day Sanju had proposed fourteen years back, the same day four years later we'd gotten married. And on the menu was ..

Posted in Love.

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Love is in the air- Meeting Mr. Perfect

 
Rutuja Joshi
 

You flourish and blossom,

You are filled with merriment and joy,

The day you meet the perfect boy!

You are all giggles and all smiles,

You no worry, you no care,

When love is in the air ..

 

Oh, love is in the air! She glances shyly at him. Their eyes meet, if only for a fleeting moment .He smiles. Oh, he takes her breath away; her heart almost skips a beat.

"Hello Mrs Rukmini Parth Saxeena", he whispers, and she melts!

She is so happy today! It's a wonderful day, the weather gorgeous, the food delicious, and the décor enchanting. It definitely is the perfect day, her wedding day; and her husband is definitely her Mr. Right, her Mr. Perfect!

He looks absolutely smashing in his dark suit and the tie they bought just last week, together. It was their choice, the tie and life together, totally their choice their destiny .

 

***************

Six months ago, before meeting Mr. perfect

 

"Ruku at least talk to him, meet him once," had begged her auntie.

 

"Only if he is willing to meet me alone, not fortified by his entire creed and clan," She had fired back.

 

Tara , Rukmini's mom had rolled her eyes. She had washed her hands off, a long time ago. She had almost given up on her dream, of ever seeing her little doll all dressed up as a bride. Now that her doll was not little any more, she feared the worst. She feared that her daughter was doomed to remain a maiden her whole life! Now that she was fast approaching her big three-o, yes her thirtieth birthday, by Tara's standards she had crossed the threshold! Absolutely!

 

Not that Ruku was against the institution called marriage or something. It was just that she had never been struck by cupid's golden arrow. She hadn't run into Mr. Right in school nor at college. He hadn't turned up at the library, or at the corner café. It was not that she was overtly choosy; but frankly none of her pals fitted the bill nor did any of her girl-friends' brothers! And in her field of work the chances of her coming across him were zilch, nil, absolutely none! She was a cosmetics consultant, you see. At that stage, trying to find him on her own was rather blotchy; she was the first to admit.

 

Oh she was optimistic. She was sure that she would meet her Mr. Right someday. That day had just not arrived! And as she refused to be paraded in front of half a dozen strangers who came to look at the prospective bride for their has-it-all grooms. And as she refused to participate in the grueling personal interviews involving one candidate and a dozen interviewers in the arranged-marriage process, she was still waiting for that perfect day!

 

"Believe me Ruku, he is absolutely made for you! Tall fair handsome, definitely your Mr. Right! Why his name is Parth. Rukmini and Parth , the perfect couple."

Of course that declaration had invited giggles from her cousins.

 

And with that, the dam had burst open.

"You girls nowadays, you are all spoilt. During my time .." had started her granny, her favorite lecture.

 

"Granny, I've agreed to meet him, haven't I? What more do you guys want?" she had mumbled and fled from the scene.

 

And three days later D-day had arrived. She was going to meet Parth at her office, after work. She had talked to him on phone just the previous evening. He had not been that bad, pretty pleasant actually. They had chatted about each-other, exchanged hobbies, likes-dislikes. And of course he knew her condition, her condition about no brothers and sisters; no aunts and uncles; no shields!

 

"I don't really like this show-see business too. A girl should not be treated like a thing." He had agreed.

 

"I am hardly a girl now; I am a matured woman running my own business." She'd corrected.

 

"Sorry, didn't mean to demean you or something. And I respect, rather admire you for what you have achieved." He'd replied.

 

Hey, maybe he was just right; maybe he was her Mr. Perfect. He had definitely almost impressed her already, with his words, his thoughts and his charisma. She was definitely looking forward to meeting him tomorrow. In fact, she was a little apprehensive even. What if he didn't like her? What if it just didn't click? He had sounded too good to be true, maybe a little too perfect. She heard a buzz in her head, a bell ringing or was it an alarm?

 

"Ruku, don't wear black," had instructed her granny, but had she listened?

 

"Ruku, don't cut your hair too short. Men like woman with long hair," had instructed her mother, years ago. But had she listened?

 

And now here she was waiting for Parth at her office in her chic black dress, her hair a stylish bob. Her best friend Madhu was discreetly sitting on the sofa flicking through the magazines. And at the chime of six, in walked Mr. Tall fair handsome. Miraculously, he looked exactly like he had looked in the snap. And was that a box of Ghirardelli's, the dark chocolate, she just loved?

 

"Parth?"  She had approached him.

 

"Hello, you must be Rukmini." He had said. "Since I have not seen your photograph…" He had presented her the chocolates.

 

"Parth, will you have a seat. I'll be right back in a few minutes." And with that she rushed into the women's room, Madhu had followed.

 

"Oh Rukmini, he's absolutely fabulous! So handsome na. And he's almost the V.P. at his company; he is practically running it already. Mrs Rukmini Parth Saxeena, You are so lucky na."

Madhu had gushed and carried on and on. She had them married already! And if she had had her way, she'd already have had their children christened; of course a boy and a girl, the perfect family!

 

"Hey, cut it out." Ruku had put the brake. "He looks and sounds too perfect. I don't think it will work." She had stated, ever the pessimist.

 

"Ruku, you are too much na!" And with that Madhu had shooed her out.

 

That evening Parth took Rukmini to Paradise Found, the charming garden restaurant. She could feel people staring at them, faces turning as they walked in, the perfect couple, youth and beauty, poise and charm. The food was delicious, the mood mellow and the evening still young. They had chatted for hours; he had laughed at the right spots and sympathized at the right ones too. They enjoyed each other's company, they quite complemented each other, oh they seemed to be the right fit! Well, it was almost too perfect. Rukmini was definitely apprehensive, definitely getting worried. Why, he had even split the bill with her! She could hear the bell ringing in her head, now persistently.

 

And as they had strolled in the public park, their hands touched occasionally, it was such a soothing feel! It was getting dark, there was a slight chill in the air; he had offered her his jacket and later, his hand when she almost stumbled on a rock. God it felt so great. He was absolutely fantastic. His likes and dislikes, his thoughts and feelings, his conduct and manners, his family and of course his paycheck! Not that, that mattered but It was toogood to be true. She was definitely worried. The ringing had definitely become shriller.

 

"Thanks Uncle, some other time. It is getting late." Parth had shaken hands with her father as he had dropped Rukmini at her house. Oh, he had been the perfect gentleman.

 

"I'll definitely come in for tea and snacks some other time."  He had glanced at her, as he said that. Now she was petrified, it was too much, he was too perfect! The ringing was now a clamor!

 

"But beta, we can't let you leave just like that. In fact, this is not the time to have tea. You must have dinner," her granny had barged in and had pulled him inside, into the living room.

 

Rukmini had been flabbergasted. Flabbergasted and apprehensive! Parth seemed flabbergasted too, flabbergasted and apprehensive; as if he was not prepared! For once he seemed lost totally lost ..scared even. And as she saw him hurriedly remove his shoes and socks she realized why! She giggled. She hugged and congratulated herself thank god he was not all that perfect after all

 

Thank god, he had holes in his socks! Thank god for that! Thank god for those precious holes! And she felt a certain peace, there was silence and bliss .The ringing had died down. Our Cinderella had found her Prince Charming, at last!

 

If he stumbles, if he but fall,

You hold his hand, you stand tall.

You complete him, the perfect circle together,

There is no her without him; and him without her.

Oh there are torrents of tears,

Ferocious fights, fireworks and tempers flare.

But you forgive and forget,

When there is love in the air!!!

 

 

Posted in Love.

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pyaar kiya to darna kya

by priya

Raghav got into the train as fast as he could. The train was to depart in another five minutes. He thought himself lucky enough to have caught the train on time. He looked around, found his seat number, placed his bag under his berth and sat down and wiped his face. Five more minutes to tick away now and he relaxed a bit. He looked around to know who his temporary neighbours were. He turned left to see a beautiful girl sitting next to him. He did not feel the need to talk to her, but silently enjoyed the good feeling that came over him just setting glances towards her.

Nisha was reading a book and did not seem to bother who sat on her right. The ticket checking was over and fatigue and tiredness crept over him. Raghav was waiting for Nisha to put down her book so that he can raise his middle berth and drift off to sleep.

He turned left slightly and looked at her.

"Should I start a convo with her and make her put down the book?" he asked himself. He was becoming sleepy and impatient. He was thinking of a pick-up line which would be appropriate at that time.

Nisha should have felt that heavy stare on her probably. She looked up from her book, and turned towards him.

"Do you want to go up?" Nisha asked.

Raghav smiled and nodded his head.

"It's ok for sometime. Carry on!" Raghav realized that it was a blatant lie in order to impress her.

Why was he trying to be nice to her? He could hardly understand.

A nervous tension shot up but he felt an impulse to talk to her

"Chennai?" he asked.

She looked up and said "yes ."

She now sensed that he wanted to talk to her. She closed her book.

"You?" She asked. "Me too!" He replied.

His mind was racing to say something appropriate. But she went a step further and told him where she worked and how she visits her parents every weekend and how lonely they felt, etc.

The conversation between them now eased up.

She went to the extent of talking about her personal matter. She said that this time her parents have fixed up an alliance. She was not interested in seeing his photo nor was she eager to follow it up since she had a lot of expectations about her guy and somehow felt that this alliance would not match her.

"What are your expectations then?" Raghav asked.

"He must be tall and handsome. He should be interested in reading and traveling coz I love to travel, he should give me space, He should be interested in fine arts…" She was listing them up. "Wow. She sure must be talented. That is why she is asking for someone who would share her interests " His thoughts were racing.

Raghav loved travelling, he was interested in fine arts too. Would he suit her? He smiled to himself. What a silly thought!

After an hour or so, he felt that he would sleep right there. Its been a hectic day. He politely told her that he would want to sleep now and got up from his seat to make his bed.

Both fell asleep.

Raghav did not know when the train reached Chennai. He hurriedly took his bag and got down. He could see Nisha struggling with her two bags and offered to help her.

As she was leaving, he said, "It was nice meeting you/May I know your name if you don't mind?"

"Nisha ."

"And you stay in..?"

"Adyar ."

"Thanks .for the help.." She drawled and walked off.

"Wouldn't it be nice to marry this guy..?" She knew she would relax her conditions in marriage if it was Raghav .but she brushed off the thought as if she was being stupid

He walked slowly behind her, not wanting to catch up with her and embarrass her.

He then called an auto and reached home.

"Raghav has come…" His dad was reading a newspaper and he seemed happy to see his son.

His mom came out of the kitchen.

"Brush your teeth and have your coffee first " Raghav looked at his mom as if he wished to say something. "Perhaps later ." He thought and walked towards the washroom.

His mom was waiting for him with a steaming hot cup of coffee while he washed his face and came back to where she was standing.

"Ma, I want to say something "

She watched him closely. Now what was he going to say?

"Let's drop this alliance, ma "

"Why?.."

"I am not in a hurry to marry.."

With a puzzling look, his mom stood still.

How would she know he has already met the girl he was supposed to meet today, and she had completely different expectations? He felt he wasn't the right match for Nisha He dreaded the thought of getting rejected by Nisha . She would be in his thoughts forever as his train lover. He did not want to tell Nisha that he was the guy who was supposed to meet her.

He came back to reality as he heard his dad call her parents

"I am sorry my son is not interested in marriage right now and we are not proceeding further .excuse us ."

 

Posted in Love.

1 comment


celebrations galore

hi everyone
once again a year passes by & the other one rings in…. but does it really make a difference to our day to day schedule & routine except for changing of the calendar(waste of stationery… waste of our resourses…which is fast dwindling) changing of the diary…. what difference does it really make … ponder over it…. we humans are a bored lot … bored with our everday chores … to pep up & to bring the energy back in to our systems we search for a way to party hard…we need & find & take every reason available on earth to bring that rejuvenation on to us ….but …. do we care about anything else… like the impact our celebrations may have …..the sound system in any disco is deafening decibles …. my ear drums are still vibrating….the hangover the next day….the amount of crackers hampering the ecobalance ….. we indians are the most intelligent lot on this whole planet …trust me on this …..specially the festivals that we have throughout the year are a way of refreshing the monotonious lifestyle that we lead….this leads to the maximum utilization of our cerebrae when we return to work or college(hangovers apart) ….
so whats the conclusion to all this soul breather…. just give a thought to the important aspects of life whilst enjoying & we might prove to be an example to the rest of the ignorant & snobbish world…….party hard ….. & have a blast….
happy new year to one & all…..

Posted in dil se.

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the onus is on moderate muslims

by arul s

My Dear Muslim friends,

With another thwarted terrorist attack more and more people have started equating Islam with terrorism and one often heard reply from you is “Don’t blame the whole Muslim community or Islam because of some rouge elements”. To add strength to that argument the question that is asked is why Hinduism or for that matter tamilians not blamed for the terrorist activities of LTTE.

The logic seemd perfect and when i posed the same question (FYI, I’m a tamilian and Hindu) to myself i found something that is obvious and that everyone else knows. When your life is in perpetual danger from terrorism its normal for people to get paranoid. There is saying in Tamil which goes like this: “Even one’s own shadow is a ghost if he is scared”. When people constantly hear Muslims names and organizations, it is normal for them to assume every Muslim to be a suspect. So why then Tamilians, Hindus or Christians (IRA) are not blamed as a whole?

Like I said earlier, as people hear more and more about something, they start to suspect everything that is even remotely related to it. LTTE  and IRA  differ from the Muslim terrorist outfits by the fact that their activities are confined to a specific geographical boundary and they never crossed it. Also, they fought for freedom or against repression. The whole world associated their struggle with their cause. But when it comes to Muslim terrorists, the terrorists claim that their cause is Islam and when their cause is religion it is natural that Islam is accused too.

Some of you might think that LTTE crossed their border and killed Rajiv Gandhi, then why not blame Tamilians. One must remember when LTTE killed RG the whole of Tamilnadu disowned LTTE and defeated the DMK because it sympathized with the LTTE. Every tamilian put his nationality before his tamil feeling and thereby sending a message to the whole of India and no other indian suspected a tamilian. Similarly the Sikhs disowned the Khalistan terrorists and now no one blames Sikhs that they are anti-national. Everyone is aware that the harshest critics of the Sangh Parivar are mostly hindus. Even when PLO was fighting against Israel or Taliban were fighting USSR, Islam was never blamed. Only when the same Taliban said that they are fighting for Islam, the religion is blamed.

There is no chance that the terrorists are going to stop this carnage anytime sooner and the only option for the Muslim community is disown them all and send a message to the world that Islam is not at fault. But so far the moderate muslim voices are feeble. Why can’t a Amir Khan raise his voice against the terrorists when he can do the same against Narmada dam. Think of the impact he had on the Narmada issue and the amount of awareness raised. The muslims have more famous personalities in India than has any other minority community. Why can’t   all the famous personalities raise their voices against the terrorist who fight in the name of Islam? The more they are silent, the more the terrorist’s voice is heard and Islam is blamed. If the muslim community wants others to beleive that Isalm is not at fault then the onus is purely on the community and not on others. Also you must understand that this in not a call to prove your patriotism. I have full faith in that, in fact, some of my Muslim friends like Sadath are more patriotic than I could ever be. All I'm asking you is please send a message to the terrorists by disowning them publicly.

 

 

Posted in terrorism, its causes.

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shaadi

hi
today is the 30th of november..i fly to india tomorrow …i am set to be married on the 5th of december…to my darling monali….the excitement has not yet set in…may be will …when i am at mumbai…. but the anxiety surely has set in…with the increasing number of divorce rates around me…specially with people i have know for so long….but i will not let that affect me . …i know 1 thing …as long as i l0ve her…which i always will…i have nothing else to worry about…
the anxiety is with the compatibility … but i hope that my over powering love will make them immaterial to either of us …
long live love
when love thrives …. it makes a better human being of us …..
i need all your good wishes & blessings ..
amigo adios

Posted in dil se.

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the lying lover

by ixedoc

His shift was over: sitting crouched over a screen and keyboard ' trying to figure out what that blessed yankee was drawling over the headphones ' eight hours of hell: that's what being a transcriptionist is. Robotic. Mechanical. Automatons. That's what this career made you ' like spring wound wall clocks. The turnover of employees was phenomenal. Enlist, try, quit. Attrition was heavy in this hi-pressure business. Not many last the odd hours and demanding rigors of work. Yet he' stuck on, for want of anything better. Laid back. Too long had he been unemployed, getting his daily dose of admonishment from dad for not trying hard enough to contribute to personally to the family piggy bank.

 

He had a more compelling reason to stay put: the chicks, boy they were pretty. Flings, dalliances, and flirtations. He liked that fringe benefit. No strings, no bonds ' this alone was worth the time.

 

Phew, move to the elevator ' six floors down and done, for today. The whole of India was on holiday; Raksha bandhan, and he, he had to slog. No off day sir , its nose to the grind working your tail off.

 

Oh ho!!?? who's this dish? This one in hip hugging jeans and tank top standing in the lift. Long brown hair swept across her face and tumbling down ' and look at 'em curves man ' this is the kind Taj Mahal's are built for: Swoosh, the elevator dips ' eight seconds all he had '

Hi!

Hi

New around here?

Been around

Haven't seen you though?

Uh huh

He sized her up ' she was a sizzler all right

 

Both stepped out of the building and just as she was about to turn left ' he asks

 

Going far? (Now for the uninitiated this 'going far' is a sure ice - breaker in Karnataka ' yelli dhoorana?)

Kumarapark East

Ah, just the route I am taking (he lied: understandable), I can drop you

She paused, and he moved for the kill '

Just hold on here, er, er, Sumitra

Sumitra? Hee, hee, my name is Suparna

(round one to Mr. Suave)

 

He ran to the parking lot and zoomed in with his second-hand motorbike

Ooh! A bike? I love bike rides

Hop on Super!

Super?

Super, that's short for Suparna, and er, me Jay

 

Jay zipped her round Cubbon Park and every other park in the city. Stopping over on roadside vendors, for salted jignuts, for roasted corn ' for bhel. They sat down and talked about life, work, and people. That boss of mine, he sure is atavistic

 

Atavistic?

Yeah, ever notice the hair sticking outta his ears? That's a sure sign of his animalistic origins from lower vertebrates ' direct from the chimps, this guy is ' ughs

 

She didn't reply, obviously new around the office ' he had to clue her in on that slave driver '

 

The only thing he needs to complete the image of the ringmaster he is, is a whip.

She hardly talked ' good, he liked them silent types. Less gossip.

 

He leaned over, psst, I have to let you in a secret ' actually the hair-in-ear ringmaster is my dad. He insists I work my way up the ladder ' learn the ropes. Rung by rung, that'll help me the day I take over ' boy, complicated logic I tell'ya, sitting over millions, and I ride this junk to work. Bah! (neat, this straight faced whopper ' he could tell by the way her lips widened and eyes popped, she was impressed)

Round two to Mr. Suave.

 

Dad? You are the CEO's son?? Oh, me God why didn't ya?

Never mind, just forget it he says, waving his hand dismissively, as he chews a blade of grass sprawled on the lawns Lalbhag

Jay?

Yes super

She reaches out to his hand.

Round three, round three to Mr. Suave

 

He feels her delicate fingers work on his palm and wrists ' tickles, this. His eyes are closed as his head faces heavenwards, lying on his back.

 

Here, Jay, this is my gift for you, she says shaking him awake.

 

He stares at his right wrist. Knotted around the lower forearm was a pretty raakhi. Happy raksha bandhan bhaiyya!!
Bhaiyya? Brother, hey Super, what's going?

 

Well, well Jay ' maybe I should explain ' that guy, yeah, the one with hair sticking out of his ears, the one you said was your pop, is my daddy too ' so that makes us brother and sister right?

 

His head swims and he sees stars. One lie too many.

  

K.O. Knock Out.  Kayo. Technical Knock Out. The winner is Super Suparna the only daughter of the CEO, Nova Systems & Solutions, India's leading BPO and medical transcription service provider.

Posted in great stories.

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mujhe pyaar hai UNSE

by ixedoc

The magic isn't there any more.

Magic isn't there? Is that all you have to say?

No, really much more than that. You've become cold, and I know this may devastate and hurt you, I've met this woman in my office who ..

 

Guessed as much, the way you've been playing truant of late ' always finding alibis and excuses for staying over late at work. It had to give, didn't it? The ;lies, the flings, the secretive trysts. Well, maybe I've made the big mistake trusting you with my life. Its time to be adult and sensible about this mess. Lets sort it out like civilized people. Tomorrow, first thing we'll sort this out at the lawyer's. Divorce by mutual consent, that the clause we will file under ' I've already talked it over ' and if we sign jointly on the dotted line, in just one year from the morrow, you are free and so will I be. No exchanges, no washing linen, no money.

 

Right, that about sums up this year long farce we've been enacting. And I must add here, now that you're so organized and methodical about the split ' I hate the perfume you wear. It drives me nuts, crazy. You practically bathe yourself in that stuff. The clothes, the bed, the bathroom and the whole goddamn house reeks of that sick perfume.

 

She looked out through the window, a tear springing in her eye. So that was his parting shat. Not a word of kindness, of remorse ' the unfaithful cad. How much was promised, how little delivered. She waited for him to leave and held her wrists to her nose: she inhaled the fragrance of her favorite scent. It was divine. How can anyone fit for pigsties ever appreciate class? She bit her lip. Someone will have to pay for this, she swore.

 

In fourteen months he married gain. The ravishing raven-haired doll in his office. Honky dory. All tickety boo it was, the honeymoon. Every head turned at every beach in Goa. She had oomph, in oodles. And thank heavens, she wafted in a cloud of a delicate alluring fragrance that lingered and drove him crazy.

 

He walked in home, and felt his feet stumble. His head reeled. Honey, what is that funny smell around here?

What smell?
That one, he says, drawing a deep breath - Like some jaded out of date perfume, a smell that concentrated attar brings?

She laughs, you are parosmic or paranoid or both

No, it is so real he says, crushing her in his arms, never mind. But he was intrigued, he couldn't get that smell out of his system. The sickening fragrance that his former wife wore, day in day out for the twelve months she was his.

 

The same smell he sniffs, the very next week. Call me paranoid darling, he says, but I am sure that's the same fragrance again.

You must consult with an ENT. You need a nose job, he! He!! she laughs, throwing her head back. Boy, she was beautiful.

 

That night he slept fitfully. It was getting to him, the infernal smell was on the pillow, the sheets, the sofa the toilet. Then it follows him, every day. Like some evil spirit the scent haunts: like his ex had cast a hex on her former husband and his home.

 

He leaves for a outstation assignment. He will miss this female. But, he will be relieved of breathing in hell. His home was now awash with smell. The smell he loathed. His work finishes in less than his planned four-day trip. He rushes home ' and sneaks back into his apartment. She loves surprises. He'd haul her off her sofa and carry her to the bedroom ' he clicks the door silently and tiptoes in. He doesn't find her in her usual seat, he nudges the bedroom door ' and stands, his mouth agape.

 

On the bed, tumbling in the silken sheets he sees his wife, wrapped in the throes of passionate embrace ' with his former wife. The couple looks up. The divorced woman looks at him and sniggers, a sneer on her face.

He now knew the source of the omnipresent fragrance.

 

I loved you, you loved her and now she loves me. She is beautiful Jay, too beautiful to be left for exclusive enjoyment of any one man. Funny world isn't it Jay, says his ex, leaning over to stroke her partners tresses.

 

His raven haired wife, props herself on the pillow ' Jay, I'm moving out ' moving over to be with my love, forever and ever. We'll just settle this in a civilized adult way. You know there is this 'divorce by mutual

 

He reels and holds his head, the sickening fragrance filling his lungs ' making him want to choke. As Shakespeare said it, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He felt bobbitized. Castrated. Leaving him for another man, he’d hate that - but for another woman? He clutched his hair and sank into the plush cushion of the sofa, and sobbed.

 

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the other woman

by ixedoc

I felt an elbow nudge into my flank. I jolted awake, and looked at the bedside timepiece ' 3. 35 A.M.

I turned over to see her , and noticed even in the dull glow of the night-lamp, her eyes was wide, and she was fully awake.

 

What did you say her name was?

Who?

That female you were talking to on our way to the market last evening

I don't recollect mention any name- an for God's sake it is three in the night

You did

Did what?

Mention any name?

I did not, any way if it is that important to for you to know it now, it happens to be Sumi

Sumi? I thought you said Sumitra?

Yeah, Sumitra, Sumi, its all the same

Is it? I thought Sumitra becomes Sumi only to the inner circle, I am a woman, I know.

Okay, you know everything. I'll dispose the twenty-two volume Encyclopedia Britannica tomorrow. Wife knows everything.

 

I turned over again, tucking my head inside of the blanket. It was chilly, and I needed some semblance of material cover from this midnight grilling session

I must have snoozed off rapidly, for I felt another jab spur me awake

 

You know her quite intimately don't you Mr. Romeo?

Know who?

That slut Sumitra, your Sumi

 

I switched the main lamp on, and propped myself up on the pillow. Boy! She is erious. And she wants answers now. I knew it was coming, the innuendos, the insinuations, the works.

 

Shameless, that Sumi of yours

Of mine? From when?

You tell me Lothario, from when, how should I now? I just mind this house, rear the kids, cook, scrub, mop, sweep How can she stand there, right beside you squirming and oozing and wriggling like a worm on embers. She has the hots for you, sure about that, this Sumi. Who does she think she is, Simi Grewal?

 

Coming to think of it, that female did act quite coquettish and effervescent. She was all eyes, gestures and mannerisms, and all of them exaggerated too. But hots for me? Not Sumi. She was like this only, dropping her pallu at the drop of a hat, bending low exposing her prized cleavage, giggling at even flat jokes, and even winking wickedly ' not with me, but with everyone else she was with.

 

Oh! She's quite harmless, Nam.

Don't you Nam Pam me? Just stick to my name, Namita.

Right then Mrs. Namita, Goodnight.

 

I leaned over and switched the lights off, and re-sheathed myself in the blanket. I felt her bend over and whisper

 

I'm sorry.

Me too, I’m sorry too

 

Twenty minutes later, I feel the elbow again

 

Now what?

You said sorry too

Yup I did

Sorry for what? Are you guilty of something you should be apologizing for?

 

Come into my parlor said the spider, aha - this one I married was quite a deadly Tarantula. Or maybe a Preying Mantis, the female of which species just decapitates her suitor and makes a meal of him.

 

Sorry I called you Nam instead of Namita.

Hmmm sigh! For a minute I presumed you were sorry for referring to Sumitra as Sumi. Nevermind. Sigh. Goodnight. It is I that has to sweep, swop, scavenge, scrape, scrub….from dawn to dusk——–

Note: I do not know how it is with other couples, but I am certain dialogues such as the one here, are far more frequent, even in happy marriages, than is presumed. There are quite a few Sumitras around. As for Namitas, every wife is one. If you are a married man and say no, you must be newly wed, or lying. Just wait some years more friend. You will feel an elbow dig into your back and

Posted in Relationship.

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The Ideal Woman

by: ixedoc on May 12 2005 12:04PM 

He was always with the best looking dames in the college. He courted and wooed the prettiest only, and they fell for his charms like ninepins. We, the less gifted, envied ' and cussed. He got mail, cards, smelling of anais anais, or bulky envelopes with lipstick marks. And he was forever on the phone, some female or other coochy - cooed with him, all day, all night. Every blessed day of the year. He was a decent chap, with his priorities well slotted. He was good in academics too. A deadly combination of looks and books.

What is your ideal woman? I asked him. Well, she must be smashing good looking, with raven hair, and flawless complexion. She must also be rich, and a sport, and an intelligent companion. She must be well read, and represent everything that's paragon in feminity. That's my ideal woman. Find her, I'll marry her!

Tall order that. I mused. But, if he had his way in life, he would land up with one just like that he desired.

I went my way. He went his. We did meet or write sporadically. Six years after we passed we met up again, some examination work took me for a few days to his city. He was doing okay. He picked me up on a scooter, riding me to his second floor apartment. A sparsely furnished house, no frills, nothing fancy. In a small carton in the porch had two small wriggling puppies. Mongrels. But he looked extremely cheerful. He laughed and cracked jokes. My wife, Shanthi is gone shopping, so we'll wait awhile, she can cook us something, at least she'll give us a good cuppa filter coffee.

We talked about old times, and guffawed loud. A knock on the door interrupted our hilarious conversation. He jumped up from the chair, and fair ran to the door. Hardly opening it, before he yelled out in glee, “Hey Shanthi, you must meet Kumar. Remember I told you about the fellow who was with me in college, who wore long hair, and closed the college for months this is that Kumar and he still has his hair long ha ha ha!

It was then that I saw Shanti. She was dark, squat, and very plain looking. In fact, she was a let down in eyes. Not for this chap. Not this one, she was so, well, er - ordinary.

She flashed a toothy smile, and quickly went up to the cardboard box that housed the two puppies I had seen earlier. She patted their backs, and uttered strange doggie sweet nothings to them as they snoozed. Then she said she'd make something for us, and disappeared into the kitchen. In half an hour, she was serving us hot crispy dosas, the kind you get in fancy restaurants. With divine chutney too. I ate four at one go. Then the steaming coffee, boy, nirvana.

She sat herself down on the table with us, and served her husband with reverence, another dosa, maybe half? They laughed and chatted like friends. I noticed she had a discernable squint too, as she looked at me and asked, some more coffee?

Two hours later, I was leaving. I thanked her for the nice evening. He said he'd drop me. We climbed down the stairs together. Gosh, I forgot the bike keys, he says, as we turn to go up again. He knocks the door, and she opens it, wide eyed and worried. Anything amiss looks. Just my bike keys, he says, going past her as she stands in the doorway. I notice she has red eyes. Crying? I was sure, she was sobbing. In fact I even saw a small part of a wiped out stream of tear. He was back, and we were off.

Just as he dropped me at my hotel lobby, I asked him. Why, why did he end up marrying her? What about his long held ideal woman. The type he was so graphic about.

He looked straight at me. Not, not angry, not him. We were too close for misunderstandings. Did you notice that when we returned for the key, she was wiping out tears.

Yes. I did.

Do you know why she was sobbing.

No.

Well, you see, tomorrow a friend of mine is taking away one of the two puppies you saw in the verandah. They are just crossbreeds. Worthless, belonging to a street-side mongrel. She was crying because they were going. She wept because she loved them. She cared. She, who can cry at the thought of being parted with a three week old unwanted street dog, is the ideal female I searched long and hard for, Kumar. She dotes on me, pampers my appetite, wipes my brow, and presses my tired legs. She stays awake when I'm unwell, she cooks for me, aches for me, yes, she is plump, and dark, and cock-eyed, and middle class. But she can shed real tears for the less privileged, man or dog. Not many women I know can.In her I found my ideal woman.

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The Ideal Woman: Part II

by: ixedoc on May 14 2005 8:35AM in Personal / 1737 Views - Comments 6

It was years later that I heard the background of the story in the last blog. It would not have been needed for me to write about it, but in the light of the comments, some of which made me think deep, I decided, despite my reservations to put the scenario in its entirety. Some readers have read hidden meanings and non existent connections to gender equations. To put the record straight, I myself had know clue on how or why, this guy with 'looks and books' compromised on his own ideal, till some time later.

A car accident left a family devastated. Not only were the victim parents absolutely shaken, they additionally had to grieve for the young recently married daughter in law of theirs. Young, and innocent, what happens to her now? The lot of a widow in India is sad, and doubly so, if she belongs to orthodox communities.

They had come to dote on this large hearted girl, she was all they could wish for as a 'daughter'. Yet, with loss of their son, her future and fate seemed determined. Till, in a move that shook the staid society, the parents of the dead boy, talked matters over among themselves and well wishers first, then they broached the delicate subject with the young 'bangle & bindi-less' girl. Would she marry their second son, and stay back here?

With us, forever?

In a few weeks, a simple ceremony saw the new widow become a new bride, and become the wife of the accident victim's younger brother. The groom, despite a few initial hiccups, took the girl as his own. Today, more than three decades after these events, they stay together as a devoted and loving team. They have raised two children, both now strapping young men with professions of their own.

As I said in my last blog, she wasn't 'beautiful' in the definitive sense of that word ' but she had a divine aura of an eternal 'sumangali'. And aglow too in the reflected radiance, was my friend.

The father of these fine lads, was the very medical college mate of mine, who had once talked about his concepts of beauty, brains, money and erudition as his ideals for the woman he would marry. The girl he married through circumstance and machinations of kismet, was the young widowed wife of his elder brother. No, he did not marry her out of compassion: and certainly, not out of love. But in her, he found both, in ample measure. If she cared to shed a tear for a stray pup that had to be given away, she said she knew of few, who would stop a scooter, midstreet, to pick up two abandoned mongrel puppies and bring them home to be tended.

In these days, when news about bride burning, triple talaaq, and dowry deaths is common place, I felt the need to record the story of the extraordinary courage of the widow, her in laws and my friend, to have stood up together to face life's odds, when the social fabric in small town India was a bit more straight laced, and the mores that society lived by, were a bit more orthodox.

I, probably, am not too adept at presenting the essence and import of the real tale behind the words I write. But bear with me friends, I harbor no prejudice or reservations about women, their looks or their talents. I stand corrected if I have given room for tangential interpretations. They were not intended.

Posted in Love.

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