"Zoya" called her mom hurriedly to check if she was ready to leave to meet the Khannas for their monthly dinner meets. As Zoya reluctantly combed her hair, she sulked at the thought of meeting them, mainly because she never really liked visiting "family friends" with her parents. For one, they weren’t really her friends so it was quite boring listening to her parents catching up with one another in rather high-pitched excited voices. Sometimes, she would get company of her age and even though they wouldn’t get along really well, she would still manage playing in a new neighbourhood, passing the time decently well rather than listening to her parent's talk. But then, that wasnt the case this time. The Khanna’s offsprings were way too older than her and had migrated to different cities for their studies. The only attraction in the house was their computer, but then she had a terrible experience last time around when she had asked curiously if she could play on it and was instead made to see hundreds of photos of their son and his wife and some unknown relatives of theirs.
More than anything else, she disliked how there was always that proud moment of boasting from all the elder ones about their kids and as a result, she, along with other kids, was made to dance or sing or exhibit one of their talents. Throughout the drive, she prepared herself to be suddenly made to dance on mera piya ghar aaya, the famous Madhuri Dixit song she had danced on her annual day. The day she had performed the dance for the first time in front of her mother, she knew, she would be doing it countless number of times in the time to come. But this time luck favoured her heart’s wish and before she could’ve been forced to dance, the power went off. In that moment of darkness, she excused herself for an escape outside to get her favourite Uncle Chipps.
While climbing back the stairs with her packet of Uncle Chipps in hand, she ran into another Uncle. She didnt really know him, but following the Indian tradition guidelines of what a person with a particular age gap was to be called by the younger one, he fell into the category of Uncle. As she passed him, he turned to her and asked inquisitively, “Beta, does Pooja study in your class?” knowing well that there might surely be a Pooja in every class, its being such a common name. Being just seven, she was not really alert to beware of such traps and so she nodded. The trick worked for him once again. Moving closer he said, “Tell her that Satish Uncle has shifted to Alok Nagar now. I’ve lost her number and am not able to contact her or her parents and inform them about the change.”
Thinking there was nothing to lose in passing on the information she nodded and was about to go when she was startled by the realisation that the uncle had blocked the way and to her discomfort was laying his hands in places he shouldnt have, stroking her in a nasty way which felt very unpleasant. She was too shaken to even realise what was happening. When the partial understanding occurred to her, she tried pushing him away but the more she tried, the closer he seemed to get. Years later, she was reminded of this incident when she first read Newton's Law of Motion that stated every action had an equal and opposite reaction. After a bit of Zoya's struggle and fulfillment of the man's lecherous pedophilic desires, he released her and disappeared, leaving her cluelessly sore and embittered. She didnt know what exactly she felt against the stranger, about whom she know nothing more than that his name was Satish Uncle. She was unable to place a target where she could direct her hatred, her contempt. She contemplated telling her parents about it but then was clueless what she had to complain if at all she resorted to speaking out the issue to them. What good can they do, what action can they take against a certain Satish Uncle. She bitterly wanted to punish him for reasons unknown to her for she still didnt have a complete understanding of what had happened. All she knew was that she felt humiliated and insecure. Her defenseless susceptibility pushed the incident into a silent corner which noone knew of. She resolved that the only way she could harm Satish Uncle was by not telling Pooja his changed address. She pacified her agony by gauging it similar to letting him feel the desperate need to do something too and not find ways of doing so. But she still felt incomplete in her defence by targetting a stranger tagged by the name of Satish Uncle because she knew it didnt really make much of a difference to him. Very soon, she found a way of venting out her disdainful odium. When asked guilelessly, unaware of the severity of the question, by her friends whom did she hate the most, she knew the answer right away. With conviction she vehemently replied, “Pooja Sinha.” Ever since, she never talked to Pooja, ever.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Warm Wintry Walk
Two months ago, I could have given anything to have had proper cold winters in exchange for the perennial summers of Mumbai. But now that I was facing the harsh cold winds of Chandigarh, I longed the humid summers back. It was an everyday battle for me against my hibernal tendencies to get my feet out of the warm quilt, which warmed up only after hours of snuggling tight inside. Everyday, I felt my feet becoming numb as soon as it touched the astonishingly chilled floor-tiles which managed to penetrate the cold inside my toes even through a layer of warm woolen socks. It was a heartless assault by the cold as it invaded into the unwelcomed territories of warmth and spread its dread throughout, making me as stiff as a robot. Of the many sacrifices in order to get accustomed to the ruthlessness of the winter, I had even given up my daily routine of taking baths to only twice a week for my convenience’s sake. I had even shifted to using mustard oil for my hair as I realized that the coconut oil I usually applied used to get “frozen” into tiny white dandruff-like looking particles on my head; an ugly site that it was, it gave tough competition to the gloomy derelict streets of my locality.
The gloom had made me such a crybaby who whined all day long about how big a pain it was. But all my troubles and strife seemed insignificant when I saw the glowing magic that Rhea was, the one who made facing all the ruthlessness worth staying in Chandigarh, the only respite. And I particularly thanked the winters for at least one thing: making her all-the-more cuter and cuddlier as she hopped around in what seemed like innumerable layers of clothing, her inflated version giving an impression of a stuffed toy brought to life! It was even more heart-warming to see a slight shade of pink gush round her cheeks as soon as she saw me. Everyday she would rush to me and touch my cheeks with her extra-cold hands which could run shivers down my body even on a summery day.
Today, it was after the office got over I started with my usual complaints about this weather making me slow and lethargic, Rhea suddenly gave an idea of going for a long and taxing night stroll that could generate some amount of heat. I didn’t come as a surprise to me as I was used to such spontaneous ideas of insanity from her. To take her mind off the thought as lightly as possible I passed it off as a joke and commented, “Are we not already exercising on auto-mode by shivering 24X7? It doesn’t seem to generate energy.”
Persistent as she always is, she was difficult to be deferred. She insisted by saying, “Oh come on you lazy-loner! How ridiculous an idea that is. If we walk fast enough, we might be breathless and sweaty even in this temperature. It is still better to exercise rigorously for an hour and be warm than exercising, as you say, by shivering 24X7! Plus, we get to spend more time with each other that way.”
That was a caution-alert. By experience, I now knew enough that if I refused the walk now, it could stir up a quarrel with her saying that I never like spending time with her. So I was left with no option but go for a walk with her on the streets which people had deserted and declared too harsh to be acclimatized to.
And there I was, two hours later, as promised walking down those streets with a someone whose presence made the empty streets full of life and made me wish for no one else. After walking for more than 40minutes, I became comfortable with the dropping temperature and actually started enjoying the rather delightful walk with her because otherwise I was never really comfortable walking on crowded streets with this eye-catching person. It felt as if the whole street, whole city was ours and that winters had wonderfully given us the ownership and privacy from distant onlookers as the brume set in and made visibility unclear. The night drew its curtains for us from unwanted viewers sitting cozily within warm walls and covered their windows with frost.
With no-one in sight, she came close to me and let out a small breath which immediately became a small envelope of white fog between us. As soon as the haze disappeared, she whispered, “Catch my breath” and slowly breathed out a crispy layer of fog. I was puzzled for a moment and it took me a while to understand what she meant. I quickly tried inhaling the white layer of air which was slowly disappearing. She smiled and said softly, “See, you took my breath away!” I was amazed at how beautifully she had turned a simple phenomenon of condensation of moisture into something so unexpectedly romantic. I held my breath for as long as possible, letting it mingle with the warmth of her breath and letting the beautiful feeling sink in. I think she was holding her breath too and waiting for my reaction but I was too befuddled to say anything. I hurriedly managed to say, "Love is in the air". She smiled. We were so close that I felt like kissing her right away but for some reason was hesitant and millions of excuses ran in my mind. The lamest and yet the strongest one was that my lips were so chapped, she may feel that her lips had brushed against an old bark of a tree. And as if she had read my mind, she said, “Your lips seem so chapped and dry. You know whenever my lips crack, I tend to peel off the dry skin. Don’t you ever do it?”
I was amazed at how she was able to come up with such a platonic topic of conversation when we were so close that my adrenaline had no control. I felt embarrassed for thinking on those lines while she was so innocently suggesting me home-remedies for dry lips. I also entertained the thought that maybe I was too late in reacting to her previous attempt of affection that she got embarrassed and switched to this topic. I was too lost in such trifling thoughts that I didn’t notice that she now stood tip-toed and had pushed my shoulder down. Gently her lips touched mine and before I could kiss her back, she peeled the dry skin off my lips. I felt like a warm gauze of acceptance was put over a neglected wound of insecurity as her moist lips gave a new life to the chapped ones. The night didn’t seem cold anymore, there was warmth of love flowing within me. As I walked back, the same abandoned streets with mist-covered window panes seemed to have a reason for the desertion. I couldn’t help but wonder whether this harsh appearance of cold was just a cover for something far more loving. I guess nature answered my question right away, the night seemed to be celebrating the love for there were snowflakes all along the way.
The gloom had made me such a crybaby who whined all day long about how big a pain it was. But all my troubles and strife seemed insignificant when I saw the glowing magic that Rhea was, the one who made facing all the ruthlessness worth staying in Chandigarh, the only respite. And I particularly thanked the winters for at least one thing: making her all-the-more cuter and cuddlier as she hopped around in what seemed like innumerable layers of clothing, her inflated version giving an impression of a stuffed toy brought to life! It was even more heart-warming to see a slight shade of pink gush round her cheeks as soon as she saw me. Everyday she would rush to me and touch my cheeks with her extra-cold hands which could run shivers down my body even on a summery day.
Today, it was after the office got over I started with my usual complaints about this weather making me slow and lethargic, Rhea suddenly gave an idea of going for a long and taxing night stroll that could generate some amount of heat. I didn’t come as a surprise to me as I was used to such spontaneous ideas of insanity from her. To take her mind off the thought as lightly as possible I passed it off as a joke and commented, “Are we not already exercising on auto-mode by shivering 24X7? It doesn’t seem to generate energy.”
Persistent as she always is, she was difficult to be deferred. She insisted by saying, “Oh come on you lazy-loner! How ridiculous an idea that is. If we walk fast enough, we might be breathless and sweaty even in this temperature. It is still better to exercise rigorously for an hour and be warm than exercising, as you say, by shivering 24X7! Plus, we get to spend more time with each other that way.”
That was a caution-alert. By experience, I now knew enough that if I refused the walk now, it could stir up a quarrel with her saying that I never like spending time with her. So I was left with no option but go for a walk with her on the streets which people had deserted and declared too harsh to be acclimatized to.
And there I was, two hours later, as promised walking down those streets with a someone whose presence made the empty streets full of life and made me wish for no one else. After walking for more than 40minutes, I became comfortable with the dropping temperature and actually started enjoying the rather delightful walk with her because otherwise I was never really comfortable walking on crowded streets with this eye-catching person. It felt as if the whole street, whole city was ours and that winters had wonderfully given us the ownership and privacy from distant onlookers as the brume set in and made visibility unclear. The night drew its curtains for us from unwanted viewers sitting cozily within warm walls and covered their windows with frost.
With no-one in sight, she came close to me and let out a small breath which immediately became a small envelope of white fog between us. As soon as the haze disappeared, she whispered, “Catch my breath” and slowly breathed out a crispy layer of fog. I was puzzled for a moment and it took me a while to understand what she meant. I quickly tried inhaling the white layer of air which was slowly disappearing. She smiled and said softly, “See, you took my breath away!” I was amazed at how beautifully she had turned a simple phenomenon of condensation of moisture into something so unexpectedly romantic. I held my breath for as long as possible, letting it mingle with the warmth of her breath and letting the beautiful feeling sink in. I think she was holding her breath too and waiting for my reaction but I was too befuddled to say anything. I hurriedly managed to say, "Love is in the air". She smiled. We were so close that I felt like kissing her right away but for some reason was hesitant and millions of excuses ran in my mind. The lamest and yet the strongest one was that my lips were so chapped, she may feel that her lips had brushed against an old bark of a tree. And as if she had read my mind, she said, “Your lips seem so chapped and dry. You know whenever my lips crack, I tend to peel off the dry skin. Don’t you ever do it?”
I was amazed at how she was able to come up with such a platonic topic of conversation when we were so close that my adrenaline had no control. I felt embarrassed for thinking on those lines while she was so innocently suggesting me home-remedies for dry lips. I also entertained the thought that maybe I was too late in reacting to her previous attempt of affection that she got embarrassed and switched to this topic. I was too lost in such trifling thoughts that I didn’t notice that she now stood tip-toed and had pushed my shoulder down. Gently her lips touched mine and before I could kiss her back, she peeled the dry skin off my lips. I felt like a warm gauze of acceptance was put over a neglected wound of insecurity as her moist lips gave a new life to the chapped ones. The night didn’t seem cold anymore, there was warmth of love flowing within me. As I walked back, the same abandoned streets with mist-covered window panes seemed to have a reason for the desertion. I couldn’t help but wonder whether this harsh appearance of cold was just a cover for something far more loving. I guess nature answered my question right away, the night seemed to be celebrating the love for there were snowflakes all along the way.
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