The Missed Matter

The Saturday that went by was chaotic for the mind and the stomach. It seemed like my mind and stomach were tugging at extreme ends with the former the mind feeding endless ideas about the next best option on the menu, while the stomach decided to oppose in what I would describe as a smart way of teaching the mind a lesson. No wonder, the evening’s gastronomy, which was a result of not wanting to make my weekend escapades sound like a waste, chose to mock my desperation the next day.

After binging on the choicest bites the previous evening, I needed some serious motivation to get out of bed the next morning. My stomach felt just as heavy as it did the previous evening. It felt like my mind and stomach had been warring the entire night with my mind just refusing to accept that it had pushed my stomach to a far edge.
Here’s a sinful extract from their conversation:
Stomach: Everything doesn’t seem fine.
Mind: It’s alright! You don’t binge everyday.
Stomach: You don’t realize the pain of suffering from loose motions.
Mind: You are not the only one with problems. So, just relax.
Stomach: Don’t you realize that I’m suffering because of you!
Mind: Whatever.

One of the most comforting feelings in the world is to wake up on a day off and know that you can still go back to sleep. Just when I decided to sleep a little longer, my mother stepped in and brought along a bout of animated stimulation. ‘Good morning! Can you please come in the kitchen and assist me in preparing the breakfast? And I hope you don’t have any plans for lunch. We shall be going out for lunch, today,’ my mother said in an unusually hyperactive tone. It turned out (quite predictably) that our domestic help hadn’t turned up for work.

My morning was clearly not a usual one. After spending some 25-odd minutes in the toilet, I arrived at the conclusion that I had been punished. All the talks about how futile life would be in the absence of what is possibly the most valuable pressure situation suddenly held true for me. Sitting in one corner of my drawing room, I observed the morning frenzy in my house to keep myself from envying the ‘flushed' joys of those that were excitedly acting on their Sunday plans. My mother was stirring the contents in the cooking pot and talking away to glory on the phone, simultaneously, while my father was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his newspaper. For years, now, my father has been used to carrying the newspaper every time he makes a trip to the toilet to perform the big chore. My dog, after returning from a long morning walk, chose to sit across from me and stare at my me with a wide grin. For a tummy that was clogged, grumpy and truly desperate, everything around tried hard to convince me that I was one unlucky soul and I needed to achieve orgasmic satisfaction on the toilet seat to feel complete.

After downing a glass of milk only to lose hope, the steaming hot Manchow Soup at the lunch table filled my heart with hope, once again. Although my constipated stomach hardly gave way for a constipated expression, all I could think of through the day, be it lazing at home in the morning, devouring the hot soup in the afternoon or reading my favourite Jane Austen novel in the evening, was about the pleasures of being relieved in the true sense of the word. A bunch of Sunday evening visitors only ensured that food remained free-flowing, which, for once, did not entice me one bit. While the guests preferred to sip either on tea or coffee, I, with all my hope and food from the previous day all intact, within, flaunted a glass of warm milk. I was sick, uncomfortable, pained and almost on the verge of blasting out. And what got things even worse was the fact that I could only see cheerful faces around. Just when my little cousins looked thrilled to spot my milk mustache, my stomach decided to give up. Thankfully, after spending what seemed like an eternity in the washroom, I had achieved the fruit of my labour. My matter (I so missed it!) was finally out, ladies and gentlemen! And, for one, I couldn’t be any happier to announce its safe exit.

Survival

                                                                                                         Image Source: sapiensoup.com

If you are emotional, sensitive, over-thinking, anxious, or worrying, you are truly human!

“Will I be able to say what I’m thinking?”, “Would I be able to continue writing like I have been doing?”, “I hope my words don't get misinterpreted as lies”, and “Would they bother if I just disappeared?” among countless other passing thoughts, decided to make way, one fine day. Imagine thoughts like these piercing your actions and routine activities. And no, they did not just appear like a bolt from the blue. They were a result of a series of small, ignored upheavals, which could no longer be forced into silence and neglect. I couldn’t suppress my anxiety any longer, menfolk and womenfolk.

We may use the term ‘independence’ very commonly in today’s day and age, but little have we tried to extend its importance to our mental and emotional existence. I decided to become ‘independent’ the day I learnt about my existence in a patriarchal society. I have seen my mother emphasize the need to be financially independent if I wanted to have an identity of my own. I have been at the receiving end of complaints about how being a mother, wife and daughter-in-law is akin to filling a bottomless pit; it just dilutes your essence as a human being. Should I consider all those times when I was taught the importance of being able to travel alone and crack my own deals in the guise of independence? My father always treated me as someone who was equal to his son, if my level of independence was anything to go by. People who know me well know that I’m not the one to shy away from enjoying my share of limelight and attention. My independence adds to my overall confidence. So it may seem surprising in such a case to see a someone’s hand shiver, while holding a pen in front of a few people. How can a person that looks sound fear not being able to reach her destination that is just a few meters away? And this brings me to some important questions - Is physical and financial soundness of an individual enough to evade all the battles of life? If not, then why was I fed lies all this while?

It has been disheartening, moreover, after I developed and reeled from severe anxiety, to know that in a nation like India, mental health issues still carry enough stigma to make serious conjectures about one’s identity. As a child, I remember being scared into sanity with a warning of having to be taken to a psychologist/psychiatrist. “You must go visit a psychiatrist” is still a commonly used phrase, doubled as a joke-talk in many a friend circle. The problem is that we have seen our minds as closets. They cannot be revealed to everybody, and the contents of one must carefully remain contained. It is usually our association of independence with what meets the eye that decide our joy and sorrow. And till this persists, most of us may just refuse to address the elephant in the room.

The Day I Grew Up

It was a usual Thursday evening, when my mother took her regular stroll in the garden behind our house, while I queued up behind a bunch of kids, who awaited their turn to sit on the bumpy slide. There was a bright, attractive passage that connected a spiral slide and a bumpy one. As they inched closer towards the slide, the kids usually experienced an adrenaline rush before beginning to jump up and down with excitement. I, with my childlike enthusiasm, always waved, excitedly, at my mother from that little passage before sliding down but, that day was a little different. I heard collective laughter of the kids around me, when I got off the slide. Something was certainly not right for I had grown up a little.

On our way home, while my mother tried to wipe my tears, I could barely comprehend what had transpired. The ten-year-old child in me refused to think beyond anything except for having missed out on my playtime for what was going to alter my body and actions for the rest of my life. "Now onwards, I expect you to know how to take care of your health and body. I cannot be with you be all the time,” my mother stated, in a calm tone, before asking me to change my clothes. Terror struck as soon as I entered the washroom. I, for one, had always associated blood with wars and fights, but what I experienced that day was far from what I had imagined. From playing with dolls and jumping around in the park without a care in the world to transitioning into womanhood and suddenly monitoring my actions, the change almost felt like something was thrusted upon me and I had no choice but to eventually make peace with the change.

I refused going to the garden with my mother for the next few days following the sudden bout of emotional and physical chaos in order to save myself from any further embarrassment. While the girls in my class giggled and excitedly discussed their anticipated participation in the different sporting events that were lined up in the school through the year, I had slowly begun to keep a check on my physical preparedness and allowances. Things around, still, seemed pretty much the same except that I had grown up a little. The environment that I existed in, too, remained pretty much the same except that the people that co-existed in it chose to look at me a little differently, now, maybe as someone who had lost her innocent with puberty. While I grappled with the harsh truth of growing up, the tears that welled up in my eyes reflected the sorrow of losing all of what I cherished as a carefree, ten-year-old girl including the moments when I happily piggybacked on my father and took pride in roughing up my male friends, when they tried to tamper with my bicycle. What I took the longest time to come to terms with was the fact that I grew up even when everything else was constant.

Today, at 24, when I look back on the immediate transition, there is a strange sense of pride in having overcome the emotions and mental pandemonium, which came partially from having to deal with the anxiety of what lay ahead and majorly from the thought of having to part with my indeed apparent childhood, or so I thought. That’s the sad part of life; nothing remains forever. What had taken the coming together of countless precious moments needed nothing more than the ticking of the clock to turn it all into memories. A girl that once made a raw, innocent sight had turned into a woman embracing maturity. Nonetheless, everything was the same except that I had grown up a little that day.

A Princess World

A magical wand and a dazzling white gown,

The eight-year-old became the talk of the town.

With her crown sparkling and eyes twinkling,

The father’s little princess could barely stop smiling.

Sailing paper boats in the muddy puddles,

Silly pillow fights only meant more cuddles.

The sight of a small wound in her toe,

Became her braveheart’s biggest woe.

A graduation hat adorned her head pretty fast,

Even when the list of memories seemed vast. 

The man who never refused her a piggy-back ride,

Now shook her hands with utmost pride.

It was the day when her future awaited her across the aisle,

She firmly clutched his hand throughout the mile.

A perfect hero in her eyes through the years,

The father’s little princess could barely hold back her tears.

10 Popular Indian Food Items In Literal English

Building An Appetite For Indulgence

“I have heard a lot about ‘paav bhaajji.’  I want to know what it tastes like,” my 10-year old cousin from the United Kingdom stated, when she came to India for the first time. Starting with the description of pav, I said that it was a ‘thick piece’ of bread mostly consumed while eating pav bhaji. “What is thick bread?” I was asked. “Eh, a joined, two-layered piece of thick bread. Okay, wait. It is a joined-on-one-side, double-layered piece of bread,” I hesitantly tried to explain. I wonder if my cousin ever thought about my obsession with the word ‘thick’, after I tried explaining the constituents of bhajji. “A thick gravy of varied mashed vegetables topped with raw onions and lemon,” I said, while being certain that I had left room for doubts. As a stickler for chaste English, I felt ashamed of not being able to phrase the description correctly, which led to what I would like to call, a full-blown, challenging battle with words to come up with a translation for every Indian food dish possible till the time the English bug in me was not satisfied. 

Here goes the list of some of the popular Indian food dishes translated to English meant to compensate for my momentary lapse. It’s an attempt to try and make every dish sound as interesting as possible before an American can go, “Can I get some dough-zaa?’’

1) Pani puri (pronounced paa-nee poori) - Minted Chilly Water Crisps

An elliptical, crunchy puff made from semolina with a hollow in the centre filled with squelchy chick peas, mashed potato and date sauce, all of which is topped off with its peculiar, green water oozing out.

2) Vada Pav (pronounced va-daa paa-v) - Potato Dough Ball Sandwich

Potato fritter in the size of a big dough ball squeezed in a bread bun and garnished with spicy, chilly sauces and a generous serving of butter.

3) Samosa (pronounced samoh-saa) - Flaky Potato Wraps

An evergreen favourite with Indians, it is a supple, glazy dough of potatoes and peas deep-fried to form a thick, flaky crust around the mixture.

4) Kanda Poha (pronounced kaan-daa poh-ha) - Onion Shreds In Rice Flakes

Imagine the divinity of pink, sautéed onions mixed with rice flakes flushed in oil and turmeric only to give your taste buds a true feel of deliciousness. 

5) Gulab Jamun (pronounced gulaab jaa-moon) - Sugary Berry Ball

Made out of milk solids, Gulab Jamun is a representation of an Indian doughnut that is dunked in sizzling, sugary syrup to give one heavenly feels till the time its taste lasts.

6) Sabudana Khichdi (pronounced saa-boo-daa-naa khich-dee) - Pearly Pot

Tapioca pearls tossed in a rich assortment of peanuts, green chillies and cumin seeds ensuring a delightful sojourn for your oral glands, while exploring the taste of the varied ingredients, collectively.

7) Chole Bhature (pronounced chho-le bh-toora) - Palatable Peas & Bumper Bread

Beguiling, juicy chick peas drenched in a hot, red gravy served with deep-fried, leavened bread meant to seduce the consumer one dripping bite at a time.

8) Jalebi (pronounced ja-ley-bee) - Spiral Crunches

Hot  and crunchy delight spiralled in a deep-frying pan before being amply loaded with sugar syrup so as to stimulate your sensory glands. 

9) Pav Bhaji (pronounced paa-v bhaa-jee) - Bunned Hotchpotch

An assortment of vegetables mashed in a cooking pot to form a stocky, red gravy before devouring it with a bread bun garnished with butter and then more butter.

10) Dhokla (pronounced dh-o-klaa) - Gujarati Cake

A scrumptious and spongy piece of floured finery pairing up with green, coriander sauce in order to tease your notorious taste buds.

A Woman's Quest To Find Her Lost Identity

The seven-year-old was finally declared dead after a long battle with pneumonia. The mother of the child, who was sitting in the waiting room, was subsequently informed about the passing away of her only child. The nurses covered the body of the dead child with a thin sheet of white cloth only to show the child's little face.

"Today, I have been relieved of all my responsibilities. Now, I shall probably have the opportunity of coming closer to finding my real self. God bless you, my child, one last time. I hope I did justice to you during our time together. May you be happy wherever you are," the mother exclaimed with an unusual calm on her face. It probably felt like the calm before a storm.

It was a cold winter evening, when Leena was all set to elope with the man of her dreams. Anish and Leena were neighbourhood friends, who eventually fell in love before deciding to get married. Leena went against her parents' wishes to marry Anish. A few years into their marriage, Anish was involved in an extramarital affair with his colleague, which left no stone unturned to tear his wife's world apart. He soon started to stay away from home and his wife and child for long periods. Everybody around the couple, including Leena's parents, had learnt about Anish's relationship with another woman. Leena, whose parents' had permanently closed doors on her, was rendered helpless and had nowhere to go. Leena often regretted her decision to marry Anish and snap ties with her kin until one day, when she decided to walk out on him.

The beaches of Goa have a unique way of talking into your sorrow. Every wave brings a new hope that tranquilizes your worries about the future. Leena had shifted to Goa soon after she lost her child. While the mornings and afternoons were spent attending theatre classes, Leena would end her day by spending long hours at the beach trying to adjust to her new-found freedom. After forsaking her identity all her life to be someone's daughter, wife and mother, Leena was left grappling with a huge void, when the focus of her life had shifted to her own existence. Sometimes the things one has long-awaited are often the ones that create maximum turbulence to enter your life. Having constantly lived on the edge, while fearing the loss of a loved one, a life devoid of pain, uncertainty and suffering was something Leena could only dream of ever since the time she walked out of her parents' home.

As days started passing by, Leena's past was starting to become a distant memory. Although there were times when Leena would have sudden bouts of loneliness, there was never a moment when she felt compelled to look back. Going on the stage and getting into the skin of a character transported Leena into a world which was a far cry from the world that had presented Leena with only misery and rejection. She started channeling her agony and sorrow to add depth and nuance to her acting. The opportunity to revel in the pleasure of being someone else, albeit for a brief period of time, had always been fascinating for Leena since she was a child. Little did she know, back then, that her own life would be reduced to short stints of drama.

It was a winter evening in Goa, and all of Leena's theatre friends had gathered for a house party. It had been ages since Leena adorned her body with carefully selected drapes and accessories. She had forgotten what it felt like to socialize. That evening, Leena sported a pink lace dress with a black shrug to complement her black stilettos. She had braided her hair on one side and ensured that she carried a handbag, which went with what she was wearing. As the evening proceeded, Leena chose to let loose in the company of booze. The trauma of her past had haunted her enough to yearn for a celebration of what lay ahead. "I found my first family when I was born. I was very happy living in my small world with the people I most loved. Things soon changed, when I started dating Anish, my ex-husband. My family, who was against my relationship with him, chose to disown me the day I eloped with him. I had probably assumed that having my knight in a shining armour by my side would bring an end to all my life's miseries. Breaking ties with my first family, whom I had refused to share with anybody, at once, only meant that the brightest part of my life was erased. I lost my second family the day my child departed from this world. The child that I had brought into this world gave me something very special while leaving - freedom to find my own self, which was somewhere lost, while being a daughter, wife and mother. The family that I have found, here, has known me as a woman who is on a mission to find her real identity. Today, I can proudly say that I have found a family that has accepted me by choice. I hope that we always stay like this. Cheers to my you all," exclaimed an emotionally charged Leena before all her friends engulfed her in a warm hug.

Months had soon turned into years. Leena, who was bestowed with the prestigious Best Student award, had earned an entry into a leading theatre group, which performed plays with a social message across the country. Before she knew it, Leena was traversing the country for numerous shows every year. Her past was now visibly distant. The agony of her betrayals had drowned deep in the roles that she played. Or that's what she portrayed. She was slowly getting accustomed to a life, which demanded bringing the best out of her. She was now living for herself and had slowly started to find what truly held the power to make her happy. And it wasn't really all that much about finding success and becoming independent as it was about learning to find happiness without the fear of losing it that made Leena value her worth. She had become a hero in her own eyes, a far cry from resorting to a man in her life to derive strength from.

It had been 11 years since the time Leena had last met her parents. "Maybe my child left me as a punishment for my decision to choose my husband over my parents. Maybe I was not deserving to be a mother. Maybe my child would have been alive, today, had it not been for what I did to my parents. I have sinned. I couldn't do justice to my child," thought Leena to herself after suddenly waking up with dizziness. Before she could know, Leena started hallucinating and began talking to her dead child, whom she thought to be alive and sleeping beside her. Leena, who had a play lined up for the afternoon, got up and stormed out of her room. She started walking aimlessly. As her feet started pacing, her past and present, both, flashed in front of her eyes. Here was a daughter, who was serving a lifetime of separation from her parents for committing a grave sin. She had dared to make a choice of staying with a partner she had fantasized growing old with. A wife had been ruthlessly betrayed for the love of another woman. The wife's fault was that she had worshipped a future of seeing sunsets, while clutching the hand of her better half and find all the peace in her small world. There was a mother, whose kid went out of her sight and never came back. And then, there was Leena, a popular theatre actor, who had won several awards and accolades for her work.

While Leena continued to head aimlessly on the streets, a child, who was playing in the park with her parents, looked towards Leena and exclaimed, "Look ma, isn't she the woman who stopped her husband from drowning their baby girl?" The mother smiled at her daughter and replied, "Yes, she was a beautiful and heroic mother in that play." The girl waved at Leena with excitement and flashed a wide smile at her. Leena, who was standing right across from where the girl was, had seen her own child in that precious girl. She soon ran towards the child and hugged her before beginning to weep.She tightly clutched the child to her chest and cried uncontrollably. It seemed like it was in that warm embrace that Leena had found the consolation for her life's biggest regrets and worst misses.

If men have a penis, women have words

A lot has been said and discussed about the second-hand status of women in India, and the customs and practices that have contributed to their helplessness. Not taking away from my advocacy of equal rights for men and women, I, somewhere, also feel that Indian women have self-victimized themselves a fair bit, whereas men have failed to acknowledge the worth of their women and look at the beauty and hilarity, when it comes to the chemistry between the two species. The negative consequences of our co-existence have outdone how much our distinctness has added different dimensions to our life and made it worthy enough. I feel it's time we end this contest of pitting men and women against each other and celebrate the different aspects of womanhood and manhood and revel in the glory of their idiosyncrasies.

As a Gujarati, most women that form a part of my family and community have been homemakers. And the one thing about Gujarati women that I have commonly observed is their unapologetic way of life. It seems like they wear their pride on their sleeves. Be it fancying their motto - Live, breathe, think and enjoy what you eat - or finding solace in flaunting real jewellery, they do it all with aplomb. In fact, if you're a Gujarati woman and don't quite reflect these typical habits, be ready to forgo your cultural ties. My poor father is quite often subjected to taunts from my mother, who proudly claims that she has been a lucky mascot for him and is the reason for his success. My father, who has happily accepted this claim, now lives to succeed at taking risks courtesy of my mother's good luck.

Women in general have a natural flair for remembering their fights from years ago and using them as a weapon to cut open anybody who tries to launch a verbal attack on them. Sometime ago, I happened to overhear a conversation between my grandparents. "You're not doing any favour by looking after your 85-year-old husband. I can easily find another partner, who shows concern, care and love for her husband," my grandfather exclaimed with masculine pride. Soon thereafter, I could hear the sound of soft giggles coming from the room. It turned out that my grandmother was barely able to resist laughing. " I shall pity the woman who agrees to marry you," my grandmother snapped back. "I highly doubt if anybody would make that mistake even if you paid her a huge amount of money. Good luck!" she added. Such was the impact of my grandmother's words that my grandfather, a lawyer, was utterly agape and was left grappling for words. I, on the inside, experienced a great sense of pride upon witnessing the ultimate victory of somebody who belonged to my species.

We're at that stage in our lives where it is vital to shift our focus from only looking at the shortcomings, that come as a part of our co-existence. Gone are the days when a father tried to make his daughter his son to acknowledge her high worth. If a son is capable of carrying forward the family's legacy, then a daughter is capable of firmly holding the strings that connect a family together. Indulging in a battle, which puts the two genders against each other, is just taking away from their individual worth. And don't forget that a penis cannot do wonders without a vagina. 

The Missing Outlook

I’m often left confused and grappling for an answer when I ask myself this rather thought-provoking question - Do I love something because I’m attached to it?If you follow Buddhist philosophy, then you would know that attachment and expectations are the root cause of pain and suffering. Parents, close friends and family and pets are the ones we rely upon for our happiness and fulfillment. One may have observed that he/she may take a random, instant liking towards someone without even knowing that person. And there cannot always be a reason attributed to that liking. In my daily life, there are a few things that I am always surrounded by. My mobile phone, laptop, handbag, clutch, bed and clothes are things that are difficult for me to part with. They may not necessarily be the most expensive or best looking things in the world, but I love them because they are mine. The difficulty in parting with them does not come from love as much as it comes from my attachment with them. Your pet pooch suddenly coming and biting you will cause a mental disturbance because you “expect” him/her to be disciplined and well-behaved. I wouldn't be as appalled if a stray animal happened to come and bite me. I would probably not go beyond commenting on the inherent nature and behaviour of animals in the latter case. Similarly, if a parent or a child or a close friend lapses in fulfilling his/her duties, can we not look at them all as humans, for once, and forgive their actions?

If there was one word that described me best, then that would be “rebel”. I have always coaxed myself into creating my own path and doing things the way I have envisioned them for myself. I have continuously developed my set of ideas and thoughts to achieve a mental equilibrium, or at least tried to do so. I believe there are a few learnings that have acted as a takeaway from this behaviour, which have just added to my perspective towards life. I have tried to sum those learnings up in some points.

Here goes the over-the-years-developed aggregation:

1) It’s okay to not know everything in this world. You’re a human and not a supernatural being. Those that try to belittle you by indulging in big talks are just nan insecure lot, who need attention. Forgive them.

2) Silence is golden. Trying to keep yourself occupied with conversations that are      not in accordance with who you are can be as good as committing a sin. Both  hold the same power to destroy you.

3) Acceptance of your weaknesses and failures are a sign of your real growth. Trying to move away from your shortcomings and failures just ends up distancing you from success.

4) You don't need money and power to influence people. People around you are always subconsciously registering your actions and behaviour. If you are performing your duties well and doing what you ought to then you are enough of a role model.
5) Living a life with lies is a disservice to your own self rather than to those around. Be selfish and act in your interest.

6) Doing something with consistency for long earns you more confidence and mental satisfaction than small successes or a one-time victory. 

7) Being quiet need not be classified as being less confident. For someone, whose work and actions have surpassed the average threshold of excellence, quietude is the best accessory to adorn.

8) Becoming rich does not bring an end to your problems. It’s just a shift in the complexities of your life. You need to look good, speak well, behave appropriately, maintain your status in the public eye and keep up the facade of being happy at all times.

9) Nature, birds and animals rightfully own this land as much as humans. We must be grateful to them for allowing us to mould their surroundings in a manner which actually has done more harm to them than good.

10) We are all intertwined and dependent on each other for our survival. Displaying arrogance and self-centeredness to stay true to your worth is making a fool of yourself. You're taking away from the credit that others are deserving of for helping you achieve everything that you have right from the time you were born. The air you breathe, the parental contribution to your arrival into this world, the contribution of all the people who have helped you along your journey to success, the love that you have received resulting in shaping you as a person, the friends that stuck around during your times of distress, a helping hand that acted as a stepping stone for your success story, the money spent on your upbringing and education contribute a very small portion to ever-increasing list of things that one must be grateful for.

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.