Magic Wand

Screen Shot 2017-07-30 at 3.10.54 PM

screen-shot-2017-02-14-at-12-26-08-am

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Give me a magic wand and I will make the unwilling time, dance under my tune. I would protect you forever.‘ Says that mom, who lovingly carries her baby in her snug womb, under the threat of a premature delivery, hoping for a full term. 

‘Give me a magic wand and I will make time pass by, so slowly!’  Laments that Also-Ran runner, who misses the winning spot by a whisker! By a teeny tiny, Millie Second!

Can I rewind Time? May I have such a magic wand please?‘ pleads that office girl, who misses her 8:13 shuttle by mere two steps and thus, her much awaited promotion.

Prod that relative, who has everything but time…Who has only those few months to live and who somehow, hopes to be forever alive! Wouldn’t he want a magic wand, just to prolong his time and settle his accounts – Debts of favors and loans of charity ?

Surely that father, who stares wistfully at his silent phone, showing pictures of his moppets who have grown wings and long gone, does wish for a wand, to make a long gone yesterday, a forever today!

Query that mother who waits for her son, who has gone in search of greener pastures, promising to be back in six months but years have passed by. Wouldn’t she want the wand, to change the status quo?

Some would want  the scalpel of a skillful doctor, to be their magic wand, which might restore their bygone looks. Some would wish for a flatter midriff and some, a tour of the world. Most would settle for food on their plate, a roof on their heads and threads in their cupboards. Some intrepid amongst us, would want to leave their footprints, on the sands of time.

We all want our magic wand.  What would I do, if I had a Magic wand?

Time goes by so quickly, like sand..So, I would relive my fond memories that I hold onto very dearly, that keep me warm and hopeful, on a wintry day.  Also, I would make sure, my family is happy and healthy. I would beseech the wand, to have His guiding hand on us.

The rest, will fall into place, anyways.

 

A dream to remember

 

IMG_20151110_175053

screen-shot-2017-02-14-at-12-26-08-am

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Author’s note :  It is actually surreal that this week’s Write Over the Weekend (WOW) prompt, asks us to tell BlogAdda, about a dream that has stayed on, in our subconsciousness. A dream to remember, that often makes us sit up and wonder about it’s mysteriousness. I had this dream about a year back.  I wrote this note to self, all about it, lest I forget the dream, with passage of time.

I reproduce the same  here-

It was one of the most difficult cars to navigate. A mother-of-pearl-white, gigantic Ambassador. That too for a person like me, who did not know how to drive! Against my volition, I was just thrust into the driver’s seat and asked to drive…Just like that!

The controls were all wired terribly wrong. A bus-like gear system, clutch else where, an accelerator in place of a brake and adding to this chaos was the incessant traffic. Enough to break a person.

To my utter delight, I coped beautifully. I drove slowly, avoided collisions and managed to park in a beautiful, lush green colony with happy faces and gamboling children.

Alas, the dark night came in sharply. It was time to head back. The evening traffic and T intersection seemed impossible to overcome.  I then realized with a start, that I was in the rear passenger seat.

A pristine-white clad man with the most benevolent smile, was in the driver’s seat. He navigated with dexterity and cautioned me about an open door in the front, next to the passenger seat, where my first born was sitting.  As I sat transfixed, able to comprehend the gravity of the situation but simply unable to take any action, the pristine-white clad man shut the door for me and continued cruising along.

I saw that there was a steering wheel, clutch, accelerator, brake, in front of me, attached to the driver’s seat.  I tried to use them, to no avail. As the dream ended, the meaning of this entire sequence, hit me with a startling clarity.

All along, I had thought, it was I, who did the driving but all I had, were the dummy controls!

It was all along He!  And Him alone, who steered, navigated the course of my life and who watched out for me!!

Especially when the troubles hit me, making me paralyzed with fear.

So I could hope to soar, with renewed spirit and vigor, with a strong belief that I wasn’t alone in this journey of life!

 

Last Day in the City

Screen Shot 2017-07-15 at 8.47.17 AM

You could call me Sita, Jahnavi or Vaidehi but the narrative remains the same!

It was my last day in the city of Ayodhya.

Raghav had asked me to leave, knowing fully well that I was carrying his progeny. How easily had his manhood been threatened! By mere hearsay!!

This incomprehensible diktat, broke my faith, my spirit. As my husband, wasn’t he duty bound to protect his five months old pregnant wife? Raghav reckoned that his duty as the king, to be more important than his duty as a husband. By doing so, he might have been eternally deified as the ideal flag bearer of dharma, or as someone who exemplified and taught detachment to his citizens. But was he now, the ideal or coveted life partner?

His need to sustain his thus far unblemished reputation was greater than my needs. Didn’t he realize that by choosing so, he had pierced my tender heart?

Or was it my fault, that my attachment to him, gave him the raw power to hurt my soul?

How many times was I required to prove my purity, my chastity? Probably, as many times as the number of his subjects!

As I sat watching the helpers pack, I couldn’t even cry. The hot scalding anger, refused to flow out as comforting tears. They could pack my clothes, my jewellery. Could they pack in my reminiscences too?

Or my youth spent in the shadow of the epitome of human virtues? My unwavering belief in my man? My eternal love, in spite of it all?

My bravery, my vulnerability, my dreams, my fears or my hopes?

Why didn’t words of anger spew out, questioning the skewed justice of it all?

Why didn’t anyone feel that they owed me an answer, at the very least? Why this abject all-around acceptance of this harshness? They all simply averted their eyes and went about their business. Closing your eyes or your senses to the injustice meted out, didn’t quite make it disappear!

Why couldn’t I say, when I was served my sentence and pronounced guilty, “Raghav, May I be allowed to ask you the same question? Can you honestly promise me that, you didn’t think about another paramour, even for a second?

Those searing questions stayed put, buried deep inside and all I was left, was this gnawing ache. Was that due to the conditioning of generations of us – ‘the so-called fairer sex’? To accept and to endure, without any questions asked? Did I do myself any favor by staying silent?

I am tired, and I am fed up. I don’t want to fight anymore.

Still, something deep inside me cried – I couldn’t give up now. I had to keep on fighting. This fight was not about ME alone. It was about, what is right and what constitutes as fairness!

As I looked around my palatial quarters, the gilded cage of righteousness, I heard some of the staff wondering, if I could cope with the harsh jungles. Especially in my present condition. Would those be more constricting than these opulent, uncaring walls?

Soon, it was time to go. I searched for the same affection that I carried in my heart, in Raghav’s eyes. I barely found any.

I then surveyed around, took a deep breath in, filled my senses with my fragrant memories and walked out with my head held high, to embrace the unknown newness with open arms and innate dignity.

Because, sometimes, walking away from injustice is also ensuring justice to self.

I exhaled.

I lived again.

To write another enthralling chapter!

And that, would be my story!

Author’s note : Narrative changes often due to changing social mores. Only when faced with adversity does one find strength to move on. If she had found the strength to question, the story would have been different across generations.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

screen-shot-2017-02-14-at-12-26-08-am

On a Rainy Day

screen-shot-2017-02-14-at-12-26-08-amThis post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Screen Shot 2017-07-08 at 10.57.58 AM

Once, during a rainy day, my dad had this irresistible urge to eat an ice-cream. That too Nirula’s hot chocolate fudge! Mom, as is usual, thought this was way beyond silly. That too, at his age! That made my dad all the more determined to have that delectable ice-cream.
So, just to have peace, I took out his red Maruti ( Non-AC) and bundled us into the car. As we opened the windows to keep the heat out, we got drenched. Mom, now was game for some hot beverage.

As luck would have it, Nirulas had shut for maintenance. Dad’s face had become small and he refused to share the umbrella with mom as we walked back to our car. Tiny droplets of rain began to trickle down his mustache and an almighty argument started between the two.
As the dark clouds threatened to unload, the dulcet voice of Lata began to fill the air. “Lag ja gale ki Phir ye..” The song was playing on the rickety radio set of the chai-wala across the road. Dad and mom fell silent for a second to savor the song.
Mom suddenly walked across the road and muttered something to the chai-wala, who then looked at dad and smiled broadly. Dad, unable to contain his curiosity, joined them, albeit unwillingly. The chai-wala then shut the radio off, much to the irritation of dad.
Mom handed dad, a piping hot cup of chai and sang the same beautiful number.
“Lag ja gale ki Phir ye..”
And Dad? He smiled broadly, twirled his mustache, touched her wet ringlets and gave a peck on mom’s red cheeks. Chai tasted better too.
I am yet to see more romance packed in a singular moment.