waves's blog

I stepped out of the car and was greeted by the familiar security guard at the gate. I smiled in greeting and passed by him to swipe my card. The swipe was not recorded and the buzzer beeped angrily. I stepped back puzzled. I then realized it was ages since I had left this place and obviously my card was de-activated. The guard helpfully offered the sign in register and told me I could enter after signing in. “Please get your card re-activated by raising a request”, he suggested the universally known remedy.

I trotted towards the heritage building, which, as the name suggests was the oldest building in the campus…where I had begun my career more than a decade from now. I stepped in gingerly hoping to spot some familiar faces, but found none. As I walked towards the elevator I heard someone exclaim, “Wow! You are back!” I turned around and was glad to be greeted by Naveen’s wide, ready, friendly smile which never failed to reach his eyes! We exchanged pleasantaries and headed towards the cafeteria to chat over a cuppa. “Why don’t you re-join your old lunch group for lunch?”, he asked.

“I don’t suppose there is anyone I know left in the lunch group anymore, other than you”, I said.

“Well, you might not know anyone, but everyone in the new lunch group knows you!”, he winked

“Huh?”, I wondered what had transpired to turn me into a public personality while I was on a sabbatical.

“Well, your blogs…I have made sure you are a household name by publicizing it! By the way, your blog site was down for the past couple of days but it is back up now”

So much for a blog site which I did not even remember I owned for the past 3 years! This blog site which had brought me my share of fame, friends and a medium to let my thoughts flow without having to worry about my identity. A paradise in which I basked in times of gloom. When was the last time I wrote? When did I lose that urge to share my thoughts, my experiences, to peep into other “ilands” , as they were originally called, leave my comments, wait for comments from loved friends… I wondered where all the “ilanders” are…I suppose the bevy of changes that have taken place in my life kept me busy and away from iland. Well, I am back…for good, or for a while, I can’t say. But I just thought I would knock and check if anyone answers…if there are any open arms…any familiar smiles and “wow, you are back!”s. And what better way to enter into the future, than to take a glimpse at the past? So here is a post – a blast from the past- called “Reminiscence”

REMINISCENCE

It was yet another bright and sunny day in college…with girls and guys parading their wares, flaunting what they had and hiding what they didn’t.

The familiar sounds of cat calls and whistles which assured the presence

of pretty young things in slinky little clothes and the omnipresence of seedy Romeos, filled the air. The prettier ones, obviously enjoying the attention but displaying pretended disgust, put on a smirk on their flawless faces and swayed their beautiful hips more violently which caused louder outbursts. The more studious ones or MSOs(read less beautiful) muttered insignificant bickering, more out of envy that they were not the object of attention, than out of anger at the outbursts, stamped their ugly feet and walked off in a huff! Heard them say something about people coming here to study and not to flaunt their beauty and it was due to the skimpily clad females that the world was what it was…but it all sounded like “sour grapes” to the onlooker. The older ones (the teachers, with due apologies for not mentioning the profession) displayed an air of non-chalance…some sighing nostalgically and the others nodding disapprovingly. But nothing could stop the world for these full of life youngsters for whom everyday brought a new breath of fresh air…another day of wearing a new dress, trying a new hairstyle, flaunting a new lip color, trying to woo that pretty/handsome girl/guy with a different gesture…and if time and mind permitted, listen to what was being said in class as a part of academic interests.

I had been a part of this mania too. I had my share of cat calls though the shrillness was less enthusiastic. This was in accordance with the cat call rule. The shrillness and amount of vocal chords that went into the cat calls were directly proportional to the beauty of the target. I had my share of crushes too and the airs of an MSO, sometimes. I had my share of fanfare too…much to my surprise and in one particular instance, my dilemma too.

Let me share this anecdote with all who care to listen –

There was this guy who smoked like a chimney, who looked and smelt like one too, whom I met during the first days of my college life. The meeting was an accident…a tragic one at that, for me, coz he was no better than those ugly, drooling, scheming villains in a c-grade movie, in looks and perhaps in mind too and who later caused me a great deal of  dilemma. For him it was another of those many instances of love at first sight…or so he declared. He talked to me first under the pretext of the usual tradition of ragging the new comers. He was, kind of, gentle than most others, I must admit. More so, because “ragging” always brought a monstrous fear for me, thanks to the description of it provided by the “experienced” who had distorted its very image beyond the limits of our flexed teenage imagination. I remember vaguely that he had asked me to sing after announcing proudly that he was in the 2nd year and that he was my senior which gave him the right to exercise this authority to rag. He had managed to get into the 3rd year when I last saw him and I recently learnt he was still around in the college, as a student, of course.

Getting back to where I had stopped, our meeting seemingly renewed his hopes of finding his lady love!  He declared he was forced to be my fan after he heard me singing and he showed his devotion by following me around the college like a faithful puppy. A smoking puppy, dressed in weird tight clothes (in an effort to show muscles which didn’t exist), pierced ears and black metal chain which looked more like a noose. This wasn’t the kind of attention I had wished for or any girl would wish for for that matter. Anyway, I got it just the same and there wasn’t much I could do about it except put on some airs and remain aloof. I had his friends howling whenever I happened to pass in front of their eyes and I had my own friends teasing the sense out of me. This hero finally mustered courage, a little too soon - a week after the fateful meeting, to profess his undying love for me. The confession was accompanied by a red enveloped card with colorful hearts hand drawn all over it and, which by the silhouette, looked like it was those teeny heart shaped fluttery cards. Don’t ask me what he had managed to  pen on it because I didn’t bother to take a look before I politely refused  to accept it…but with the look on his face I could say he had burnt the midnight oil trying to get the right words on paper. This was followed by more confessions and more desperate attempts to get me to say “yes”. An “yes” for what, my teenage mind never bothered to dig into…but it was known and  understood that an “yes” meant a moony look on your face, his/her name strewn all over your notes, more cards, more flowers, weekend dates, long rides, mushy phone calls, movies, more teasing and lot more “fun” things. It was the “in” thing that you should have “someone”…but this chimney was far from the “someone” I wanted. But that was not his problem or so he thought.

A week later, his friend walked up to me and said accusingly that his friend (our hero) was going to smoke himself to death if I didn’t say the holy “yes”. For all I knew he was enjoying the whole exercise considering chimneys are meant to smoke. I imagined him sitting with a passel of cigars, his dirty t-shirt clinging to his sick body, singing “Teri duniya se…” and smoking away to glory. My face writhed with disgust and words tumbled out before I knew it and I was surprised at my own voice which said, “He could continue being a chimney and smoke all the cigars in the world. I’ll be glad to lend you my week’s pocket money in case you want to buy him a few more boxes. But if this stupid threat continues your dear chimney will find himself in the principal’s chamber. He can smoke himself to death and die on the principal’s desk for all I care!”

His friend shot one piercing look as if I had wrung the chimney’s neck with my dupatta as the noose. He said something incomprehensible and walked off in a huff. Next thing I know, the chimney was saying this to a pretty young thing on the stairs of the admin building - “hum tho aapke aankhon ke fan ban gaye  hain..”, not even noticing that I had just passed by and watched him display his affection to yet another “junior”. I sighed! Another renewal of hope for him, another year of cards and flowers and another year of being a chimney…

I look back to all this with a nostalgic eye. I was disgusted at being wooed by a sick young teenager, a good for nothing bloke but then, come to think of it, I prided narrating the incident to all my friends (of course with a distorted look on my face as if I hated all the things which were happening to me).

I prided being wooed, even if it was by a chimney and we all had a lot of fun at his cost.

I prided getting cards and flowers and the thought that he would be there, waiting for my arrival, watching my every move.

I prided avoiding him too.

Now I know, every girl needs a memory of refusing love…just as much as she needs a memory of saying “yes”… to go back and reminisce in the authority…in the greatness of oneself…in the feeling of being loved and the luxury of not wanting it!!

I held up my favorite white dupatta which had stains of brown and maroon lipstick all over it. It looked as though someone had generously used my lipsticks and then decided that he/she would go without makeup and rubbed it off in a frenzy. I shrieked, "What the hell happened to my dupatta??!", and the hubby was the first to come rushing into the room. Nishu followed quietly behind him. I glared at her, because it obviously couldn't have been my husband's doing(I know for a fact that he is straight).

She looked back at me calmly and smiled, "I was only trying to wipe clean the lipstick"

I knew it, "So you were trying on my lipstick, even after warning you they aren't good for you?", I asked, angrily.

"No amma. I only let Candy wear it because she had her school day today".

Candy is er Nishu's daughter. Or so she believes.

For the rest of the world, Candy is a life sized doll - one of those dolls with ridiculously long hands and legs, soft orange hair, neatly plaited and peeping out of a rabbit eared cap and an incredibly cute face(rather, "she" had a cute face the last time I saw her, I was yet to see her state after the "make-up"). Dads and moms of daughters will know what I am talking about. Daughters have their own world of toys which come to life and have lunches/dinners with each other, fight and sulk and miraculously make up, get all decked up to go to parties and sleep with their make up on(simply because it can't be taken off). Nishu has such a world of her own too ' a huge family actually ' Candy, Polo, Scotty, Casper, Hearty reddy,  Asha papu, Dimple, Gappu, Betty, Sabrina, Sonia, Ruchi, Deewana(she has a fascination for that word for some reason), Chinnu, Nemo, Barbie I just hope I haven't missed out on anyone. She doesn't take it too lightly if members of a family aren't given a mention. There are atleast two members of the family who sleep with us every night(they take turns) and if its an overweight member, the hubby  is forced to the other room, for lack of space.

Coming back to the dupatta, I knew there was a huge story behind the stains.

"So?", I demanded, hand on my hips.

She was not the one to be intimidated, "I had to wipe your lipsticks dry, so I used it"

"You had to wipe them dry? Why did they get wet in the first place?".

"Yeah, I washed them", she smiled and looked as if she expected some praise for her act of "cleanliness". She didn't see anything materializing.

I continued to stare at her and she was kind enough to explain.

"Amma ", she raised her little hand a bit as a gesture of explaination, "Candy refused to wear brown and she refused to wear maroon. So I had to mix both of them", she said matter-of-factly. The circumference of my eyes which had gone round in shock already, increased. She continued, obliviously, "In the process, I interchanged the lids of the lipstick, but closed them while they were still sticking out"(people who have used lipsticks would know what I am talking abt. If you don't, please ask someone who does), She paused for effect. The dismal look on my face satisfied her, "But you don't worry. I cleared the mess by packing them in and washing both of them. They are clean now, but you have a new coloured lipstick, and that too, two tubes!", she said triumphantly.

I sat down on the bed, looking helpless and defeated. Maybe I should learn how to make a fashion statement with double hued lipsticks and stained dupattas, what with a natural fashion designer at home!

PS: You should see Candy to believe what a disastrous make-up session can do to a pretty doll.

He looked up furtively from his plate and lowered his glance again when I caught him looking at me. I knew he was tensed.

"Rohan, I thought you brought me here to talk. Its been nearly 30 mins since we came in here and the only thing you've uttered is the dinner order that you placed!", I said.

He ran his fingers through the stubborn tuft of hair that fell on his forehead ' an act I found irresistibly adorable. The hair fell back disobediently on his forehead again. He licked his lips and bit his lower lip ' something which he always did when he was nervous.

"Actually, I ", he began and looked at me and I saw an okay-its time-to-blurt-out-the-truth look on his face and stiffened

"I've found someone", he blurted out, rather hastily

"You what?", I asked wondering if I had heard him right

"You heard me I've found someone", he said, more confident this time, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

I leaned back slowly on my chair, a little baffled

"Who who is she?", I managed to whisper, still unable to let the news sink in.

"I met her in Kerala", he replied, watching my reactions with a careful eye, "last year"

I looked up suddenly and he knew what I was thinking. He had made "business trips" to Kerala about twice every month over the last one year.

"Yeah the business trips were to ", he began, reading my mind and I held up my hand to stop him from saying anything further

"A year, Rohan ", I felt a lump in my throat

He grabbed my hands and pulled them over the table and held them over his cheeks ' a gesture he knew always soothed me

"I know I've hurt you I should've told you "

"Never mind", I snapped and pulled my hands away

"You are upset, I know it", he said, a little upset himself

I tried hard to hold my tears back, but his downtrodden face hurt me further.

We were silent for a long while.

"Shall we order dessert", he broke the silence finally and I nodded, pensively.

"Fruit salad without icecream?", he asked

"With icecream. I am in a mood to celebrate", I said and grinned mischeavously.

His eyes lighted up instantly.

"When do I get to meet her?, I asked leaning forward.

He sprang up from his chair, rushed up to me and hugged me tight, amidst curious glances from the neighbouring tables.

"Oh you are such a sweetheart and I am so so sorry I kept this news from you for so long!!", he gushed and kissed my forehead and I returned the kiss.

"May I call her and tell her the good news?", he asked fishing out his cell phone

"You may, but right here in front of me. I want to watch you blush", I winked.

He laughed as he dialed her number and I watched him.

"Tiya? Guess what??", he spoke excitedly into the phone and looked at me. I could hear a soft squeal, "what is it??"

"Mummy agreed!!", he said and smiled the cutest smile I've ever seen in this whole wide world! J

I land on the familiar iland that I have known so well, after what seems to be ages. I am hesitant. Would I be recognized? Would I even be noticed? Was I missed? Did anyone notice that I had gone? I am sure they would have. Some might have even tried to trace me. I had my reasons for having disappeared without a trace, but I feel a pang of guilt for doing so. I feel like a prodigal blogger who is back on her iland looking for a familiar comment, a familiar co-blogger, a familiar iland where she could rest and have a cosy chat.  

I run past my own iland to look for footprints. There are loads of familiar ones, some new ones, some young hesitant ones, some scattered, some deep ones, some have just grazed past, some have stood a while and watched, some have searched, some have dwelled on to appreciate the beauty of my iland, some seemed to have come in to seek some attention and some seemed to have learned something to take back home.

They all touched my heart and I felt a sense of belonging.  I remembered all those days when I was new to this iland and all I was bothered about was the number of comments I received on my blogs. Gradually, the iland transformed into a virtual home and its dwellers my virtual family. It was here that I discovered new shades of me. A Bold, unscathed, humourous and sometimes even cynic ME.  The number of comments did not matter any more(or maybe it did :D), but the opinions of a few selected readers certainly did and I would wait for them at length. The quality of my blogs began to matter. My fellow ilanders and their lives mattered. At one point of time in my life, the iland was an integral part of my day and I could never begin one without visiting some of my favourite bloggers' sites.

Then life took over and pulled me away from my favourite pastime. I don't want to dwell too hard on where it was that I went or what it was that I did during my absence, but I must admit I am glad to be back. There were a lot of turns and twists in my life over the past months. So many that I guess I can declare I have come a full circle! But its great to be alive, as usual(hey that's just a figurative statement don't mean to say that my life was in danger! J). So, ilanders, me back though I have no idea if I would ever be noticed!

Knock..knock Anyone there? Remember me?

Lets share some silence today

A few silent words

Which share our thoughts

A few unsung songs

Which create a melody

A few untouched caresses

Which warm our hugs

A few heart beats

A few sly smiles

A few loving glances

All of which silently say…

“I love you”

I finished my homework and ran out to join my friends who had already finished two rounds of hopscotch. Amma had dressed up, as usual, for the evening and was chatting with Malini aunty, our next door neighbour. She looked very pretty in her simple green cotton saree, neatly plaited long hair and a round maroon bindi. She called out to me as I ran past her and insisted that I get my hair combed and plaited before I left for play. I frowned because I knew the hair-combing ritual always lasted about 20 mins. Amma offered to tell me a story and my face lit up with joy. Amma was an expert story teller and my friends and I eagerly gathered around her, as she oiled, combed and plaited my hair and narrated stories of rajas and ranis and rakshasas amidst gasps, giggles and bated breaths. Appa would come home before twilight and would spend the evening sipping coffee and munching fried poha or puffed rice, on the porch, chatting with amma. A picture perfect family

The loud honk from the car behind me brought me back from my reverie and I saw that the traffic signal had changed to green. I started my car and looked at my watch ' it was 8:30 pm. I was late again and would have to face the wrath of the baby sitter. Avinash hadn't been able to pick up my 2 year old daughter from the cr'che since he had had to stay back at office for a late night video conference with his clients. I screeched to a halt in front of the cr'che and the baby-sitter was already waiting outside to handover my almost asleep little one to me. I picked her up and she gave me a drowsy hug. I pushed back her silky soft shampooed hair and she looked heavenly with those drooping eyelids. My heart filled with an inexplicable feeling of love and sadness I had this sudden urge to take her to the park, to watch her squeal and play with other children but it was too late she had fallen asleep

I heard the lock unturn and Avinash's footsteps. I squinted at the bedside clock and saw that it was 12:00 midnight. I woke up to check if he needed something

"Had dinner?", I asked and he nodded looking extremely tired. He changed to his nightclothes and stretched himself on the sofa. I wished I could talk to him, sip a cup of coffee with him and watch the sunset with him but it was too late

Amma smoothed my hair and gave me a peck and whispered that it was time for me to wake up. It was 7:00 in the morning and I woke up and stretched myself and smiled at my mom.  She looked and smelt fresh and smiled back at me as she parted the curtains to let the sunlight in. I saw appa entering home after his morning walk and stopping to talk to Ramoorthy uncle. We all sat at the breakfast table at 8 in the morning and amma brought in heavenly smelling dosas, chutney and potato curry.

"Chew your food, don't gobble it up. There is still time, I will drop you to school", said appa, while mom brought in a steaming cup of coffee for appa and a glass of milk for me. How much I enjoyed those breakfasts!

"Sahana its getting late!", barked Avinash, as I tried to force some toast into an unrelenting Bilwa's mouth. I finally gave up and packed the leftover breakfast into a box and hurried out to put her in the car to be dropped at the day care. Avinash drove away even before I could blow a kiss. I wished I could cook something more than just toast I wished I could get Bilwa to eat something healthier but it was too late

I looked at the watch and realized I had just 10 more minutes to leave for work and rushed inside, but stopped in my tracks stopped to wonder

I wondered why time always got past us or why we were trying to catch it in the first place. Where did that leisurely pace of life when moms had the time to dress up and dads had the time to chat disappear? Why were our mornings filled with chaos and evenings filled with things still undone? What made us these automated morons who went by life as if each day were our last? Why were we in such a dashing hurry, that we couldn't even stop by to gather our senses and ask ourselves where we were going? And at what cost?

I stood there for a long time very much aware that I would be late for my meeting at work. I picked up my cell phone and dialed ' "Hi Sarathi, Sahana here I wouldn't be able to make it to work today. Actually, I don't think I will be able to make it for another month or so (pause) no er actually yes it IS a serious matter. I just realized I have spent too much time racing against time and I need to spend some time to earn back the time that I've lost trying to catch it No, I am not out of my mind. I just ran out of time and I am trying to buy it back again. See ya in another month or perhaps never! Bye!!".

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, and smiled. It felt heavenly to have the time…to breathe, to close my eyes to SMILE!

I rushed inside, this time with a spring in my step. It was time for Bilwa to get back home, to enjoy some breakfast, to play hopscotch, to get her hair oiled and combed It was time for me to watch her grow. And this time, time wouldn't get away!

Well, I am one of those who wear their hearts on their sleeves. And when one does that, there are plenty of interesting incidents to narrate. And mishaps too. And crushes. And the crashes that follow. Most of you might know about my first crush that crashed. This blog is about one other crush. This can't be described as something that crashed because I knew it was a crush from day one. My understanding is that a crush crashes only when you don't know it's a crush and believe its love and then it crashes and then you know it's a crush. But when you know it's a crush right from the beginning well, it can't crash.  Makes sense? No? Never mind. Not important.

Now, where was I? Ahh yeah, was flaunting my sleeve. Er the heart on the sleeve.

It was the day I was supposed to be introduced to my mentor, 3 months after I joined work and had completed my induction programme and various other trainings. The mentor was supposed to well mentor me until I ramped up to a stage where I could handle things on my own at work. I had butterflies in my tummy because it was my first project, in my first job after college.

I walked to the conference room where the meeting was supposed to be held and knocked. My manager gestured through the glass opening and I walked in and took a chair. The introductions began and I was introduced to the other 3 people in the room. One of them was the mentor ' Varun. I liked the name instantly. I looked across the table and I liked the owner of the name too! He was cute, I declared(to myself). They all talked about scripts, libraries, switches and SNMP. I heard bits and pieces of what was being said and spent more time watching my mentor speak.

 He was of medium height, moderately built, had a thick mop of neatly combed curly hair which formed a neat frame around his rather small but chisselled face He was  fair and had that freshly scrubbed look which makes you want to smell him er I mean, you know, just smell the air around him. He looked at me once in a while and smiled occasionally and I noticed the dimple on his cheek. I smiled back displaying my own(as if he would notice!)

The meeting lasted 80 mins and by the end of it I was convinced I had a crush on him. Well, this was nothing new to me. It was that phase of my life where I had a crush a week. Make that 2. Infact there was once a time when I had 8 crushes simultaneously. I had to choose whom to dream about in the night. And it can get pretty annoying after a hard day's work when you just want to crash into bed and dream of someone and you  are presented with the task of having to choose!

I still remember all my crushes and am "loyal" to all of them! My heart still flutters at the thought and in case of Varun, it flutters a few flaps more because he has those "first"s associated with him ' my first mentor at my work place.

But then, I wonder

I wonder if he knows that I spent half my time watching him while he mentored me.

I wonder if he knows that I spent most of my lunch hour discussing him with my friends

I wonder if he knows that I hacked into his home directory and dug out his resume to find out his birthday, to figure out how old he was!

I wonder if he knows that I had fished out those tiny spinz perfumes and sprayed it on, when I knew he would come to my cube to explain a piece of code.

I wonder if he knows that my heart skipped a beat when he said I was looking very pretty at a friend's wedding.

I wonder if he knows how disappointed I was when he didn't answer the doorbell for 5 full mins when I visited his house for the first(and the last) time, to give him my wedding card. (yes, I was engaged when I met him. But when the solidarity of a marriage and motherhood hasn't stopped me from having crushes, still, could we have expected a fragile engagement to?)

I wonder if he knows how ecstatic I was when he finally DID answer the door, looking groggy, unkept and incredibly cute!

I wonder if he knows how much I treasure those few moments that I spent with him in that huge apartment of his when he made me a cup of tea, when I stepped into his room and glanced through the books that he owned, when we just sat across a table  and spoke with me being very aware of the fact that we were alone, and he being totally oblivious to my feelings! It was strange, and now that I look back, kinda funny! J

I wonder if he knows that I went green with envy when he said he adored Sonali Bendre!

I wonder if he knows that I read every word of Jiddu Krishnamurthi's book, though I didn't understand a word of it, just because he liked it!

I wonder if he knows that I am grown up enough to make these confessions. Maybe it's the age. Maybe its life or maybe its just the fact that I wanted him to know..

I wonder if I'll ever get him to read this!

I come to you when there’s no one around
but I can haunt you even when there’s everyone around
If you are happy, I can’t touch you
If you are sad, I can break you

You shun me, you curse me
you break away from me
go to the movies or get friends together
or go out on a hike and say I don’t bother

But I would come back
when there’s no one around
and I can even haunt
when there;s everyone around

A friend or a foe
Tell me where i belong
i bring in tears
and memories of days bygone

When someone comes along
from you I move away
Stay at a distance
and wait to get in the way

For i come only
when there’s no one around
but I can haunt you
when there’s everyone around

unless you stay with someone
you can’t stay away from me
unless you like your own company
you can’t hide from me

Who am I?

"How much did you pay for the coriander?", squinted acchi, as she peered into the coins that Guru, my cousin, had handed over to her.

"Let me give you the full account. You will never let me rest in peace, otherwise", frowned Guru.

"You better do that", retorted Acchi.

Guru drew a deep breath. He knew he had no escape. I smiled behind the newspaper.

"Ok, here goes ' Okra ' 12 rupees, tomatoes ' 6.50, spinach ' 10, peas ' 20, chillies ' 2, coriander ' 2.50, ginger ' 3 rupees so I guess that makes it 57.50", he read out from a little piece of paper which was apparently given to him by the vegetable vendor

"How? That makes it Rs. 56", answered Achhi calmly and Guru blinked at her.

I was stumped too! That was mighty quick and she didn't even have the list with her. Nor a calculator, for that matter.

"And you have given me 12.50 here. I thought I gave you Rs70. Where is the rest 1.50?", achhi peered into Guru's face still frowning. She was dangerously close to his face and Guru backed away, "Er then I think the chillies are for Rs 3 ", he blurted

"So its still 50 paise short", said achhi.

"Acchi, come on, now are you going to hold me on ransom for 50 paise??"

"Its not a question of 50 paise young man. Do you know how tough it is to earn that?", acchi admonished and Guru squirmed uncomfortably trying to work out the best possible way to avoid a discourse on how much 50 paise was worth.

I realized he was knocking on my newspaper a second later and peered over it.

"Do you have a 50 paise coin?? This smart lady is not going to let me go otherwise. I will need to take that vendor to task for cheating me of my 1.50  later on", he said between clenched teeth.

"He he so you realize the worth of 50 paise now, eh, young man?", I replied smilingly and handed him a coin.

"you are an angel!", he said and rushed to Achhi to hand it over to her before she had a chance to make him whine with guilt.

Achhi was still muttering under her breath for she apparently had not taken too lightly the possibility that Guru would have "cheated" her if she hadn't been "on her guard".

That was achhi for you 85 years old and she had a memory that would force any elephant to shameful tears. She knew the multiplication table of 19 backwards a feat which I was never able to achieve even after a professional degree. I don't think any of my friends or cousins did either! And to think she had studied upto her 4^th standard!

If only I wonder if she has ever wondered what her life would have been if only it was not what it was now

I watched her as I put my newspaper away she was bent in half and always walked around that way, standing up only when she needed something from the top shelves. She was so thin, it looked as though her skin was wrapped around her bones without a layer of flesh in between. Her skin was so wrinkled it looked like the ripples caused on a calm lake disturbed by several pieces of stones. She didn't need glasses even while she read out of a book with letters of the font size 6 and she still had most of her teeth intact.

I wondered what she looked like when she was younger it was hard to imagine. It was even harder to imagine the life she had led and I shuddered to think about it. She was my grandmother's elder sister and granny had told me her story I can't even call it heart wrenching because its even beyond that a life heartlessly left to rot, to say the least. A brilliant student, she was forced to drop out of school to get married when she was 8. She lost her husband an year later, even before she had had a chance to have a decent talk with him, considering she wasn't allowed to stay at her in-laws' until she "came of age". I still wonder what the point was of getting her married then! Widowed at an age when she didn't even know what it meant, she led a life of rejection, suffering and placid acceptance. She lived with her brother, who is also my uncle.

"Do you want some coffee, Deepu?", I shook out of my reverie and found her peering into my face with a little cup of steaming hot coffee.

I looked into her eyes which looked almost dead in wide, dark, wrinkled, hollow sockets how many dreams had they held and how did she manage to kill them all? How many tears had they held? How many hopes had they nurtured before they were rudely, forcefully shut off from having any more hopes? How many sleepless, lonely  nights had they seen? Had they lit up once upon a time when she had seen the colours of life? Was there any light at all in those little blinking eyes which were reduced to a set of white and grey devices now? They always remained expressionless now except for the time when they filled with affection when she held and rocked little babies in her arms. She had been a part of many child births in the family, considering my aunt had 4 children and my grandma had had 8. She would be the first to offer help whenever there was any childbirth in the family and she would take to any child instantly, as if they were her very own, rejoice in their successes and be a part of their every grief.. It was as though she was trying to make up for the fact that she would never mother a child herself.

"Acchi", I said, accepting the cup of coffee which smelled heavenly as always, "why didn't you get married after your husband died?"

"What??" her eyes opened so wide I feared they might drop out of their sockets. I was glad in a way that they were still capable of evoking expressions.

I smiled and her expression softened and she laughed it away, as though it was a big joke. "I am serious acchi you were just about 9 when you were widowed! I mean, you hadn't even slept with your husband (she clapped her hand on her mouth and looked even more shocked) er, I mean, it wasn't even a marriage if you ask me"

"Oh god the things that you girls speak these days!! I would have been hanged if I had so much as imagined such things in my days!", she kept shaking her head as though shaking away the thought lest it malign her self. She seemed too shocked to be able to say anything else.

"hmmm..ok but you could have atleast gone to school, continued your studies I am sure you would have made a very good student, achhi".

This softened her a bit, as she sat down to grate the coconut for chutney. She was quiet for a bit, as if recovering from her previous shock. I thought she hadn't heard me or maybe chose not to answer because of the anger I had just evoked, before she sighed and said, waving her hand in dismissal, "I wish that too I wish I were lucky as you all and was allowed to go to school I even wanted to pursue my singing my own father was a music teacher(Granny had told me that acchi was an excellent singer, though she couldn't sing anymore because of her asthma), but well ", she sighed again and began grating the coconuts with more vigour and left me to imagine how she had crumpled each of her little and big dreams and watched them being crushed under the large feet of destiny. That was probably as far as acchi had gotten in complaining about life. How had she felt when her sister- my grandma - had gotten married and moved to her husband's place? How had she felt when her brothers got married too and brought their brides home? How had she felt when she had lost her parents and wondered who would take care of her? How had she felt when her brothers and sisters had babies and graduated from being spouses to parents, while all that was left to her was the tag of a "widow"? Whom did she complain to? How helpless had she felt?

My eyes filled with tears as I watched her go about her chores as if the conversation hadn't happened at all. She had even lost the capability of remembering her childhood dreams. They were probably like distant flashes of memories which vanished even before she could replay them in her mind.

 I walked towards her and hugged her and she looked at me blankly for a second and then her eyes filled with affection the same eyes that I had seen when she would cuddle me when I was a little kid. The same eyes that I had seen which had filled with joy when she saw me draw my first rangoli and when I had told her that I had topped my class and when I had held up my appointment letter

She hugged me back for a brief moment and then gently pushed me away, as if she didn't want her passive life to be disturbed with an extra dose of affection.

Its been 5 years today since she breathed her last, but I still remember her warmth and the eyes that had seen everything, yet not the things that she probably would have liked to see.