Pavan – My Bro

We, as a family, are currently undergoing a little rough weather as far as health parameters go. Mom had to undergo an emergency corrective surgery while my sister-in-law stares at a terrible situation where, in this immediate year, both her parents may…My brave Sister-in-law has been in India, tending to her ailing parents while Bro has been gallantly been managing his home and office, single-handedly.

So far he has been doing splendidly.

He has learnt to braid the daughter’s hair 😀 by looking at the youtube videos.

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He has managed to set the curd 😀 My bro hates the very smell of Dahi but for the sake of the apple of his eye, learnt the Nuske to make sure the curd doesn’t curdle. He can now cut and cook Bhendi, and fry Aloo to a crisp nicety. He has rustled up Methi Aloo, Dal, Schezwan Tofu with Sriracha sauce.  Dinner is a fantastic one-pot affair.

In a nutshell, Bro manages home, picks and drops his kids and also attends to office affairs, from home, while the kids splendidly horse around. Laundry is sorted.

Just as we denounce bad behavior by an uncaring spouse, when a man stands by his woman and steps in, it is also time to heap praises.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going!

Pavan – My Bro! Extremely proud of the great work you are doing now.

God bless you Sis-in-law.

Keep walking Tall!


Padmavati – The Queen tells her story

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Take a break, read something nice and enjoy a whole new world of literature!‘ Thus exhorts @Readomania.

I did so and read ‘Padmavati – The queen tells her own story‘.

This epic tale has been superlatively penned by Sutapa Basu, who has a thirty-year old professional career as a teacher, editor,  author, poet and publishing consultant. Sutapa Basu describes herself to be a compulsive bookworm and an irrepressible story teller.

Most of us have read this story in our childhood. When so much is known, yet unknown about Padmavati, how far can a spinner stretch the same, within the fettering limitations? That too, without letting the readers’ interest sag? Sutapa Basu manages this difficult feat, adroitly.  Her infinite writing experience, comes to the fore, in making this literary outing, a tour de force. The tale is peppered with intricate details. With its vivid imagery, the setting almost becomes a fourth protagonist along with the loving king and husband Rawal Rattan Singh and the depraved Khilji.

For example: ‘An oval emerald, snugly nestling in tiers of frothy white lace, floated in the crushed silk of turquoise seas. It was the enchanted island of Singhaldweep, off the eastern coast of Bharatdesh.’

‘The fort of Chittor was laid out on its escarpments. Roughly oval in shape, it looked like a fat fish.’

The sensitivity with which Jauhar has been handled, gives the reader, an ample hint of what to expect.

In the centre of all the chaos, only one figure remained serene and motionless. As the gold, saffron and blue blaze made rings around her, rising higher and higher, slowly enclosing the New Queen, she was like a sculpture, absolutely still. Nothing seemed to touch her; not the torment, not the grief, not the fear. It defied all principles of logic. Where did a girl find such strength, not garnered even by the meditation of ascetics, to tolerate the torture of being burnt alive? Her dark silhouette, in lotus pose, palms folded, was a sublime sight.

Though Sutapa says her novel is a work of fiction,  Padmavati’s psyche has been explored so deeply, that she breathes out as a gentle and thoughtful soul.

We live in troubled times, where anything and everything could be termed as offensive and an affront to dignity. That’s why it makes more sense to read this, where the writer stretches at her creative horizons and yet remains true to the saga, adding a veneer of intellect, blended with divine grace to Padmavati.

Therein lies the beauty of this tale.

As Sutapa Basu says,

‘The jauhar took hardly a few minutes to extinguish Padmavati’s living mortality but gifted her with indelible immortality; a significant niche in the history of India. Time could not dim her charisma nor age wither her stunning beauty. For centuries to come, the supreme sacrifice of this legendary Queen of Chittor would attain a place of undying pride and honour in the hearts of all her country’s people.’

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The tale is narrated to Mrinalini, a cynical journalist who doesn’t believe the stirring saga – Will she come away convinced?

This question forms the crux of this absorbing tale. 

Wouldn’t you want to do the same? Find the Answers?

A Blessing in Disguise

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

“You will have to do this for me Rupa! For the sake of our friendship! You know, I consider you, more of a friend than my cousin, right? Moreover, I cannot trust anyone with this. I haven’t told any about Raj. You know, how conservative everyone around here, is!

“Still, Simi Didi, asking me to go and tell your boy-friend that you have moved on and are getting engaged today to a hotshot NRI, is a bit too much to ask of me. Why can’t you do it? Call him, break the news and cut. Then clean up your digital footprints.”

“Arre Rupa! It is not that easy. Raj can be very clingy. He is an emotional sorts. He might even come home and create ruckus. You know then, what tsunamis will be unleashed. And I kind of like this hotshot NRI. I will have a much better life in LA. Then I will find someone for you too. For that to happen, the old ties have to be broken. Please help me Rupa.”

“I don’t need any of your matchmaking skills. Where should I go? And how does he look? Show me, his pics at least, Simi didi!”

“Arrey, I just cleaned my phone.”

“What about FB/SnapChat/Viber”

“Uffo! So much cleaning! Forget all that, I will show you on fb, before I unfriend and block him. Please make sure he is OK, na. Don’t want him to hurt too much. We are supposed to meet today, at the Starbucks, in Mega Mall, at 6:30, in the corner booth. Today is Friday right? He will be in Red. Tall, wavy hair, well built..”

“That is most of the men folk Simi didi. Show his pics!”

The bedroom door opened and Mother burst in, cooing excitedly.

“Simi! The groom’s party is here!”

“Already Mom?”

“Their Pundit told the Boy’s Mom that the auspicious hour will be over in the next ten minutes. Thank God, you are ready” Mother then grabbed Simi and marched out, while Simi gesticulated to Rupa wildly, to go and do the deed!

Rupa sighed wearily and walked out.


She soon found the corner booth, with its occupant. Wonder of wonders, reading a book! With his mobile on silent, savoring his coffee, in a Red Polo. Rupa took a deep breath and found her courage.



Words gushed out of Rupa’s shapely mouth, in a breathtaking pace. The man in question, looked at her stupefied, which Rupa mistook to be stricken.

He then gesticulated for her to sit. This time Rupa, took her own time,  conveying the grave news, all over again, all the while, patting Raj’s hand, giving comfort. Over cups of coffee, they talked.


Raj never told Rupa, that he had been sent, by the original Raj, to convey the news to Simi. That the Original Raj had found his golden girl who was loaded. And that the original Raj was getting engaged that very same day.

The Duplicate Raj had found Rupa so enchanting, that truth got a quiet burial. He simply confessed, he was a different Raj.

What a blessing in disguise, that mistaken identity turned out to be!

Today it is their tenth anniversary. They are the ideal couple, who fill in each other’s sentences and worlds.



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

“Life is like a box of chocolates, we never know what you’re gonna get.” So said Forrest Gump’s mom.

Is it really?

Life is a bouquet of flowers for the romantic, a multi colored fragrance 

Life is a classroom for the teacher where lessons are given and exams taken.

Life is a crossroad for the policeman where incoming and outgoing traffic need to be regulated

Life is a hospital for the doctor where sugarcoated bitter pills are given smilingly

Life is an empty canvas for the painter, to be filled with his riotous colors.

Life is a puzzle for the angelic child, trying to fit all her pieces in.

Life is a nonstop race for the mother, acing at all her trials

And for me, Life is a…I’m just a mere bystander and a floater, soaking in the atmosphere.

Here today, Gone Tomorrow!

Love Lives on

A dashing young captain meets a beautiful young lady in one of the Army get together’s, falls head long in torrid love. The young girl reciprocates. The stuff of movies!

They face the usual parental opposition -The girl is cast in 24 carat gold but caste is different – After heavy Bollywoodian drama, they tie the knot with all round albeit reluctant blessings.
The infantry captain gets posted all across India – Kashmir, Arunachal Pradesh, Ladakh, Siachen. Wherever possible, the new bride follows him. Life is a breeze, when you are in love! Nothing is insurmountable!! In due course of time, they become doting parents of a bonny boy.
After a while, they set up home in Delhi.

The by now Colonel, goes for a Sunday Golf Session with his buddies, sets the ball on the Tee, just bundles up and faints. Friends rush him to the Army hospital where his ECG and pulse are found to be normal. The attending doctors give an aspirin for his throbbing headache and ask him to go home as all the vital-stats seem to be fine. The wife begs for a CAT Scan, in fact, gives it in writing. Sunday Stupor I guess, overruling her, they send him home saying ,” He is sitting, so he is fine!”.
He goes home and has a massive seizure in the afternoon and collapses, never to recover. They rush him to the same hospital where he is put on a ventilator. He is already brain dead but rest of the organs are working fine. They try to revive him with industrial level steroids & machines.

After the sixth day, the devoted wife is asked to do the needful..

Switch Off the Ventilator as there is no chance of her husband reviving..
In those utter grief-filled moments, she thinks of ways to make her love live on..
5 simultaneous operations are done – to give his heart to a man on the death bed, his kidneys to a 13-year-old girl and a sailor, pancreas to someone else, and so on..
The Colonel is given a full ceremonial send off. The grieving widow picks up the threads of her life, wins a landmark judgment against the hospital, gets into her hobby full time, making it a lucrative venture and brings up her only son, to be dashing, empathetic young man.
This is a real life story. The lady in question, was my muse for one of my short stories..
I salute this brave heart, on this organ donation day.

Never Too Late

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

She sat on the bed caressing his pressed, crisp uniform, wiping away the non-existent tears. The tears had dried up but the searing, gnawing, ache remained like a permanent cloak, sapping all her energy and zest.

‘Is it already a year? Wasn’t it only yesterday, that the moment the informer had called, he wore his uniform and ran to attend the call of duty, promising to finish his favourite meal later, when he returned successful?’

He never kept to his promise. A definite first!

Only a dreaded call ensued, a casket clad in the Tricolor arrived  and a swarm of grieving people descended into her empty home.

‘He embraced death to give us a second chance at life’, they held her and shed copious tears as he was given the ceremonial send off.

The number of visitors reduced to a trickle as the cruel time marched ahead and she was left alone, tending to her permanent sores.

Public memory is ephemeral. If this were to be the harsh reality where everybody had moved on, while only her world had been devastated, why did he take this step? Not one remembered his sacrifice and yet he never shirked his duty. Did he even think about her or the repercussions, in his last minutes at least?

Why didn’t he leave the call of duty to others?

As the dark evening set in, the phone rang.

“Namaste Maam, we are having a service tomorrow in the memory of your brave husband. The very reason, we live…Could you please come?”

She smiled for the first time in the day.

They had remembered. It wasn’t all in vain.  It is never too late to remember your martyrs or to salute them.

She cuddled the uniform once again, feeling his warmth envelop all over her. She didn’t feel lonely now!

When you live for others…You live on…For ever


Independence Day

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

As Mother India mulls – 

I am 70 today, Old, hopefully still gold!
Going by the number of invokes,
I’m a much-loved ethos in a billion hearts!

When a child soars or when this nation roars as Mithali scores,
When a Varnika fights her stalker and the angered stand by her,
When a farmer in Bhatinda, smiles at his ready to reap wheat,
When a cabdriver drops a damsel home safe,
When a mother tends to someone’s precious, as her own,
When someone’s earthy rhetoric, sets many souls on fire,
When the diaspora is more Desi than the native-born,

You can be certain that, it was ME, who touched their hearts!

As I creak under the weight of promises unfulfilled,
As I choke with the unbearable stench of human disgrace, violation and abuse,
As I ache at the injustice, affront and monstrosity

I remember that I wasn’t given much chance.
I was written off much before I exhaled.
Yet here I’m, still standing, with all my glaring imperfections and glowing accomplishments.

Agreed, I’m still a Work-in-Progress, at a sprightly Seventy!
The growing ‘Citizen-Activism’ against the widening schisms, gives me hope.
Where I go from here, is up to the hearts that hold me dear!  

Whether they buckle under or soar together triumphantly,
Will be the saga of Tricolor, henceforth”

There are many reasons to love our country. An essence called ‘Unity in diversity‘, binds us together.  Multiple religions, languages, cultures, cuisines, make India, a throbbing, pulsating, vibrant potpourri. It’s hardworking and Jugadoo Youngistan, is a treasure. These make my heart swell with pride, whenever I think of my country!

Vande Mataram