Bangles

Looking at her hands, Akash asked her, “Why don’t you wear any bangles? If you want I will buy you a few. Do you like glass bangles?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you? The moment I said yes you have started behaving like a nut! I should have known. Why do you want to change me?”Meera said in an angry voice. 

“Oh, you look so pretty when you get angry”, he said and she laughed and walked away. As she was walking away from that favourite meeting place in the college campus, beneath the tamarind tree, she just looked at her thin arms. Why no bangles? Akash had already told her that she was a tomboy, more like man with no qualms about most things that girls would worry about. 

In the evening, Akash was again at the favourite spot beneath the tamarind tree. She thought, now he will call me a manly woman, an amazon and so on. As he came near her, he just waved his hands and she saw that he had red and green glass bangles in his hands. 

“If you are not wearing them, I am going to. A womanly man for a manly woman”. Meera laughed and tried to snatch it away from him. Finally, when she managed to snatch it out of his hands, a few of them had already broken. “Now, I will have to marry you”. Both of them laughed as it was a line from a lovestory that both of them had read together.

Better Tomorrow

Looking at her hands, Akash asked her, “Why don’t you wear any bangles? If you want I will buy you a few. Do you like glass bangles?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you? The moment I said yes you have started behaving like a nut! I should have known. Why do you want to change me?”Meera said in an angry voice. 

“Oh, you look so pretty when you get angry”, he said and she laughed and walked away. As she was walking away from that favourite meeting place in the college campus, beneath the tamarind tree, she just looked at her thin arms. Why no bangles? Akash had already told her that she was a tomboy, more like man with no qualms about most things that girls would worry about. Bangles? 

In the History of the world class, her mind drifted to a memory. It was so clear before her eyes. When she was fifteen, when she was at school, she had gone with her mother to a reputed gold shop in the city. 

It was the first time that she had been inside a gold shop. This much of gold in so many forms, it amazed her. So did the cash counting machine at the counter. Her mother showed her a beautiful pair of bangles among the display items and asked her, “Do you like them?”

 Meera was surprised that it was for her. May be something to do with the fact that she had become a woman recently. Girls were gifted so many things and fed so many things. But being away in the city with not many relatives around, nothing had happened and she had gone to school as usual. 

“Try it on”, the salesman was offering it to her. She put them on and suddenly was dazzled by the beauty of her frail hands with these pretty bangles on. 

“Those look really good on her hands. By the way do you accept credit cards?”?The salesman nodded and her mother was already at the counter signing the bill. “let them remain on her hands, okay”, she told the salesman. Meera was shocked and soon they were out of the shop walking along the busy street. 

Mother was holding Meera’s hand and told her, “Now dear, we have to go and sell this to the shop over there. I have to give some money back to your aunt. I had taken it from her some two months back when I was not well and couldn’t go for work. She has been pestering me for it because her son’s first birthday is this week and she wants to give a big party”. 

“Doesn’t she have any other money with her?”, Meera said. She knew her aunt had lots of money buying clothes every other week, travelling with her children and her house full of guests. Why did she give the money if she wanted it back so soon? 

“See dear, I have just got my salary this month and I have lots of debts to clear. I cannot ask anybody. If I do this gold business, I don’t have to ask anybody, just pay back the bank in installments. It may be a loss financially but not a loss of my self-respect”, mother said. Her whole manner was so serious as if she was talking to an adult and not to a fifteen year old kid hardly aware of anything. 

As they entered the next shop, mother told the shopkeeper quietly, “I want to sell two bangles”. The shopkeeper looked with surprise as she showed the bangles on her daughter’s hands. Glistening, new and lovely. “Are you sure, madam ? They look new and look beautiful on her fair hands”. 

Mother, always to the point and proud just said, “Meera, give them to him”. Now, he went to the gold weighing machine and weighed the bangles, rubbed them against some stone to check the purity and finally said, “Madam, you won’t get bangles like these anywhere. But I cannot give you the full price. Only four thousand rupees for both of them”. 

Meera just looked at her mother. She had seen the bill signed at six thousand and she knew that her mother would be losing a lot of money through this transaction. But her mother was quick and she kept on looking at the bangles on the counter. 

Back home, she could not forget the feel of those shiny bangles against her wrists and how fair and beautiful her wrists had looked all on a sudden. Even her tiny blue veins on her wrists had looked lovely against the shine of those bangles. 

In the evening, her aunt came with her children. Usually she is fun with the children but now she saw them in a different light. All new clothes and gold and rich manners, but no love for her mother who has just recovered from her hysterectomy. She saw her aunt take the money from her mother and she was counting it. “Oh, I was so worried about how to get money for Deepak’s birthday and Chacha was pestering me about the money I had given you”. 

 Mother went on with the talking as if nothing had happened and it irritated Meera that she did not mention how she got the money. Was it not enough that her mother was a widow who lifted the entire burden of her family on her frail shoulders and to listen to all this nonsense. She wanted to make it all right in the future. There has to be a better tomorrow when she can prove it to her aunt and everybody around her that life is not about spending money on clothes or on throwing big parties for people you hardly care about. 

 Meera heard the bell and walked out of the class. Akash was again at the favourite spot beneath the tamarind tree. She thought, now he will call me a manly woman, an amazon and so on. As he came near her, he just waved his hands and she saw that he had red and green glass bangles in his hands. 

“If you are not wearing them, I am going to. A womanly man for a manly woman”. Meera laughed and tried to snatch it away from him. Finally, when she managed to snatch it out of his hands, a few of them had already broken. “Now, I will have to marry you”. Both of them laughed as it was a line from a lovestory that both of them had read together.

Better Tomorrow

In the campus, this seat beneath the tamarind tree is usually unusually crowded. The noises were scary at first, guys singing songs to the girls who walked past them. In some quiet places, you could spot young couples talking as well. But today, being a hartal, there were not many around. She went and sat on the steps beneath the tamarind tree. From where she sat, she could see the canteen and the MA classrooms. 

Third day at college. Already she has made friends with half the class, with the canteen manager and with the co-operative society guy. At hostel, she knew the names of almost all the girls on her floor. She opted for a single room as she wanted to read as much as possible in order to be the writer of her dreams. Having another girl in the same room might lead only to those interminable conversations as she used to have during her eleventh and twelfth classes. 

Her friend from school Anusha was in the same class as hers. Both had opted for BA in English as they both loved reading. But Anusha was quite unlike her. Happy, cheerful and fun. Meera always opted for the hostel as she hated home. Her parents quarrelled from, morning till night and it was very difficult for her to concentrate on studies. She empathised with people all over the world who lived in war zones. They never knew anyday what was going to befall them. 

These were her thoughts as she was sitting in the class when RJK was narrating a particularly interesting question. “For example, you take a lot of things for granted. Like home. Does anybody doubt that when you get back home it won’t be there any longer?” There was a pause as it was a rhetorical question. “No, right?”. Meera suddenly was distracted and she was not able to concentrate for the rest of the time. 

“It was a horror, going back home on weekends, she told Anusha. “It’s like I’m going to face a death sentence or something. When I reach the gate, it’s like I’m dragging myself into it. Monday comes and again the sun shines”. 

Just in front of the hostel, they saw Aparna, the college beauty talking to a tall guy dressed in black. As he turned, Meera was surprised. She had seen him in front of the MA class on the last three days. He smiled. She thought for a second and smiled. “Oh, you have already made friends?” Anusha teased. Then to her surprise, this guy walked towards her and said, “ Did you study at Trinity?”. Even before she could answer, he said, “ I’m Pradeep. I was your brother’s classmate. Now you remember?” Now it became clear to her why this guy had looked familiar. But Pradeep, her brother’s classmate was a geek not the stunner that this guy was.

As she walked away from Anusha, she was thinking. At times the heart is so crazy. During her school days, she was feeling lonely and sad. A stranger in a strange land, she had felt amidst the crowd when she joined her eleventh class at the new school. After the first term, a miracle came in the form of Anusha, whose mother had a transfer and had joined the new school. It was like she was dropped from the sky to be Meera’s companion. 

As she took out her books for reading, she felt a strange feeling. It was the metaphysical question of home that made her upset. When she gets married, she will not fight like this, she made a firm resolution in her mind.

Moving on

All the verbs have gone away
Cook, love, like, forget, forgive-
The million contradictions
To believe or not to believe
To love or not to love
To hate or not to hate
To smile or not to smile
To talk or not to talk

To move on out of this rut
We need a brand new day
Without barriers imposed:
To give birth to fantasies
That relieve even pain
All the million contradictions
Answered by wisdom
And not by rules of others

May be it would have been
Made so simple if instead
Of silence I had asked,
What you wanted from me?
The days have fled fast
Without my verbs to do
And another contradiction
That needs moving on

A Lady of Humour

She is a presence, this lady of honour and humour.

She winks at me and tells me of a prize she offered

To you, who loved me more than anything else.

But you despaired and refused in your naivete,

And tormented yourself with many imaginings

While what we needed was a sacred space.

The world has put wagers on you and me;

But she tells me of a clue in her future tense

And I cackle with laughter over what is lost. 

An era of silence

The candle had burnt for two long years

The prayers countless that passed these lips;

So many scoldings that the ears pained to,

So many thrashings that this body bore.

All without a word of encouragement

A word of love or a word of consolation,

In those days when I was playing with fire

Much against my reason or my own will.

Afterwards the days turned into darkness

The lips stopped moving for miracles

For no molehills forget a mountain,

God was buried in those four walls.

You took away with you God and song

But now it’s all water under the bridge. 

Free Bird

A free bird flies in our blue grey skies

Seeking attention from the denizens;

All ears for tales of laughter and tears

Passing around free observations

He doesn’t sit on any branch too long

For fear that his heart may sing along

The many songs that he listens to

From the maidens whom he does woo

His friend is a bluebird of the skies

Who looks out for his loving jay

Though any day he can fly away

And make his nest in happy boughs.

The blue grey skies are made worth

One of pure devotion; one of mirth. 

Historian

You are a historian because you studied events to make sense of your uneventful life. You lost your father in the travails of war and throughout your life, you searched for the codes and nodes that could offer you a clue as to what you had lost with his death.  You marked the places and went from one end of the earth to the other just to see what your father’s eyes had seen and felt. Now, when you hardly recognise faces or reality, you are a child of three score who searches for meaning out of a lost father’s found letters. 

Broken

You have found each broken piece, 
And fitted them perfectly well, 
But are you sure you've found it all?

The deities of time and space, 
The wise old ones are omniscient
Of dreams that have never breathed.

You are the best dream of all, 
One that makes me smile everyday
In spite of the chains that bind me. 

Jigsaw Puzzle

In a shutter second the world moved;

The skies crashed and you dreamt

While I went on with whatever I was

Imbibed a very precious pinned lesson.

Your dreams taste of a world abandoned

Long ago and far away, a mythical bowl

Of tears and laughter, rain and sunshine

That pulled you back once again.

You and I were part of a whole picture

Two shots taken seconds apart in a crowd

One leaning against another’s shoulder

Home and heart against each other.

There are no trysts or sweet nothings

But two philosophers meet in thoughts.

Home

Once there was a child

Who went home

With a song on his lips

So happy that others

Envied his happiness. 

Once his glance fell on

A girl who dragged her
hated home

Throughout her life

That everyday was a drag

Of feet back home. 

But she made a home

Wherever she was

Full of people to love

Talk and laugh and tease

A real home of love. 

He without knowing all

Went to make a home

In her vacant heart

Has lost his song of joy

And happiness of heart. 

Blue bird

Yesterday, I saw a child

Doing what I want to do

But cannot do and smiled

It caught a bluebird

With its tiny hand

And spoke so easily

The colour code

The colour code scheme of unity
At times the actions and words 
Never match the intentions
And sadly we can agree.

The equal codes of blue we wore
On a day that matched an aim
Always trying to prove better
Than try to work together. 

The colour code of yesterday
The colour code of today
The colour of tomorrow
Will be our shades of nature. 

Sometimes it matches dreams
Sometimes it does not.

  

Pursuit of happiness

The purple riot began
And took root slowly.

Who would've thought
Who would've known

In the rear view mirror
It looks like spring again

It's snowing every morn
And melting by evening.

The beauty that returned
The songs that don't cease

One day sitting nearby
Feeling the full purple riot

The deep desire in your eyes
That sang to me whole night

The hand that almost reached
The purple riot in your heart.

Beauty

Artemis and Athena 
Walked in these corridors; 
Until in your eyes
Aphrodite was wakened.

But all the gods are aware
Of this sea-change
That has brought nothing
But trouble and beauty.

Muse

A muse who made me smile, 
Made me cry, versify
Once again

Darkness

The Sun feels unworthy
To be the source of light; 
What ifs scream in its head.

You could fly and find a star
New, devoid of blemishes
Old scars or its reticence

Yet the Sun falls into darkness
When this daily mirroring
Doesn't happen as imagined.

Move On

You can help me get over you
I can help you get over me
May be that's what is love

Fickle

A wall was built
Between two souls
That loved well.
But if I fly out
Of this maze
Everytime
This happens
What does it
Make me?

Smile

A childhood smile
Mirrored in two faces
In a new season of love

Unreachable

The music of voice 
Once tasted
And made forbidden

Desire of the moth for the star

Night for the morn
Is that what you are?

Apology

Who am I to give you dreams and then spread snow all over them? No one would do that if they are in their right senses. But sometimes, when nothing remains sacred anymore, there is a sense that comes with breaking rules and running away from multitudes.

Now, the words themselves have lost meaning I guess from the time I last uttered them; totally meaningless chatter full of nervous laughter that doesn’t make much sense. May be the Gods are cruel because I am cruel to you; or may be they are not.

Only time is judge as to the torture that I inflict on you by giving dreams one day and spreading it with snow the next day. Words don’t mean much do they, but let me say that I am sorry for all this mess that I make everyday! 

Kingfisher

Closure

On this visit to my hometown, I was reminded of my last visits as I walked across the River Green. The river looked like a huge sheet of dirty green water while in my memory it was always a shiny green.

The last visits were on deaths; I never cried enough though I was carrying a cross and stood brave among the wailing women. But this time, though on a happy occasion, I felt the tears as they tumbled past on my return journey.

What all things I cried for I have no clue, the wasted years in search of a mirage, the lost opportunities, the life of strife and constant unpleasantness. But it gave me clue to a puzzle: that you might become for me a mirage that I will follow to destruction. 

Beauty

It’s a craterly moon

That gets up at night

Puts on some light BB

And steps out for you.

No luminous skin

Just some BB cream

That lasts through

The entire day

With kissable lips

From Maybelline

With dark eyes

From the same

It was a fool heart

That knew no joys

That put on all this

To walk around happy

There was no bloodsign

Of joy and desire

Only a broken heart

But only sore words.

But time healed words

And the moon steps

Bright and clear

For all eyes to see.

It’s just layers of paint

Painstakingly done

From BB, CC and DD

Not what you think

You are late my dear

As always to reach

For a craterly moon

Belongs to the sonne.

Prayer

Can’t still this crying heart

That cries along with an innocent,

One wronged, accidentally,

One who wears his heart on the sleeve.

This heart cries everyday, every moment

For I have sinned against an innocent,

One who hasn’t learnt the ways of the world

One who wears his heart on his sleeve.

For seven long years I have not prayed

Nor moved these lips to silent reverence,

Whatever religion was only for comfort,

Not since I lost love on the way.

A right signal read at the wrong time,

My dear, it was only an accident,

But one that showed a clear heart

Untainted by this world of false love.

Can’t bear to see your broken soul,

Your sad face and lost happiness,

That tortures me day and night, so

I take up my beads to pray once again.

Secret Passions

When I first saw you I thought you looked familiar but I couldn’t place my finger on it. But in time, I remembered that it had something to do with the songs in another time and space, though lost and gone. Your mannerisms could bring back a secret passion for a quiet matter-of-fact friend. Without my knowledge, summer turned to spring and heard a new music from your heart, one that couldn’t understand nor could listen to without being led away from my real world. So turn back, clench my fists and try hard not to let the enemy of temptation enter my fortress. But the world around has not been blind either for there are no secret passions anymore but only hearts that crumble with every smile, real or fake. 

Adorable

You are my reason to smile when all around life has become weary and tired. You worship me like a goddess counting each and every one of my steps on the ground while I rush past through the hustle and bustle of life. But in the toughest of these times, I hold your love like a talisman close to my heart; looking at your innocent ways to make me feel special, loved and cherished. 

ancestors

understanding

Love

I would have become a different person today had it not been for you, with your insistence on the meaning of love. Like a fool, I danced to your many tunes only to find you changed at the end of the journey. Our paths have diverged and we no longer see eye to eye and in the midst of all this, a giant wall has been constructed. You are no longer there for me and am no longer there for you; the end of another true love story.  

Stories

In a way, each story has the same kernel in it- our dreams, hopes and longing all lost and found again- the fire and the smiles and the hopes that love kindles and brings joy.

The stories that we write are not what really happened or events that could really happen. These come from an imagination that loves to wander and see what would have happened if!

Sometimes, it is sunshine and laughter outside; depends on the state of this mercurial soul. The reality looms large taking everything away and sometimes giving blessings unasked for.

Your stories reveal the joy of finding happiness in new things, which are in fact, new ways to name the old likes and loves while I harp on change and about moving on but have stayed in the same year where I stopped learning.

The fire still burns in these kernel stories of love, longing and loss and we have become like straight lines that run along throughout the many lives. 

Mistakes

You are my other; the one who helped me learn about life and my own self. You might have changed shapes, names and faces but you have left an imprint on my soul.

You called me sister and played with me beside the River Green. Then with the passage of time, you became a stranger who loves new faces and new sisters.

You called me love and entangled me in your passions and broke my heart with the ease of throwing away a used paper cup into the dustbin.

You called me mermaid and lured me into a whirlpool of words; only to show how good you were at playing around with words.

You are a lesson, a mistake, may be a chapter that I cannot forget, a face I cannot forget in spite of the years, in spite of all the bitterness and happiness that has filled this soul.

You have taught me how to live, how to be and how to love; the lessons are not bad as you can see for yourself. 

Appendage to Bacon's great aphorism from "Of Studies"

Reading maketh a full man; Conference a ready man; Writing an exact man and Raymonds a complete man

Mentor

When I looked at the Christmas lights that year

It’s your special message that I remembered,

Then I thought of choosing a right gift for you

And couldn’t find anything good enough,

Then on advice from someone I thought wise

I gave you a diary with so many paintings…

Don’t know how you felt about it; free gift

It was but my friend admonished me so much

But I guess it had nothing to do with my gift

That you who were so dear went so far away

So far that you are more like a mirage than real

More like the taste of dreams from childhood.

I called you my mentor when you were around

Now eons later I still wonder if you liked my gift. 

Night Fears

A dark curtain of a night fell from across the river green

With huge trees that looked like demons to a five year old.

Then almost twenty years later they came back as crossroads

And having to face the worst possible mistake in life.

The nights that followed were all full of fears of future,

Till you came with your music and took them all away;

But now that you are also gone, the fears are back

The intense loneliness and the few words once again.

You with your music could sweep all those fears away,

You with your love could erase the fears from the years

Yet you have made the night bleaker and darker,

Wringing away the life that throbbed in these bone cavities.

The nights of unknown fears of future were much better

Than these nights of fearful knowledge of separation. 

The Maddadam Trilogy

Margaret Atwood’s The Maddaddam trilogy that consists of the simultanuels Oryx and Crake (2003), The Year of the Flood and Maddaddam (2013) explore an extremely common device in popular science fiction- an apocalypse triggered by biotechnological and chemical experiments that destroys the rhythm of nature and produces unforeseen disasters and epidemics such as the Waterless Flood. These novels are called simultanuels (as opposed to sequels) as they co-exist and enhance our understanding of the state of life before and after the apocalypse through the eyes of the narrators Snowman, Ren and Toby.

The strides made in biotechnology such as genesplicing help scientists create new species such as wolvogs, liobams and pigeons with human brain tissue added for intelligence. But the product that starts the epidemic known as the Waterless Flood is an over-the-counter medicine known as BlyssPlus Pills, supposed to provide increased sexual satisfaction, protection from sexually transmitted diseases and to prolong youth. Hidden in the BlyssPlus Pills, is a killer virus that will spread like the plague and wipe out entire continents altogether.

When the attacks begin, radio and television stations from across the world report news of the spreading pandemic. But gradually the stations go dead and cities cease to exist. Gradually, a handful of people survive along with the bioengineered Crakers, who are a gentle humanoid species whose skins have natural insect repellants and whose need for animal protein is minimum. Among the survivors are Toby, Ren, Amands, Zeb, Jimmy and other Maddaddamites who are a group of bioterrorists who were bought by Crake in exchange for the protection of their identities.

The narrator of -awaited conclusion to the Maddaddam trilogy is Toby, who belonged to a green cult called God’s Gardeners. She wonders if there is any future for the human generation:

She’s slipping: she ought to write such things down. Keep a daily journal, as she did when she was alone…for generations yet unborn as politicians used to say when they were fishing for extra votes. If there is anyone in the future that is; and if they’ll be able to read; which, come to think of it are two big ifs (Atwood, 136).

The Crakers and the human survivors together create a new set of babies- Kannon, Rhizomes, Jimadam, Pilaren, Medulla and Oblongata, whose characteristics are yet to develop. But the wonder of all wonders is that Blackbeard, a Craker youth learns how to write and records the history of life after the Waterless Flood and the formation of the new hybrid species from humans and Crakers in the form of history.

Atwood uses the trilogy to express her concerns about the environment, the use of artificially created animal protein, the dangers of biotechnological experimentation, the hidden dangers of medical corporations and the relations between the sexes. She concludes on a note of hope through the creation of hybrid babies who will definitely lead life on earth forward in spite of the Waterless Flood. 

Dying Young

It was always there in me, this thought of dying young.

The tales of talented youth dying much before

They found no use for  their eager dreams,

Kindled a desire of blazing out like a forest fire.

The ones who had done so were many to count:

Long before they reached the age of thirty-three,

Jesus, Shelley, Keats and my own writerly father

Who left so many manuscripts and diaries.

Now, in my thirties, I wonder what made them tick,

What went in their bodies or minds to make them sick

And no longer afraid of lightning or busy roads,

Fresh cylinders or changing a light bulb all myself.

Sometimes I think I might die of laughter or heart-attack

From reading twisted truths on my students’ answer sheets.

Future

The life of hopes and ambitions is not the life you live,

From the cradle the baby is taught to dream and hope

But when the dark and light of youth decide to fight,

It is often darkness which wins and leaves one lost.

For the ones who have won and moved ahead of others,

Who do not share the burden of your past sorrows,

Who measure you by their own measures of success,

Your dreams are a reason to poke fun and laugh at you.

While you plod against life gathering the missing pieces,

Often having to start again after losing so many times,

The victory that would have tasted sweet in dreams,

Being like a mirage that eludes only you every time.

Yet some day the dark would give way to the dawn,

And if God wills, it will be an everlasting sunshine.

Natural

May be we learnt this silence from nature,

From dormant volcanoes that do not show

Any signs of life; but explode into rages

And passions, creating new terrains,

Blending with the waters of the ocean.

This love hides itself behind a wave of silence,

That sweeps away everything in its path,

But is natural like the merge of streams,

Like the blossoming of flowers in arid deserts,

And the sight of birds in the morning.

It springs natural, magical, dream-like

On the food of silence and nothing else.

For words have no meaning in this love,

And take away the magic of its silence. 

32

32

You remember dear,

I have reached where you were,

When Humpty-Dumpty broke the wall.

All could be seen for a while was pieces

Of your broken shell that hurt my eyes

And bled my heart for you were gone.

It was a lesson, these long years

To know what you lose in a moment-

A king, his horses and his men. 

Female Quixote

You are in your twenties. You do not know what to do- whether to get married or pursue a promising career that exists in your dreams. You are brilliant; at college known for punctuality and studious hardworking nature. You have clear cut opinions on almost everything under the sun, including your future husband.

Secretly inside you live a person who believes in finding love somewhere quite unexpectedly but you don’t want that person to take control. For some strange reason love eludes you when it hits everyone everywhere: in buses, trains, offices, colleges, libraries, churches, hospitals, everywhere. No, its not that you do not go out but you are very serious about whatever you do. You go for work and keep cordial relationships with your male colleagues, who have a hard time understanding you. You go to church and either pray or sleep. You travel in buses full of guys but keep reading the boards everywhere. You visit the library crowded with handsome guys thrice a week but nothing interests you more than what’s new inside the well-vacuumed and orderly kept library.

Finally, when some guy is interested you are not and you don’t want to be either. You become conscious of all this stuff only when you decide to be good-looking on your cousin’s wedding day. You are no beauty but suddenly people take note of you clad in this strange costume and say: “Oh my God! You look beautiful. We’ll be attending your marriage next. May be I will talk to your mother. There are a few guys that I know.” There is laughter and you cannot help blushing. From uneducated relatives there are questions and sneers meant to make you understand that their hardly educated daughters had two kids and a handsome husband during the same period of time that you were working hard to earn a university degree.

Here you go. Suddenly you feel confused. You have dreams about your life though you do not know which route to pursue. These wise old women prescribe marriage for you as if you have become an old maid, as if marriage is the end of all these problems while you try to think about the whole lot of people who have trouble keeping their marriages intact.

Worse than the old women are your friends: school, college and workplace. They wonder when they can attend your marriage as if that was something they have looking forward to their whole life. Unbelievable. The haughty ones turn docile after marriage and speak in a sweet voice to their hubbies in a voice that makes you want to puke. In front of you they act that their life is so perfect and to have a perfect life what they advise you is to get married to someone they know: Do you know that my hubby has a friend named A, who is very good? He’s not that educated as you but he’ll keep you happy!” “Et tu Brute was not written without a reason.

If you are not a female Quixote, may be you are unbelievably blessed, lucky or born out of time in this strange age!

Nissim Ezekiel's "Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T.S"

Friends,

our dear sister

is departing for foreign

in two three days,

and

we are meeting today

to wish her bon voyage.


You are all knowing, friends,

What sweetness is in Miss Pushpa.

I don't mean only external sweetness

but internal sweetness.

Miss Pushpa is smiling and smiling

even for no reason but simply because

she is feeling.


Miss Pushpa is coming

from very high family.

Her father was renowned advocate

in Bulsar or Surat,

I am not remembering now which place.


Surat? Ah, yes,

once only I stayed in Surat

with family members

of my uncle's very old friend-

his wife was cooking nicely…

that was long time ago.


Coming back to Miss Pushpa

she is most popular lady

with men also and ladies also.


Whenever I asked her to do anything,

she was saying, 'Just now only

I will do it.' That is showing

good spirit. I am always

appreciating the good spirit.


Pushpa Miss is never saying no.

Whatever I or anybody is asking

she is always saying yes,

and today she is going

to improve her prospect

and we are wishing her bon voyage.

Now I ask other speakers to speak

and afterwards Miss Pushpa

will do summing up.


By Nissim Ezekiel