The Faraway Land

“It was Christmas eve, and Angie could barely contain her excitement. Since the time little Angie had learnt about Santa, she secretly wished for Santa to fulfill her dream of meeting Torriene The Angel. Angie had once read in a book that Torriene The Angel was an angel who came into children’s dreams and fulfilled their desires; but, to get their wishes granted, the children had to give a promise to the angel, who was described to be the kindest angel in the whole land. When Torriene The Angel finally made her way into Angie’s dreams, Angie started shivering. The realization of this dream was a culmination of years of diligence and hankering. When the angel asked Angie what she desired, Angie carefully replied saying that she wanted to spread peace and kindness in the world. Torriene The Angel was surprised to hear this from a child. What Angie had said was very profound, which had a lasting impact on her. When Torriene The Angel asked for a promise in return, Angie said that she would always help the less privileged people around her and treat everybody with love,” the old woman read aloud to her orphaned grandchildren, Keenan and Rhea, a few days before Christmas. 

“I wish to know what y'all would ask for if Torriene The Angel visited you in your dreams. Don't hurry. Think before you come up with an answer,” said the grandmother, before retreating to her bed. Keenan kept tossing and turning in his bed throughout the night trying to find the right answer, whereas Rhea instantly got transported into the dreamland with a teddy clutched to her chest.

It had been a year since Keenan and Rhea had lost their parents in a car accident. A happy family at once, Keenan would often stare out at the gate from his window with the hope that his parents would return home one day. The two siblings, who stayed with their grandmother and widowed aunt, enjoyed listening to the stories that their grandmother would narrate to them. Rhea was just 3 years old when she was told that her parents had left to stay in the heaven with fairies and angels.

The next morning, when Rhea woke up, she ran straight towards her grandmother’s room. “I have found the answer to the question you asked us last night,” Rhea stated excitedly, while tugging at her grandmother’s saree. “If I ever meet Torriene The Angel, then I shall ask her to tell me when mama and papa would be back. You had promised me saying that they have gone to live in the skies just for a few days, but they still haven't come back. I shall promise her that I will not give any one of you a chance to complain and that I will not cry before going to school,” she added.

Keenan and Rhea barely spoke with other children in school. They preferred to stay aloof and rarely ever showed any interest in interacting with their classmates. Their widowed aunt, who was a pianist, would sit by the window and practise different tunes on her keyboard through most of the afternoon. Daily, after returning from school, Keenan and Rhea would rush to their aunt’s room and revel in the enchanting sound of the tunes that were passionately churned out. The afternoon  piano sessions had presented an opportunity for them to plunge into a world that took away from them their despair and helplessness, albeit just for a short span. 

The morning after his grandmother asked him what he wished to demand from Torriene The Angel, Keenan woke up totally confused and distracted. Throughout the night, his mind kept drifting to how his parents left him and his younger sister very early on in life in the care of their aunt and grandmother. Not only was Keenan angry about his and Rhea’s helplessness but also for becoming an added liability in the eyes of their aunt and grandmother. The old grandmother doted on her grandchildren and tried hard to not let them feel the void that their parents’ absence had left, while the widowed aunt worked as a piano teacher in a local school to make ends meet.

Every night, before kissing good night, the grandmother narrated tales and stories to Keenan and Rhea from popular children’s books. If the children’s Ramayana had stimulated Rhea’s imagination like no other book, Mowgli’s adventures in The Jungle Book had left no stone unturned to mesmerize Keenan. The old grandmother indulged her two grandchildren with stories as a way to bond with them. It was these moments of bonding and intimacy that added spark to their modest living. “Please promise us that you will never leave us and go. Mama and papa selfishly went away without taking us along,” Rhea stated to her grandmother, once, before hugging her tight and going to sleep. 

Keenan, who never told Rhea that their parents were never going to come back, often worried that his sister wouldn't be able to cope up with the harsh truth about their life. He thought that Rhea would suffer the same fate as him in school, if she told her friends that she didn't have her parents. Keenan had become a loner in school after he was regularly singled out by his classmates for being an “orphan". He would mostly end up consoling his little sister by saying that they would arrive soon, every time she sat at the door waiting for her parents to return. He never failed to tell her how their aunt and grandmother would be hurt if they saw her crying. 

“I have been trying very hard since the last couple of days to come up with the right answer, but I think I need some more time,” Keenan answered, when his grandmother asked for one. “You seem to have taken my advice quite literally,” laughed the grandmother. The house had warmed up with the anticipation for Christmas. Keenan and Rhea were looking forward to the Christmas break in school. Aunt Shelly, like every year, had prepared apple pie and lemon tart. It seemed like the dark shadows of sorrow that usually hovered over the house had taken a break for once.

Torriene The Angel was quite popular among the children who had encountered her. If Tic-tac-toe and Connecting The Dots were some of the popular games that kept many a school child entertained through lectures, a majority of Keenan’s classmates would excitedly discuss about ghosts, devils and angels at any given opportunity. A boy, who studied with Kenan, had a brother suffering from severe dyslexia. His family had consulted many specialists to help improve his condition without any success. “We were completely heartbroken after realizing that nothing was working for my brother. Just when we had made peace with my brother’s condition, I met Torriene The Angel. She was a tall, petite and pleasant-looking angel with mermaid-like looks. She expressed concern over my brother’s condition and asked me how I wanted her to us out. Not knowing what to ask, I just told her that I wanted to see my parents happy and smiling. She smiled at me and assured me that she would make things alright,” he said. “It’s been a year since I encountered Torriene The Angel, and my brother’s condition has miraculously improved. Although he does have occasional moments of despair and helplessness, my parents are at peace with his improvement,” his friend gushed to his group of boys.

Just when it was Christmas eve, Keenan and Rhea’s grandmother, on her way back home, stumbled over a big rock and fell on her face. The sight of blood flowing from the forehead and nose was enough to send the bystanders in a state of panic. The right leg was twisted and the stomach had deep wounds and cuts. The bags that held grocery, boxes of fairy lights and floating candles had scattered all over the place. In a bid to reach home in time to surprise the Keenan and Rhea with Christmas goodies, the grandmother paced faster and hurried with her remaining purchases before landing in a pool of blood. She was immediately rushed to a nearby hospital.

Keenan and Rhea had already grabbed their seats beside aunt Shelly and were ready to listen to the Christmas carols that they had been demanding. Aunt Shelly had an ingrained penchant for music. She could play different genres of music for hours every afternoon without getting bored. As the music session proceeded, aunt Shelly’s passion began intensifying. The children could hardly take their eyes off her enchanting facial gestures, while she softly moved her fingers on the keyboard. It wasn't until the neighbours' intimation about the situation that it became known to the children and their aunt that the oldest member of the family had been missing in action for a prolonged period of time.

Aunt Shelly and Rhea rushed to the hospital as soon as they received the news of the incident, whereas Keenan decided to stay home to fear the worst. Ever since he had lost his parents, he had begun despising the concept of death and the thought of not being able to see a loved one for long. He had come to think that everybody around him was meant to leave him and go away. Over a period of time, and much to his reluctance, he had forced upon himself the challenge of detachment from all those that were close to him. Tears started rolling down his pink-tint cheeks as he lay on the sofa anticipating the outcome. His swollen, red eyes, from profound grief, spoke a story of their own.

The morning of Christmas saw Keenan wake up after an almost 10-hour slumber. It was after very long that he had a very peaceful and invigorating sleep. His eyes glistened in the sunlight that spread all across his bed through a thin sheet of curtains. Christmas had indeed presented him with one of the most pleasant and brightest mornings. He suddenly remembered his grandma’s condition before rushing out of his room to get a grip on the situation. Keenan was clueless about all that had transpired the previous evening. He had refused to speak or discuss anything with anyone before going to his room He was completely taken aback when he saw his grandmother flashing a broad grin from across the corner of her room in the morning. He took a moment to grapple with the reality. He had seen his grandmother smiling at him from her bed. Yes; he had just seen her!

“I went to bed very angry and disturbed, last night. I feared asking about your condition. I quietly retreated to my room and lay in my bed. Whenever I tried to close my eyes, I felt a strong instinct that I was going to fall off the bed, and I ended waking up with a sudden jerk. After repeated attempts of trying to sleep, I was finally able to relax. A while later, I saw a long and pretty woman with dark, long hair and light brown eyes in my dreams. She introduced herself as Torriene The Angel. She had a very calming and delightful appearance. It seemed like she knew that I was sad and upset and asked me what was bothering me. With a frown on my face, I told her that you had had a very bad accident. I expressed to her how my parents left me and my sister very young and never came back. While tears were rolling down my cheeks, I also told her that I did not go to the hospital to see you as I was fearing the worst outcome. I just couldn't see another loved one being taken away from me. I told her that I did not wish for anything in this world but for you to return back home. God has already been unfair to me and taken away my parents. I did not want him to take you away. I was worried and scared that I may have to tell Rhea that another loved one of hers had made her way to the skies to happily live with God. In return, I promised the angel that I would never complain for not having mama and papa,” Kenan explained before giving his grandmother a bear hug. “I hope I’m not very late in giving you an answer,” he asked, before wiping the tears in her eyes. Rhea and aunt Shelly, who stood in a corner, stepped forward and surrounded the two of them before they all embraced each other in a hug.

What my dog thinks about me

For a pet owner, nothing compares to the joy of striving to stay true to the image your dog has painted of you. My 9-year-old golden retriever is believed to be one of the calmer and friendlier dogs around. And as much as I wish to take pride in his people skills, I certainly cannot overlook the fact that, like humans, animals too grow wiser and more mature with age. I was in school when Lucky, a beholder of precious paws, was brought home. Looking back, I can barely imagine my life before he came into the picture. People close to me know of my love for my furry companion, and consider him to be the best thing to have happened to me. Like most dogs, mine too,sees his entire world in his small family. Even the slightest change in the people and surroundings that constitute his little world gets him worked up.

Right from being my pet's indulgence partner to whisking him away for long car rides, I've explored a multitude of emotions with a four-legged angel. I often sit contemplating what is going on in my pooch's mind every time he gives me a reaction to something I've not expected in the least. I soon realize, thereafter, that he too has survived 9 years with me, and is ought to know much about my idiosyncrasies just the way I know about his. To commemorate this special companionship (read: to feel good about myself), I've enlisted a few things, mainly those that my dog shows certainty about in my case, or maybe that's what I would like to think.
Here are some very encouraging and positive and some need-to-work-hard-on things that my dog thinks about me:

- A savior, who will always come to his rescue and never let him down.
- Someone who addresses his parents as "mom" and "dad", but he is obviously the more preferred one.
- A girl obsessed with taking innumerable selfies with him, even while he's asleep.
- A strict disciplinarian, who frequently ensures that his staple diet is restricted to the boring, dog formula and dog biscuits.
- Someone who dares to play with other dogs and stroke them in front of him.
- Moody, when it comes to walking him, and gregarious, while pampering him with treats.
- His constant car-rider and long-drive partner.
- An annoying angel, who never misses a chance to cuddle with him and frequently distracts him into discipline, when he picks a fight with his feline troublemakers.
- I'm not all that bad after all. I compensate for giving him baths against his wishes by giving him a good blowout once in a while.
- An addicted scribbler who cannot part with her pen and black book, just the same way he finds it difficult to part with his fluffy porcupine.
- I have quite a way of tackling his frequent food fuss and manage to make him down everything in his bowl in just a matter of seconds.
- Someone who is nice to be with until he invites my wrath, when my voice escalates and goes "Luckyyyyy!"
- A companion who may go missing from home for a few days, once in a while, but is certain to return back home with increased fondness and affection for him.
- A silly lover who needs him more than he needs her.

I just realised how I can go on endlessly talking about my dog, while describing the hilarity of his antics. I've been told quite a few times in my life about how people that don't consume non-vegetarian fare miss out on a lot in life, and my immediate thought process drifts to how those that have never lived with dogs miss out on an opportunity of a lifetime to live with angels.

A Life Of Renewed Hope

“Smart, wise, independent, decisive and well-educated. I’m lucky to have daughters who are capable of being all of that,” said Harjeet Nehwal, every time someone from his family or village showed him sympathy for being a father of five daughters. “Poor father! He would have to empty his fortunes to get his five daughters married,” the people of Ladwa often exclaimed, when they met Mr Nehwal.

Located in the Indian state of Haryana, Ladwa is a village in the Hisar district. Four generations of the Nehwal family had lived in the two-storey bungalow that Mr Nehwal and his family, including his mother and the families of his two brothers lived in. Meera, who was the eldest daughter of Harjeet Nehwal and his wife, Rama, was a favorite with her parents. With a soft, kind and down-to-earth demeanour, she was very sensitive to the needs and rights of those that were helpless or lacked a voice in the society. The five Nehwal sisters got along like a house on fire. If the three older ones were mature and pacific, the youngest two were flamboyant and uninhibited. “You must stop picking up a fight with every other vendor. I’m sure you don't want to sell your parents’ shame and dignity,” Meera often told her youngest sister when they would venture out for shopping.

“Being a part of a family that has five daughters, we are well aware about how partial India is towards the men of the country, forget Ladwa. There was a time when the women of this village were not allowed to step out of their house, alone. Unmarried girls were frightened in the name of marriage. At once, child marriages had become rampant so much so that girls were stopped from going to school almost completely for the fear of ending up being more educated than her future husband. I have the example of my own mother who was married off at the age of fifteen by her parents, who believed that it wasn't safe to keep a daughter unmarried once she hits puberty. Fortunately, I have a father who has stood up for his daughters’ rights and tried to inculcate a sense a freedom and independence, which is very integral to the dignity of a woman. And this has got a lot to do with his education among other factors. Today, our women have made significant progress. A lot of women have also tried to raise their voice against the practice of dowry. They have rejected proposals from men, altogether, who have asked for it. The generation of women that is educated is well aware of the repercussions of this social practice. And the only way we can continue to further our fight for women’s equality is by empowering ourselves through education. Our fight is against patriarchy, and don't forget that women are equally responsible for its existence,” Meera said, while addressing a gathering of two-fifty-odd women at an event for women’s empowermen..

A senior railway official, Harjeet Nehwal always kept himself busy during his free time. One of the things that was closest to his heart was teaching the kids who had no access to education. With the support from a few of his colleagues and friends, he had founded a school, which had children of the peons at his workplace, poor farmers and widows apart from orphaned children. The school, which had close to one-hundred students enrolled in it, was run with the help of local teachers. Mr Harjeet and some of his friends made a contribution to the annual funds of the school to run it efficiently. Meera, who played an active role in the development of the school often had long conversations with her father about the future of the school and how they could come up with different ways to get more children, who were out of school, to study. The two were often immersed in conversations ranging from disparity between genders and Meera’s thoughts on marriage to choosing the right life partners for each of the five daughters of Mr Harjeet Nehwal. “I’m glad I have been able to contribute to the society in my own little way with this school. I hope you and your sisters will continue to nurture what enriches so many lives after my passing away,” Mr Nehwal would confide in Meera during these long conversations. 

The Nehwal household was always buzzing with guests. In villages and small towns and cities, guests and neighbours love to pour in without any prior intimation. Typically joint families, the number of people living in a house is almost three to four times more than that of the people living in nuclear families. The Nehwal household was one such family, where guests and friends always dropped in to say a quick hello before leaving for work or spent an afternoon chit-chatting with the ladies. The oldest member of the house, Mr Harjeet Nehwal’s mother, often hosted sessions of satsang in the afternoons, with 30-40 women in the house. The women were always served with snacks and refreshments. Indian families consider guests to be equal to gods. And a chance to serve guests or outsiders is happily grabbed. “Aren’t y'all planning to get Meera married? She is already 21,” guests, who came to the Nehwal household, often asked. Meera’s grandmother would end up turning her face around to ignore taunts or questions pertaining to Meera’s marriage. Some would also comment saying “Education seems to have given her the freedom to do what she wants to do without caring about her family’s reputation and stature in the society. Some of the well-educated girls have also gone against the wishes of their family and eloped with boys they were in love with. You never know what these girls can do.”

The Nehwal household was quite liberal as compared to the other orthodox families in the village. At a time when women were making progress in different areas of life, the elders in the family didn't want to restrict their daughters to the confines of their house. The women of their generation and of the previous generations had suffered a great deal of injustice and inequality, and they strongly felt that education was the only way out of that rut. For them, there was no better solution than education and the freedom to make a choice for themselves to put an end to the miseries of the women. Meera was always a bright student throughout her school and college life. Witnessing her talent and inclination towards studies, her parents willingly sent her to one of the more reputed colleges in Lucknow after she finished schooling. It was after she moved to Lucknow that she realized that she was one of the very few women from Ladwa who had got an opportunity to pursue higher studies. 

As bright, passionate and dedicated as Meera was when it came to academics, she could easily impress people with her grace and charm. With an attitude that did not allow her to compromise on her beliefs and values, her goal in life was clear - to uplift the status of women through education. Sumit, who studied with Meera in Lucknow, was quite fascinated with the clarity Meera lived her life with. Sumit, unlike the typical males in his family, echoed quite the same thoughts as Meera. He and Meera were very active on the cultural scene in their college. They, among other participants, often waited back after college hours preparing for various events, as a result of which they interacted quite frequently with each other. They often ended up discussing their immediate plans after they graduated from college. If Meera’s plan was to go back to her village to support her father’s school, Sumit planned to study further, after which he wished to expand his father’s business in Lucknow. 

Once Meera came back to Ladwa, she wasted no time to assist her father in running his school. She ensured that all the girls in her village went to school by going to every house and convincing the parents of the girls to send their daughters to school. Over the three years that Meera spent in Lucknow, she had developed a close bond with Sumit. With both of them being on the same page on most of the things, their friendship had only grown stronger through the years. At once, Sumit had shown interest in getting married to Meera. “I always thought I wouldn't ever find a girl who is a personification of wit, grace, elegance, diligence and determination and shows sensitivity towards every individual being. At times, I feel like a social outcast, because what I look for in a woman is very different from what most men look for in a woman. We have failed to look at women beyond their beauty and complexion. Her importance has been restricted at a superficial level. My own father married my mother because she came from a rich family and, according to him, there was nothing he could have asked for more than the beauty and fairness of his wife. I would never want my wife to be relegated to the position of most women in the Indian society. I find you to be the perfect representative of the woman I would wish to marry,” Sumit had once stated to Meera. Although Meera was quite hesitant about making her feelings about Sumit vocal, she liked being in his company and shared most of the secrets of her life with him. “I don't want to get distracted at this point. I don't want to disappoint my parents with any love relationship. I think we should give some time to each other to sort out our priorities,” she had told Summit.

It had been a year since Meera had returned home to Ladwa. Harjeet Nehwal was happy to see Meera almost taking over the reins of running the school from him. He could now proudly call his daughter all of what he had hoped for - smart, wise, independent, decisive and well-educated. One day, after Meera returned from the school, she was pleasantly surprised with a call from Sumit. It had been a long time since the two of them had spoken to each other. “Guess what, I’m coming to Ladwa next week. I’m going to be in Delhi for four days, following which I shall be coming to Ladwa for a day,” Sumit exclaimed. Meera reciprocated the excitement and said, “This is quite a surprise. I hope it isn't a joke. You will finally get to see Ladwa; the village whose stories I have harassed you with during our time in college. I shall be waiting for you.” 

Sumit arrived at the Nehwal household early in the morning. Harieet Nehwal  was very happy to welcome Sumit. “Hello, beta. I have heard a lot about you from Meera. She told us how you helped her with your constant company during her three years in Lucknow. I’m sure you must be tired from all the traveling you've done over the last one week. Please consider this your own house, and feel free to ask for anything you need,” he said to Sumit. Meera’s family was equally hospitable and left no stone unturned to make him feel at home. Meera took him to the school she was running and spoke about how she planned to make it bigger. The two couldn't stop talking about old times. It seemed as if they wanted to freeze in the moment and just go on talking. “Your priorities better seem sorted, now,” Sumit jokingly exclaimed. Sporting a puzzled look on Meera’s face, Sumit stated, “Do you remember saying that we must give time to each other to sort out our priorities. You and I are doing reasonably well, now. Its time we figured out if we wish to take this friendship to another level. I would love to spend the rest of my life with you. I can only imagine my future with you. And I promise to always support you in all your endeavours. Would you marry me?” With a blushing face and a tinge of coyness, Meera said, “I hope this wasn't a joke.”

The morning of the next day saw Meera officially declaring her interest in getting married to Sumit to her family. The liberal-minded and supportive family that the Nehwal household was, they showed no reluctance towards Meera’s choice. Harjeet Nehwal, like always, showed unwavering faith in Meera’s decision and assured her of making a good choice with Sumit. Soon thereafter, the Nehwal household was buzzing with excitement and started preparing for their wedding. Sumit’s parents were called to Ladwa, following which they performed a ring ceremony. It was the first time in Meera and Sumit’s families that a wedding was taking place without any exchange of dowry. Meera’s cousins and neighbours, who had once subjected Harjeet Nehwal and his wife for being ill-fated with five daughters, now congratulated the proud father, who had raised a gem. And while Sumit and Meera couldn't stop smiling at all the guests, that evening saw the village of Ladwa make  huge progress. “I don't want your guests to pity me for not getting anything. They must know that you're quite a handful,” Sumit said to Meera with a big grin on his face. 

A Walk Through Life

A book was carelessly left open 
To a page flaunting senseless scribbles.
Of writing name and roll number
A phase of blissful ignorance came through.


Amidst chirpy giggles and petty thrills
A hit by puberty forced itself through.
By the time I could grasp a change
Adulthood had already made its way through.


The night was long and dark
In the bed filled with rose petals and raw attraction.
Two locked hearts and untamed souls
Filled a diary with youthful idiosyncrasies.


In the race to achieving success
The time was up to show children their way.
Life had come a full circle
When the receding hairline decided to make way.


When heydays became a distant memory
A sense of satisfaction grew stronger.
A walking stick that was once laughed upon
Now became a companion for life.

Love Never Hurt

The summers I spent in Delhi, while growing up, bring back a lot of childhood memories. The long, hot days of summer meant that there was an endless supply of popsicles and ice-cream. Summer vacations in school meant that the mothers would have a hard time stopping their brats from going out to play in the burning-hot sun. The kids that we were, my brother and I mostly succeeded in sneaking out of the house when our mother was out of sight. Once out of the house, the afternoon would be spent cycling in the by lanes of Vasant Vihar. We would often call our neighborhood friends to join us for cycling or for a game of lagori or stop-and-party. As drenched in sweat and dirt as we could be, once home, the warning of facing our father’s ire was enough to scare us into discipline, while having to give a promise of staying indoors during the afternoon.

 
Growing up, Verma uncle, who was my father’s close friend, and his wife, Geet ma, came home very frequently. Geet ma was a favourite with all the kids who knew her. The kids fondly referred to her as Geet ma because she doted on every child like her own. Every time she would come home, she would heap me and my brother with the best kinds of chocolates. She regularly had NRI guests, at her place, who would gift her an assortment of international chocolates. My mother would often express her disappointment to her when she would spoil us with goodies. And the sweetheart that Geet ma was, she would tell my mother that kids were meant to be pampered. I often thought about what it would be like to have her as my mother. Although Verma uncle and Geet ma had a son, they had a special liking for daughters. Geet ma would often tell my mother, “The day Roshan gets married, I shall celebrate the homecoming of a daughter I never had.” Roshan was Geet ma’s son, who was one year older than me. Roshan and I went to the same school, but we never interacted much with each other back then. Roshan was a very shy kid, who preferred to stay in the company of his books. My family and I often visited the Verma household, which was just a stone’s throw away from our house, and every time I went there, Roshan used to be sitting in one corner of the drawing room and observing the ongoings, quietly. Verma uncle would often tease Roshan for being a pussy cat. “How will you woo a girl if you don't speak?” he would say, while asking him to be more social and outgoing. And I, like a curious onlooker, thoroughly enjoyed watching the father-son histrionics.

 
The onset of monsoons marked the beginning of a new academic year. Like most children, I would always get jitters thinking about who my teachers and classmates would be. Buying a new bag, school uniform, and textbooks, along with having to go through the rigmarole of waking up at 6:00 a.m. would rightly set the tone for the rest of the year. And like every year, the potholes never stopped reminding us of their presence. I laugh, to this day, when I think about how I used to wake up each morning praying to be told that the schools were closed due to heavy rains in the city. Geet ma always made it a point to invite us to her place for chai and pakoda during the rains. She would often send her driver with hot pakodas for me and Roshan during break time in school. Those were some rare times that Roshan and I interacted. He would come running to my class and ask my friends to tell me to come near the library. My friends would come up to me and tell “Your birdie, or should we say your lover, has asked you to meet him near the library. He says he wants to meet you right away.” I would get annoyed when my friends said this and chide them for linking us up. “His family and my family are friends. And that’s the only way I know him. You girls should stop thinking too much,” I would say in a fit of rage.

 
Daily, after coming back from school, I would go to my balcony and sip on a hot cup of coffee. I had always enjoyed the view of the city from my balcony. The cool, evening breeze combined with the refreshing smell of coffee was an instant energy booster. At times, my mother insisted on helping her out with the household chores. In Punjabi households, nothing can take the place of food. And if one dares to diet, then he/she becomes a social outcast. As a little child, if I made a fuss about eating, I would be told that animals loved eating the bones of skinny people, and if one did not look healthy, then there were chances that he/she would be eaten up by the animals. By the age of fourteen, I was able to cook quite a few things. I could also make Hyderabadi biryani with some help from my mother. I would, later, pack some of it and take it to school the next morning.

 
It was a Wednesday, and all the students were waiting for the history class to get over before the school break began. I was carrying Hyderabadi biryani in my tiffin, which I had prepared the previous night. I was getting all fidgety with my belongings during the lecture. Roshan and I had become good friends over the previous few months, and we had begun meeting quite regularly during the school break. Although my friends continued teasing me with him, I had maintained that there was nothing other than friendship between us. We had also decided to go home together since we lived very close by. As soon as the bell went, I took out my tiffin box and went to his classroom. Although it was usually me who spoke most of the times, he did speak once in a while.

 
“I don’t know why I’m like this. A lot of people think I’m happy being this way, but the truth is that I just cannot get myself to express my feelings. I think ten times before I say something,” Roshan suddenly exclaimed, while we were walking back home. I was stunned for a moment, wondering if I had said something inappropriate to evoke such a reaction. “Don’t worry, you haven't said anything wrong. It’s just that I’m fed up of myself for being so timid and introverted, and this is the way I end up venting out my frustration. There have been times when my friends have taken advantage by putting the blame for their wrong-doings on me,” he continued. It was the first time I saw Roshan baring his heart to me. I could see anger in his eyes. I felt a strong urge to extend emotional support to him and tell him that I found him to be perfect the way he was, but I held myself back thinking that it was too early for me to say something like that.

 
The monsoons in Delhi continued to cast their spell. I disliked stepping out of my house during the rains apart from the time that I went to school. Walking on muddy streets, which had puddles in every corner, never failed to shock me. My evenings would be spent reading books when I could not go out to cycle. It had been a few days since I last met Roshan. He had not been attending school for more than ten days. I tried asking my mother if she had spoken to Geet ma or knew of Roshan’s whereabouts, but to no avail. Once in a while, I met my neighbourhood friends in the evenings, and we would end up talking about our respective lives and activities, but, every now and then, I kept getting distracted thinking about where Roshan was. One evening I just decided that I would to go to his class during the school break and ask his friends where Roshan was.

 
The next day I woke up feeling a twitch in my eyes. My hands were numb and my heart was thumping. The light peeking into my room through every corner of the window that was uncovered. As much as I wanted to pull the blanket over my head and close my eyes till the specks of light made way for darkness, I could no longer keep myself in the dark about Roshan's whereabouts.

 
The city was dry as ever without rains. I reached my school trying to catch my breath. It was half past seven and I was already late for the school prayer. On my way to my class, I saw two of Roshan's classmates rush towards their class. My eyes keep stretching far to hoping to see Roshan standing outside his class flashing his trademark grin, but that remained a mere hope. I decided I would go to his class during the break hour.

The first half went by in a blur. I was barely able to get my thoughts to focus on what was going on in class. "Just one more class to go," I uttered with a sigh of relief, at the end of our English class. It was the sixth time I had glanced at my watch in a span of thirty minutes. I just wanted the next thirty minutes to somehow pass, before I could make my way to Roshan's class. Parina, who had been my best friend in school since we Class 1, didn't look very pleased. "What is really up with you? You have been distracted all this while. Are you in a hurry," she asked frantically. I gave a slight nod signifying I was just fine, before looking away to greet Mr Rao, our Social Science instructor. In our eight years of friendship, this was the quietest Parina and I had ever been with each other. Before the class ended, it was announced that everyone had to submit their completed Physics journal by the end of the last lecture in the lab. Everyone in my class went in a state of panic, and there were hushed whispers about how the school could give such a short deadline. Many decided to finish writing their journals as quickly as possible, during the break. I was left with two topics, but I couldn't care about it until I knew where Roshan was.

 
I soon rushed towards Roshan’s class. My heart started fluttering every time I thought through the possible reasons why he had been absent. I saw some of Roshan’s friends sitting in the class. I walked up to Krish, one of his close friends, and asked him about Roshan. One of boys sitting with his friend looked a little upset when he heard my question. Before I could make any inferences with his expression, Krish said that Roshan’s mother had met with a fatal accident a few days ago, in which she lost her life. Roshan, who was with his mother when they were walking down a street, saw his mother being hit by a car in full force. For a moment, I could not grasp what had been said by his friend. “Huh! This cannot be true. What are you even saying? I just met his mother the other day when she invited me to her house for chai and pakoda. You must have mistaken her for someone else. I’m talking about Roshan, the tall and fair boy who sits on the second bench,” I said in a state of despair. “Yes, even I’m talking about Roshan. It seems that watching the accident take place in front of his eyes left a deep impact on his mind. He is totally shocked and shattered. He and his father also tried to flow in some doctors from London but, by then, aunty had lost all chances of surviving,” his friend stated. I froze in my position. I kept staring at him, while telling myself “How I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.” All I could feel within me, at that time, was guilt and remorse. I felt bad and sorry for not having mustered up the courage to tell Roshan that I found him perfect, and that I loved him the way he was. I felt the need to tell him all the possible things I had felt for him over the past few weeks. I wanted him to know that it was me who faced the inability to express my feelings ,for I didn't make my love known to him. I wish I had told everyone in my class that he was not just someone I knew because of our families. I just wanted him to know that I was there for him. Despite the raging and emotions I could experience, there was little I could do at the time. My hands were numb and, without giving any more reactioins, I took a step back and turned around, before Krish asked me, “But how do you know Roshan?” This time, as I surrendered to the bleak possibility of our happy future together, I, once again, replied, “We know each through our families.” 

10 most hilarious Google searches

We live in a world where dictionaries, encyclopedias and books have lost their battle to Google, when it comes to being the most common source of information. Right from looking up to know whether LOL actually stands for Laugh Out Loud or Lots Of Love to googling Donald Trump’s girlfriends or trying to google your own name and feel a tinge of happiness about finding your name somewhere in the list, even if it reads something like “Top 10 Bageshree Mehta profiles |  LinkedIn,” we are virtually handicapped, today, without fulfilling our constant need to stay updated every hour of the day. And in a bid to acknowledge the larger-than-life presence of Google in all our lives, I have decided to list down 10 most insane, hilarious questions that have been asked to Google. 

1) Who introduced the concept of marriage?

All those who regret getting married or dread committing to someone for the rest of their lives often contemplate finding out the culprit who invented the concept of a wedlock. Unfortunately, for these people, their culprit must be enjoying a panoramic view of all the much-out-of-love couples pulling each other’s hair out from the skies.

2) Why can’t I find God?

I’m sure Google would have considered claiming to be the most widely worshipped god when it would have stumbled upon this question. But one of the most striking characteristics of god is modesty, and one of the biggest miseries of mankind is that it easily overlooks modesty. I sincerely hope that Google, one day, replies with “Look at me. I’m the God.”

3) How can I earn £1000000000?

If only Google had the answer to this question, every being in this world would cease to know of poverty. The only believable answer Google could give is by saying that one could actually earn this amount if he/she had the rights to sell Google.

4) Does farting help burn calories?

Ladies and gentlemen, if farting had helped burn calories then dietitians and nutritionists, all across the globe, would be promoting Budweiser, Eclipse and Lays among many junk items.

5) Is it okay to opt for a threesome?

Google is not that possessive girlfriend/boyfriend of yours who would mind if you decided to have sex with someone else. As long as you are comfortable, it is ready to accept any number of people you wish to include. And please refrain from blaming Google for advising you to make your own choice if you are caught red-handed.

6) How can one become a godman?

In India, a godman must be a good actor, liar, orator, womanizer and thus a risk taker in order to be popular with the masses. And if one actually had what it takes to be a real godman, he/she wouldn’t consult Google on that.

7) What do I do if my phone fell into the toilet?

Unfortunately, Google hasn't developed hands, yet, to take out your phone from the toilet. But there’s one idea, here, if you can afford it. You can always use the flush to avoid the mess.

8) How to take a picture with an ant?

You must be one bored, hopeless soul to ask such a question, but here’s one suggestion - you can squish the ant and zoom in on it till the ant and only a few strands of your hair are visible on the screen.

9) How can I get to date the richest man in this world?

One option is to work as hard as possible to become the richest woman in the world. Once you are the richest or the most beautiful woman, you should ask yourself if you actually want to marry the richest man in the world.

10) How to tell a baby to stop crying?

You just need to spend more time with the baby and be more attentive to him/her rather than asking too many questions to Google and thus avoiding the baby.

My daily struggle

Have you imagined what the struggles of the women of the previous generations were, while you continue performing some daily chores which are meant to be typical only to women? If, back then, an woman's daily struggle involved peacefully co-existing in a joint family, the struggle, today, is to take care of her family as well as of her work. If, back then, dealing with orthodoxy, which was commonplace, was a struggle, then, today, it is a struggle to keep our thoughts from moving forward at a pace which makes it difficult for the patriarchal Indian society to comprehend. The word 'struggle' is a relatively strong word and the reason why I call a lot of what we do, today, as part of our struggle is that despite having the freedom to choose what we do and lead our lives the way we wish to, the number of hurdles that come along the way, whether it is dealing with how we are a part of a generation that has ''changed'' all the stereotypes of womanhood or refraining from calling myself a feminist for the fear of being labelled anti-men among many other things, doesn't seem to dwindle.

There is a certain amount of trials that most 21st century, Indian women face irrespective of how they decide to live their lives. I have, vehemently, expressed some of those concerns, here.

- Every time I'm traveling alone post 10 p.m., my character and dignity are questioned. I have no option but to be subjected to the prying eyes of the so-called society. It doesn't matter to this 'society' whether I'm educated and belong to a virtuous and 'good' family, along with the fact it is only and only my and my closed ones' concern about where I'm till late before giving me any unsuitable tag.

- I may be a career-oriented, strong-minded and independent woman, who has her own set of goals to achieve, or be anything I wish to be but, I'm told in no uncertain terms that a woman is incomplete without a husband in her life.

-It is completely acceptable if a boy/man drinks and smokes and goes around with various women. It, in fact, becomes a matter of pride for him and his family if he is yearned for by many women, but on the same hand if a woman does this, she becomes a slut, who is a blot on her family. 

-If a woman raises her concerns and voices her opinion before following a custom, then she is not sanskari. Expecting a well-educated, independent woman to blindly follow customs and traditions is similar to expecting a person of royal stature to mouth expletives. It is just not possible! 

-Sometimes I feel that being well-read and educated acts as a curse given the kind of society we live in. It is not the hallmark of an independent-minded woman to live with a list of dos and don'ts, when it comes to the way she chooses to dress, the lifestyle she prefers to enjoy or the group of people she likes to hang out with among other things. 

-As a woman, I must be fair, tall, beautiful, well-educated and financially independent, while being able to drive a car, cook different varieties of food and take care of my family. And let me not forget the most important thing - I must not raise any questions and objections if my male counterpart doesn't fulfill those requirements.

-I'm a "feminist" if I support women and stand for their rights, and I'm a misogynist if I say that all men are not rapists and commitment-phobic.

-If I don't wax and wear make-up, or groom myself the way a stereotypical woman does, serious doubts are raised over my femininity. Relax. There is something known as being comfortable in one's own skin, and if one is happy with the way he/she, then that be it.

-You cannot be a woman and not marry before 25. On the other hand, you can be a man and choose to walk down the aisle at 40. Apparently, the reason for this is that a woman's beauty fades as she grows older, whereas a man becomes more handsome with age; and it is said that men have a thing for young women, and hence prefer to have them as a bride. 

-Every achievement, whether big or small, is received with one ultimate thought - But one fine day she has to get married. And if a woman is married, then the thought changes to - But her real job and achievement lies in doing what makes her husband and her family happy.

As much as I dislike cribbing and complaining, I strongly feel there is a dire need to tame our mentality, which is quite accustomed to seeing women as being sub-standard and inferior to men. The only flip side to talking about women empowerment and their rights is inadvertently admitting that men are considered to be the stronger sex by trying to equate women with men, when that is actually far from being true. 

Friendship day status: Friend zoned or zoned out?

When one grows up to be a young adult, every friendship day, now, is a reminder of the ones celebrated by tying a friendship band to all those we considered our friends. There was clearly no set, rigid definition of friendship, back then, and nor was there any ulterior motive behind forging one. Do you remember how the number of friendship bands one sported on his/her hand became a yardstick to determine the number of friends one had? Or so was believed to be the case. The higher the friendship bands on one's hand, the more popular was the person thought to be with his/her friends.

If friendship day fell on a weekday, then the fad of wearing all your bands to school and flaunting your popularity would become an activity of indulgence, which would end up becoming the talking point of the class. This act, which is now laughed upon when one thinks he/she has outgrown that ''childish'' behaviour, was a real source of joy.
Taking a classroom set-up, I have divided the friends that decided to give you a friendship band into various categories.
Friend A - Best friend; usually your class-sharing buddy since you started schooling.
                 This friend would always give a special friendship band, which would stand out from the
                  rest of the friendship bands one is sporting.
Friend B - Bench partner; someone you bonded with for the purpose of taking notes and during
                  mid-lecture boredom. And it also works to befriend someone whom you could borrow
                  a pen from or share a lunch-box with when you don't have one.
Friend C - There is always this one friend who is obligated to give you a friendship band because you
                  share the same friend group. It may be an onerous task to fulfill the formality of making
                  friends with those you may not otherwise have been friends  with had it not been for
                  your group of friends.
Friend D - There are always a few people who are constantly looking to fit the bill when it
                  comes to being accepted into a group of friends. This type of a person does not usually
                  have a lot of friends and is desperate to befriend anyone who is willing to extend the
                  olive branch to him/her.
Friend E - There are some sweethearts who, irrespective of how close you are to them, out of the
                 goodness of their hearts and in the true spirit of friendship tie a friendship band to all those
                 they are on friendly terms with.

The rush of nostalgia, while I think about the good old days, brings me to talk about one of the friendship days I celebrated as a school girl. I remember going to the market a day before friendship day some 9 to 10 years ago.  Colourful ribbon reels adorned the front shops, which sold stationery and toys. The market place, during any festival or special occasion, literally makes for a visual treat. I had pestered my mother to take me to a shop to get me some friendship bands. Since it was going to be my last year of schooling, I was very excited about giving a friendship band to all my friends in school. I bought a green ribbon reel and one lace-and-beads friendship band. The one with beads in it was for my closest buddy in school. I nicely divided the ribbon reel into some fifteen, equal-sized friendship bands. Since friendship day, that year, fell on a weekday, my excitement levels went through the roof. ''I'm so glad I'm getting to celebrate my last school friendship day with all my friends in school, itself,'' I thought to myself. Next day, upon reaching school, the first thing I did was take out all my friendship bands and move around the class tying them to all the people they were meant for. Soon, everyone who had carried friendship bands to school started tying them to all their friends. My wrist was glistening with all the bright colours there could possibly be. I realized that the friend for whom I was carrying the special friendship band having silver bead embellishments hadn't come to school. As sorry as I felt for her absence on this special day, I decided I would carry her friendship band to school the next day. Unfortunately, my friend was not able to come to school for the next few days and our study leave for the board exams was immediately scheduled to begin once she was supposed to resume coming to school. This only meant that I would not have an opportunity to meet her for the next few weeks. I remember calling up my friend to tell her how much I missed her in school, and how I couldn't felt sorry for not being able to celebrate the friendship day with her. Later, we mutually agreed to keep the friendship band we had bought for each other with ourselves, thinking that we had received it as the most special friendship day present during our last year of being in school from a special friend.

It has been almost a decade since that day, and both of us, to this day, have that friendship band with ourselves. We often laugh over the hysteria and our crazy antics from school days, but we never forget to remind each other of our bond, which has been made all the more special because of that one friendship band we treasure as one of our most valued possessions. Meanwhile, the friendship day that went by was nothing more than a reminder of how I could either choose to be friend zoned on Facebook by guys sending messages like ''Heya, you look so smart. Wanna be frienz?'' or remain zoned out. What do you think I should do?

Roses are red

Stealing shy glances, holding hands and promising to stand by each other's side till the end of eternity, or blowing the steaming hot porridge, incessantly, before gently pouring it in the other's mouth, while comfortable adjusting your sight to see that special someone carry out the most mundane chores and go about the daily activities are actions that certainly speak louder than words. And if this wasn't enough, then don't forget all the times you saved up those pennies to be able to buy a muffin from that high-end patisserie just to see the smile of disbelief on the face of the one you love. And what about all the jitters you experience when you see a message from that heart-stealer for which you were staring at your screen all day?

Love is indeed one of the most beautiful expressions mankind has ever known, and probably the most intense and glorious discovery that has been made, so far, as we continue to discover more facets to love along the journey of knowing someone better. Some may classify love as weakness, infatuation, intimacy, affection or soft spot, while some may classify it as passion, enthusiasm, taste or penchant. The feeling of looking into someone's eyes and finding everything you ever needed is akin to the most divine of experiences. Despite a ton of intense discussions and stories having caught widespread attention all thanks to the razzmatazz of love, there seems to be a never ending quest for exploring more aspects to this some-people-are-in-it-for-sex and almost surreal wonder of life.

It is unfair to call someone perverted if he/she proclaims to love physical indulgences with that special someone. But it is purely advantageous and horny when one views love purely as a mechanism to bond physically. Physical intimacy can never fill the void that is created in the absence of emotions. It then becomes a pure case of fulfilling one of the basic human necessities after food, shelter and clothing without which one can hardly function. It becomes a demand, which thrives on self-interest. I wonder if I'm the only one who finds the veil around sex, in the form of hushed whispers and considering it to be a taboo, overrated. There is certainly no need to hide something that is a result of the union of two souls who love one another. Where emotions are running high and the mental connect between two people is perfectly in sync, the need to bond physically comes as a by-product of what is ''organic'' love. The need to make it a vice arises when sex without love, which then becomes a business of prostitution, is witnessed. I've always thought quite positively about love at first sight. And to all those who say that an eye-contact cannot justify the claim of true love, an appearance is quite enough to unravel the mystery surrounding the person's externality. And the love stories which have literally begun with a glance, and have successfully catapulted into a lifetime of togetherness are proof of that one cannot evade the magnetism of love. So, to all the naysayers, infidelity is the result of lack of love and not the cause of instantaneous love.

The whole idea behind penning down something like Roses are red was to emphasize that there may be many occasions when one feels the urge to look outside of a relationship, be it for love or to satisfy his/her sexual urges. And in no way do I wish to opine that doing something like this is right or wrong. There are times when one is left with no option but to forcefully take a step behind and act in his/her self-interest, especially when all the tries to revive a relationship have gone in vain. But again, the real deal, here, is to realize how commonplace it has become to replace a partner, today. Have we run out of patience or tolerance to deal with difficulties? Or do we no more have the strength of character to remain loyal even when things are hunky dory? And this brings me to the ultimate question - Is it even love if you cannot stand the test of time? And do not forget, just like how roses are red, the grass always appears greener on the other side; and it may not be worth it to move across just to realize that the ground you've lost was indeed better. Ultimately, the choice is yours.

The trekking sojourn

Snow before rains

Mountain living at its best

View from the base camp in Rumsu

One of my pit stops

Campfire. Scenery. Tents. Low temperatures. Warm clothes. And climbing.

I imagined trekking to be an amalgamation of some of these things until I went on one, myself. I have never really contemplated much about going on a trek in all these years, and for this very reason the   fact that I actually ended up going on one seems like an illusion to me. In fact, until I reached the base camp in Rumsu, I was under the impression that my trek to Bhrigu Lake, located in the Kullu district of Himachal Pradesh, India, would be a walk around the scenic mountains of Himalaya with my only input being my thoughts about how to keep myself warm at all times and carrying protein-rich food with me.  

''Come on, madam; you cannot get tired so early. Your trek has not even started,'' said the guide, when we went for an acclimatization walk around the camp site. Running out of breath after 45 minutes into the first walk was quite unnerving, and it seriously made me cast a doubt over my fitness levels. I soon realized that I was not supposed to rush, especially while scaling uneven surfaces. And once I reached the top of the hill, trust me, nothing felt better than seeing the same hill slope downwards. The acclimatization walk, which was followed by a rappelling session, served as an eye-opener for what was to follow over the next two days. Soon after the orientation session, I learnt that there were many others sailing in the same boat as me. A hearty laugh over what we thought to be our collective misery and misfortune took over our evening at the mess and helped us calm our anxious nerves, albeit for a little while. Something that only added to our miseries at such a juncture was the 4:30 a.m. wake up call scheduled for the next day. I had never experienced a more jittery night. Having our rucksacks in place, carefully depositing our utensils in the office and preparing to rest our aching muscles, we were ready to tuck ourselves inside the warmth of the sleeping bag for the next 5 hours.

The drive to Gulaba (where our trek to Bhrigu Lake started from) took some four hours. My journey uphill started with full gusto and fervour. My state of mind, after crossing every mountain, kept oscillating between awe (upon seeing the beauty of the sight) and wanting to give up. I soon decided to set small goals for myself, and started taking a short break after every 20 steps. The small breaks gave me some respite from panting and made me come to terms with the place where I had landed. And when you make an effort to connect with the nature you realize how it wants to glorify your presence in its midst in the most unexpected ways. The intermittent presence of dew drops on my bare skin, a picturesque view of lush green fields till as far as my eyes could wander, and a magnificent waterfall, which looked ready to challenge the most daring souls with its wild and rapid presence coupled with the random presence of snow-white horses across the waterfall was proof enough for me to believe that I had reached a place which was trying to lead me into heaven. All my fatigue from the trek was giving way to restlessness of wanting to reach the camp site in Rohli Kohli, from where were were to continue our climb to our final destination the next day. Later in the evening, I decided to enjoy a steaming-hot bowl of soup by the ice-cold Himalayan river.

''Ah...ah...ahhhhhh,'' shouted Vivek, a fellow group member, upon seeing Risha glide down a snow-capped  mountain accidentally, while walking along a narrow stretch of ice. We were just an hour away from reaching our last destination after having trekked uphill for almost three and a half hours in the morning, when this incident shook us up. Vivek's scream reverberated in our guide's ears in such a manner that even before he could bat an eyelid he jumped on his feet made his way down the slippery snow slide in order to stop Risha from going down any further. As first time trekkers, this unfortunate and uncanny happening acted as a signal for us to not go any further as we had already begun to battle moderate amounts of rainfall by that time. Coming down to the camp site was not exactly the most invigorating experience as we missed the chance of going till the very end. But we were certain that the regret of not witnessing the ultimate glory should not come at the cost of a human life. Nonetheless, I came back with much more than I ever envisioned this trek to bestow me with. I came back with a consolation prize of becoming more disciplined, patient and getting a lesson in cultivating a never-say-die spirit. And lastly, I can say it with utmost pride that I survived all the storms to devour a spicy, hot bowl of maggie on my way down to the point where my trek began.