Creative Madness!

  August 1998 - I was gasping. Holding my palm on my chest, I could sense the throbbing of my heart. I caught my breath. I inhaled and exhaled to feel at ease. I had run all the way here, to the telephone booth. I looked at my watch, it was 6.25 p.m. "6.30 p.m. was the set time", I reminded myself. I surveyed the area with a sharp glance, to confirm that there was no acquaintance of mine around. I entered the booth and locked it from inside. I picked up the receiver, dialed the number mechanically, I knew it by heart. The long ring for STD call buzzed. "Hello", I heard the hello and I paused for a second, my heart skipped a beat.Leaning against the booth wall, I gulped and cleared my throat and said, "Hello". May 1998 - It was during this summer vacation, when I was visiting my cousin's place, I had met Ishan. It was my cousin's birthday party. A bunch of cousins had gathered to celebrate in a restaurant. Before cutting the cake, I asked them to wa...

 Dressing up for a party when you have a toddler is perpetually difficult for all mothers. If some moms have nailed this, then I would be obliged to bow down to them, and I would also love to take lessons. And after the mom gets dressed up, she has to carry the baby or toddler to the venue. This creases her saari, or party dress, for sure. However, because everyone in the house (venue) already knows you are a mother of an infant, you are not judged. But when you see the group photographs later, you repent for wasting those precious hours getting ready for the party. Instead, you could've slept more! The worst part is when you are travelling and the baby cries for milk, even though she was well fed before leaving. You reluctantly, to make her quiet, give her the bottle. She stays quiet for sometime, but then the unwanted portion comes out in projectile form, lands on your silk gown, and you suddenly remember there's no back-up dress in your bag. You pull over, wash the residue f...

 "Even if you try it 100 more times the answer would be the same. There are no flames in here, see, it's showing 'E-ENEMY' in blocks, again", said Geeta. And I was scribbling 'Flames' to make a perfect match with him. I knew somewhere deep in my heart that he didn't like me. He never bothered to ask me how I was, nor greeted me with a smile, for that matter. He smirked and smiled, with his other friends, but he was always cautious of his expressions when it came to me. "Stop wasting pages of your notebook Shweta", Geeta flicked my head. I wanted to stop being stupid too. But Iss dil ka kya karun...mei kya karun...mei kya karun! "Why haven't you tried talking to Gaurav? Your 'flames' shows 'A- affection' and that's how things start", I winked at her. Geeta always brushed away Gaurav's topic. But I knew that she liked him. I used to rush to school, bicycling hastily, so that I could reach before Sandeep, th...

 The soft rays of sun were making him close his not-so-open eyes. My mom shifted her chair as the rays shifted their stance. He was in my mom's lap, wrapped loosely in a tender cotton quilt. I watched this scene from the window of my room, in the hospital. There was a lush green lawn outside. The coconut trees planted along the compound wall and other trees besides, kept a part of the lawn always in shade. Mom had placed the chair strategically, so that it wasn't completely in the shade nor in harsh sunlight. Just days young baby not properly wrapped, out, under the sun. My heart would skip a beat. But the doctor had advised to take him out in sun, early in the morning everyday. My baby's blood report was out, on the second day of his birth and we got to know he had jaundice. The bilirubin levels were high. The doctor said that the liver of babies is immature. The liver can't remove bilirubin quickly enough, hence most babies have jaundice when they are born. Moreso, if...

 "You've all come up with fantastic takes on the prompt, ya," I think to myself."Why can't I think of something out of the box?" is my soliloquy. "Ah! This one is similar to her last post. She has just changed a few lines here and there. I could do that too and complete all the challenges," the brooding continues.Hmmm....What's all this chatter about? Well, I am just spilling the beans. 'The Secret Life of Writers'."He has already published his book. Where am I heading?" are questions we keep asking ourselves. When we say don't be judgmental about others, somewhere we keep judging ourselves. We encourage fellow bloggers, we write good things about them in comments, we praise and drop hearts and hugs and kisses. But don't we feel jealous sometimes when we read some amazing stories out there? Having said this, don't assume that when we applaud, it's always fake. We genuinely like writeups that are beautifully pen...

 12th October 1995 - 8:00 A.M.- Tina and me studied for three hours. She had come to my place as usual. The chirping birds in the balcony kept us company throughout, as if encouraging us. We scribbled flames, in between, when we got bored. All the names of boys were matched to all the names of girls. It was so much fun. Then, to relax for a while, we took a round in our garden. And while relaxing adding to our Botany knowledge, we discussed the flowers and some insects for zoology sake. Our small talks keep us cheered and refresh us both, everyday. 12:00 P.M. - Revised important Math formulae, solved the difficult sections from the past papers. I have decided that I will score excellent marks in the term exams, so that I don't have to slog more in the later half for boards. But when you study Math, don't you get hungry? It's like all the energy is sucked by the subject in one go. So it was lunch time now. 3:00 P.M. - After lunch, took a quick nap, 'siesta' is a must...

 I turned the page to read the next entry from my diary of 1995. It was embellished with stars, smiley stickers. I had made some drawings here and there, some butterflies, balloons and flowers in red, pink and blue. Coffee mugs, sandwiches, spooky faces. It was so colourful, vivid and huey that it made my eyesight blur.....wait....or was I teary eyed? 13th October 1995 - 8:00 A.M. - The regular revision with Tina done. Today Tina had got yummy sheera made by her mom for breakfast. I love her mom's cooking. She's a great host, never let's anybody leave her house empty stomach. We both read all the History-Geo chapters while relishing sheera. And thankgod, we finished it before the 'famine-prone region' lesson. That way we are very guilty conscious! Today after completing our studies, our group of friends had decided to meet up. All of us wanted a break from this PL (preparatory leave) and exam pressure. But it's Friday the 13th today! We all joked about having a ...

 15th October 2022 - 8:00 A.M. - It's Saturday and I got up late. We all got up late for that matter and that's how I could make do with it. So, late breakfast, dilly-dallying on a so called holiday. Even if it's holiday for all, I have to cook 3 meals, fold clothes, arrange the scattered books, newspapers, and other silly things lying here and there . 10.30 A.M. - As a sweet surprise, my phone buzzed. And it was Tina at the other end. How elated I was to hear her voice after years. I couldn't recall the last time I had talked to her. We now live in an age of advanced technology, texts, video calls, everything's available at a click of button. Yet we are so busy doing our things that we forget to connect. Tina asked me whether I was free for the day, so we could meet. She's been living in Australia since years now. She was visiting India after many years. I was glad we would be connecting. 12.00 P.M. - I reached the restaurant of the hotel she was staying in. I ...

 There has never been a secret between mom and me. I was vocal enough, since childhood, regarding my problems, my hesitations, silliest of doubts in my mind. And she was approachable enough to babble anything and everything. She never judged, even if my stories were frivolous. She always gave a patient ear to all my chatters. Mom is this one person in front of whom I shed all my inhibitions, comfortably. As I matured, she also started sharing her worries, her uncertainties and insecurities with me. When we discussed something it was 100% sure of being reticent of disclosure. But after my marriage, I don't remember since when Mr.Hubby breached this firewall. He actually bypassed it and all the data packets started entering and exiting the network without much effort. Well, he must've put in some efforts for sure, hacking a fool-proof security isn't easy that way! The phone calls slowly became trunk calls, remember those old times, when the long-distance calls traversed from ...

 If you've been reading my blogs, you all must've known by now, how little I like cooking. My tryst with round rotis, from country maps to geoid to yes, somewhat round shapes, now. Kya aapke toothpaste mei namak hai? Kind of questions asked to me...Kya aapke ghar mei namak jyada aata hai? The food is excessively salty. Oho! Ganne ke khet lagva lo....This kheer is too sweet, exactly how much sugar did you use? From here to now, Yum puranpolis these are!  Mom please don't ask the maid to cook, the prawns you make are awesome!  Everybody loves a little bit of taareef here and there. And from hating to cook to learning to cook, and getting praised for the food I cook, I've come a long way. Let me share with you a funny incident. Well, whether it's funny or something else you all can decide after reading. I was in school and had recently learnt to cook rice and dal in pressure cooker. It's not a rocket science though, the stepwise training is very crucial. If you mis...

 "See I told you the eggs are yellow", said my friend. "Arey no, look carefully they are reddish and have yellow dots", other one said. "Are you colour blind guys? They are white with yellow and red dots. Jao ankhon ke number check kara lo", I said. We, group of building-friends, were all shoving our heads literally inside the nest. The nest was made of leaves stitched together. The tree wasn't very tall, so we could easily peep into the nest. It had cotton and soft grass carefully laid inside, for cushioning the eggs. I hadn't seen such eggs before, they were beautiful. I had only seen regular white eggs of hen that we ate. It became our routine everyday after school, to drop our bags and rush to the tree in our compound to see the development with the eggs, laid by the bird. "I saw the bird flying from the nest today. It was a small bird, size of a sparrow. It was light green with white stomach", my friend told me. "It's the mo...

 For me, the best part of diwali is the shopping and when it's done along with friends, Sone pe suhaaga! Amidst the cleanup drive that goes on in my house, there's this ray of escape from the hullabaloo, the shopping time! Otherwise I am in an avataar, meaning in my old tee and tracks, hair covered with cobweb residues. The black tee turned nearly white with all the dusting and wiping, while the tracks are covered with brown patches from sitting anywhere on the floor or crawling under the bed. But when it's shopping time, I deck up in fresh clothes, with a dash of light makeup and hair blow-dried, big super-shoper bags to the aid and of course purse loaded with cash (or phones with Gpay)....yes all set to go! It's like a ritual for us, my group of friends embark on a shopping spree. I need that energy, which I derive from each of their smiling faces, it's like a prime mover that triggers this expedition. We are ready to hop on a local train or Ola or when available,...

 "Thankyou Madam, iss baar diwali par chiwda, chakali nahi jamne wala tha banane, apne itni saari mithai dedi, abb diwali acche se jayegi", she said and I became dewy-eyed. The smile on my maid's face was a return gift to me, for diwali. It's the small things that give you happiness in life, yes, it's the ultimate truth I believe. The happy faces of people around us are the reasons we take those extra efforts. Thanking the folks who have persistently helped me to navigate through my year, is top most agenda, during diwali. Buying gifts to one and all. Wrapping them in colourful papers, decorating, writing personalised notes...all this makes me glad. The cleaning of every knook and corner of the house, though consumes plenty time, is a lot of trouble, but when the spick and span abode shines brightly on the diwali day, the satisfaction is another level. Decorating entrance and balconies with twinkling tints of light strings, hanging the vibrant 'akashkandil...

 "Please stand straight dear. Why do you always try to pose in some weird stance?", I yelled at my 10 year old. Since he was a baby, he seldom liked being clicked. Well, for his single one's, he smiled or giggled, but for a family pic, he usually is seen crying or rubbing his eyes or looking down, customarily. It was a big task to click a decent picture of four of us, even after he became a toddler. The elder one would gladly pose with a broad smile. But when one said 'Smile please' before clicking, this naughty youngster, without fail would jump, or pose into a dab covering his face or be a superman or spiderman or something or the other. In some photographs, he is literally swinging in air, I am actually holding him by his arms, just to make sure, he is in the frame. Now that he is grown up a little bit, he tries to pose sometimes. But on some instances, he loses his cool just before being clicked and we can clearly see his angry face in all the photographs that...

 She laughed and laughed. It was a cruel, cynical evil laughter. The blood dripping from the knife and his body had made a pool at her feet. Her hands were drenched in that blood. Her face was covered with splashed blood. And her eyes, they had a wicked smile. She threw away the knife, dragged the body with all her might. The blood made stains across the floor, like a path, a road, leading to the hell door, maybe. She stopped to catch her breath, as she panted, she glanced at his face. It was calm like never before. She once more gave a baleful laugh. She was thrilled, she was elated. With pride, she recalled the blissful memory again. How she had set the trap.  She had called him, her husband, saying a woman was at the house asking for him. The woman was insisting that she had to meet him. Puzzled enough the husband had rushed home. As he unlocked the main door, he couldn't find anyone in the living room. He heard voices from the bedroom so he rushed in there. The TV was play...

 Sequel - Evil Epilogue... It was the extreme thing this time. He brought his girlfriend home. They kissed on the couch in the living room, while Shanti stood there watching them. The husband glanced at Shanti, smirked and continued kissing the girl. He slowly moved his hands from her neck to the back, then slowly to her bosom. He was groping her all around while kissing her incessantly. Shanti couldn't bear to see this. She closed her eyes and was about to leave when her husband yelled, "Wait here and watch us make love", he winked at the girl and laughed. Shanti stood there like a statue, no feelings, no emotions, while her husband and the girl undressed themselves and made out in front of her. Her eyes wanted to cry but the tears were already dried. She had been through this for months now. She had cried when he had burnt her wrist with the cigarette butt while covering her mouth tightly with one hand. He didn't let her scream. Her tears could only flow to relieve ...

 The sequel - Bad and bleak... Shanti's escape was only reminiscing about her days back in her village. Nothing was urban there. The rural weather was fragrant and pure. It smelled of cows, sheep and cattle, but was all organic. Shanti, being a girl wasn't admitted in the school. She didn't know how to read and write. But she never felt the need. She was happy helping her mother with household chores. Milking the cows, covering the courtyard with cowdung, drawing rangoli. She loved the aroma of cooked rice and dal. When she removed the hot lid to check if the dal was cooked and got burnt, her mother used to blow at it and immerse her hand in cold water. She felt loved with such small gestures. After finishing her work, she used to run through the golden fields. Swaying her hands and not caring who was watching. She danced under the big banyan tree in their farm. She chased the butterflies on the colourful flowers around. Shanti was a polite and well mannered girl. All the g...

 "OMG, look how fab she looks even post delivery. Her baby is 4 months old and look at her glamorous avtaar!", my friend exclaimed while reading some filmy gossip. I glanced at what she was reading, "Oh! This heroine, yah yah, why not, she has 2 nannies 24/7 round the clock. She neither has to change diapers nor stay awake late into nights. She doesn't have to get up early to cook and clean. I hope atleast she's breastfeeding her baby, else 'formula' also works for them. Also I am sure she doesn't have to  maalish and bathe the baby too. They've people to do all the errands for them ya", I lectured my friend, in an irritated manner. "Cool down darling, what's gotten into you? Are you judging them?", she said, moving her hands lower and lower, gesturing me to calm down. "I am not judging, but what I said, not all of it is false, right? We fall into all those gimmicks and think motherhood is one easy sail through cool waters....

 What should I wear? The most customary question that haunts every woman. And it was our school reunion after, nearly 20 years. So I had to look my best. It's a different high that you get when you are confident among the school friends and classmates, whether it's carrying yourself dignified enough or it's conveying that you've attained a position for yourself. Specially to the ones, you used to compete with. When, I never compromised on my rank in school, how could I compromise on my appearance and presentation to the same set of classmates? So I picked up an elegant dress and accessories to match. And Vollaa! I was ready to go. Driving your own car to the venue is dope on another level. I didn't know the locality so I switched on the maps. The 'Map lady' started with her instructions, in that monotonous voice. And let me tell you, the way this foreign woman pronounces Indian names of roads, it's sometimes hilarious. You've to keep looking down, zo...

 "Hey, hey hold those weapons properly", shouted an elderly man standing behind us in the bus. "Weapons?", in shock, my friend looked here and there. And I pointed towards the drafter and sheet container that were peeping outside her stuffed bag on her back. Covering our mouths we both laughed....and I smiled as I remembered this incident after so many years. Bus travel during engineering days was something like this. Yes, armed with our weapons, 'Drafters', 'Cylindrical containers' to hold the drawing sheets, 'Boiler suits' and what not, we boarded the bus from the stop near our house to the college, practically everyday. Sometimes we had to change buses too. Most of the times it used to be overcrowded. You know how it is in India, there are no automatic closing doors, so the Janta is seen hanging, even outside the doors. Well, most of the buses, the AC ones, now, have the doors though, but during that time, buses were always thronged over i...

 Being happy is a very personal thing; it  has really nothing to do with anyone else. Esther Hicks.  It's a step that we have to take forward on our own. Little things can bring happiness too! We don't have to always win the lottery or score 10/10 or win competitions to be happy. Once we decide in our head and mind, we can be happy in any situation.  Happiness is the one thing we all seek in life, yet it's tough to define!  But Nathaniel Howthorne has beautifully described it.  Happiness is like a butterfly; it is always out of reach when pursued, but if you sit quietly, it may land on you!  We get a chance to live only once, so, as they say, do what makes you happy, and I would add, be with whoever makes you feel so. Do not wait for something to happen; the best time to be happy is always 'NOW'.  Ahh! Am I sounding like some guru or philosopher? Well, I don't mean to. But from life's experiences, good and bad, I have come to the conclusion that s...

 It was heart wrenching, mind boggling, head blasting and what more adjectives do I use to describe this incidence that took place in New York on August 4th, 2022. Mandeep kaur, age 30, committed suicide as she had been violently abused, by her husband Ranjhodbeer, for 8 years. How many such Mandeep kaurs do you know, who are constantly pushed to take such drastic step and end their lives at young age? I am not justifying suicide, absolutely no. But what's their offence you ask? They cannot deliver a son, who would be the heir of the family to carry on the name and status of the clan ahead. Name? Status? At the cost of their daughter-in-laws' lives? What are they talking about? When will these ignorant, heedless species know the science behind reproduction? Do we shout aloud and let them know that giving birth to a girl child doesn't depend on the mother, but, the father! We should have a program, an awareness campaign from the Government itself in all the villages, towns, ...

 Perfect family is a myth.... When the members laugh and giggle, They share the stories of their success and struggle, When kids in the house smile as they play, When, together the family eats and prays...... The elders are given respect, Such family has delightful prospect, Grand kids listen to tales from grandparents, Lullabies are sung, every night, inherent..... Happy faces are seen in imperfect frameworks, Holding onto each other tightly, gains some perks, Mistakes are meant to happen but everyone owns them, Not blaming each other and causing mayhem..... Can you help me? Isn't a strange question to ask, Nor is it inferior to seek help to complete task, Together, is how people are bound, Close knit, is best fit that sounds..... Family gets together for photographs, once in a while, There's chaos to line up and smile, Who stands where? And who sits next to whom, Total mess it is, but a piece of heirloom...... Traditions are carried forward, Sometimes willingly, sometimes awk...

 "Don't let loose your tresses, nazar lagtey lokanchi (there are evil eyes)", my mom always said. I had two thick braids when I was in school. There used to be a tug off war between mom and me every morning, while getting ready for school. "Come here let me oil your hair and tie braids", mom said. And I used to always quarrel with her, "Please mom, no oil, just tie the braids". Then, there was difference of opinion on how the braids have turned out. "No! Not like this, it's turned inward mom", I used to huff and puff. Mom grinned and said, "You'll thank me later". And used to pull my braids jokingly. "See how strong your hair is!", her smiling face made me forget my anguish and bidding a goodbye, I used to peddle my cycle. During the spring, mom used to make gajras (garlands of flowers) of jasmine,  and pin it on my braids. I used to carry one for my class teacher too. The fragrance would fill up the surroundings a...

 I was dressed up, in a blood red ghagra with a sequined golden blouse. Ghagra was embroidered with delicate Resham threads, as delicate as my age. Golden blouse sequences were too sharp, making cuts on my arms if I moved. I tried to voice my discomfort, but it looked so pretty that I refrained.  Densely kohled eyes and winged eyeliner were making my eyes look big and beautiful. My cheeks were pink with blush and shinny with shimmery highlighter. Lips, lusciously red, were made by applying 3–4 layers of lipstick.  Dozens of jasmine gajras were spiralled around my hair bun. The unruly strands of baby hair were held tightly with bobby pins. The weight on my head was getting unwieldy; I couldn't handle it, but I had to stay put.  I had always wanted to be dressed as a bride. I had dreamt a thousand times of getting married to a prince charming. I had fantasised about a picturesque life with my husband, who would work and return home tired, and I would cook for him and l...

  The chilly wintery winds were blowing outside the window. The glass door was tightly shut, so that the chills wouldn't enter the room. Yet, the warmth wasn't enough, I could still feel the cold whiff. The clothes though were snug, weren't that cosy, like I wanted to sense them. I missed them immensely. I missed it terribly, their hug, especially on such frosty nights. How she tucked me inside the blanket which would get warmer with her embrace. The hot chocolate that I had just chugged down would taste sweeter just because he lovingly made me drink, reading out a fairytale. I was merely 5, when I lost my parents. But their memories were vivid. I could imagine their silhouettes around me and try to embrace, hoping to feel the warmth. But all in vain! The warden of the orphanage was loving and caring. But how could an orphanage be your house? I shared my bed with a didi, how could she be like my mother? How would she know to tuck me in? How would she make some hot chocolate...