A Pinch of Salt

She ambled towards the kitchen sheepishly. It was their first morning together after a lavish and loud wedding. They didn't have sex but to sleep in the same room with a stranger was an uncomfortable experience. They said that he was her husband but then he hardly knew her except for the fact that he loved to go for plays and took a keen interest in writing.
To cook for a stranger was an uphill task but this was the moment that could break the ice between them. 
The kitchen was neat and everything was placed in order with clear labels pasted on the jars. She smiled happily at the thought of having accidentally married a guy who was spick and span and knew how to take care of his belongings. 
The space was stacked with all the latest home appliances that were invented to make cooking an effortless and painless experience. She was in awe of the man she had married after having a glance of his scullery. He had indeed been brought up with a sense and value for responsibility. 
She wondered as to what was the first dish that she should make for her beloved husband that would make him fall head over heels in love with her. She didn't want the first meal of their life to leave a distaste in their mouths.
The window threw the warmth of the sun on her face.The bright red flowers in the garden were gleefully basking in the aubade aura of the yellow star. 
She decided to make chole (chickpeas) and puri (wheat bread fried in oil). She remembered that on their first date in a sparsely lit restaurant in south Bombay he had joked about craving for chole bhature after having moved away from home. Struggling to knead the dough to perfection she had to make sure that the surprise she had planned for her husband  remained behind the closed doors. After battling with the hissing sounds of the fried oil and getting incinerated in the heat she hurriedly rushed to the bathroom to wash herself. She didn't want to stink like a pig and waste the moment she was looking forward to.

The ceramic tray was brimming with utensils. The pots made a loud clinging noise that woke him up. With half open eyes and a shy smile he looked at her from the comfort of the couch that was his resting place for the night. He moved quickly to the bathroom and returned in a jiffy, quickly positioning himself on the wooden chair of the study table placed in the corner of the room. She couldn't look at him with confidence or for that matter with ardor as he was this stranger turned acquaintance who had posed with her on a gilded stage for the frenzied photographers last night.
As they sat down to have the first meal of their life together as husband and wife, he gingerly touched her for the first time moving the bunch of wet dripping hair away from her face. She was taken aback by the gentle grazing of his skin on hers. They said that a way to a man's heart was through his stomach, perhaps they were right.
As he broke a piece of the puri and dipped it in chole, biting into it like a gluttonous dog, the expression on his face suddenly changed. As she bent over him to inquire as to what was wrong with the food, he grinned and inquired as to whether she could find the jar of salt or not.She tasted the food, smiling back in hesitation intently looking at a man who had no qualms in forgiving her for being stupid, or perhaps unmindful.

Forgetfulnes and a pinch of salt gave them their first sweet moment.

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

Walking Away

Airports fascinated me very much. Everytime I go there, a new story is born. Like common cold the memory takes its own sweet time to heal.
The blue passport with the golden Ashoka emblem was gleaming from underneath my huge black bag. Who would have thought that one day I would be taking leave from a country I had grown up in. My love for India was littered by my love for research. What followed was a struggle that threw my life in shambles. Sometimes, the choices we need to make are never the kinds that we might have decided to make. The project that came my way was like a lover who belongs to another caste or religion, for whom putting up a fight with the rest of the world made more sense than letting go.

Within days, I was freed of my predicament. Of trying to put up with parents who thought that a daughter staying alone in a foreign country, would spell doom on the family’s honour. 
This glossy ambience of the airport was like a precursor to things that were to follow. Much like a reminder of what I deserve and had not got, until now.

The destination board was beaming with blue and red lettered words. I could see a lot of human activity around me, much of which had a lot of bag and baggage to drag. Their noisy kids added to my daunting dilemma, and I decided to hunt for a quieter corner, where in I could be at peace.

Johanna

The curtains had been pulled over and the large orange sun was struggling to enter her room as though he was a trespasser. She had decided to sleep over all day. She occupied the left side of the bed, as though Johann was snoring to glory. His sounds and smell had become her drug. She never knew that a man she had met at a friend's party five years ago would give her a reason to live, after her parent's untimely demise. 

She always used to have her breakfast from the tiny coffee shop located at the curved end of the street. It was a clean place, a tiny patisserie that made the city's best pastries and breads. A cup of delicately brewed cappuccino and a corn spinach sandwich was her breakfast for the day. She had been asked by her doctor to cut down on flab, because of which she had given the mud pie a skip, which was a tempting obligation every morning. The owner of the shop, a middle aged man in his fifties with a balding head and a pot-belly, always gave her discounts. For the past five years, except for weekends she had not missed out having breakfast from his pastry shop. She was his favourite customer.

Today he was trying his best to lure her into buying a mud pie or brownie, which were her favourites by incessantly smiling at her and pointing to the dessert counter. Since the past one month she had learnt the trick of looking away in the other direction while she paid the bill to not get enchanted into buying a portion of her favourite dessert. As she hurriedly walked out of the bakery, to not get smitten by the aroma of the delicacies being dished out there, she was greeted by a husky male voice.

Cold Confession

She was puzzled to see the blood stains adorning the alabaster marble flooring.It was the third case of cold blooded murder in the city which had left the police force as well the people of the city in bewilderment. The murder weapon was untraceable and there were no helpful clues that could aid the investigation

Two months,three murders and no major headway.

ACP Ananya Sharma was a discomfited soul. This mystifying situation had gifted her sleepless nights and a lot of unhealthy criticism that was posing as a serious threat to her job.

She belonged to the 2002 batch of IPS(Indian Police Service) officers, who, because of their extraordinary brilliance had been deputed into the Central Bureau of Investigation. She had won many accolades for her bravery and sharpness but this time around the story was very different. She could sense a grave situation in store for her if she failed to achieve a breakthrough in this case.

****

She was sipping a glass of orange juice and was observantly examining the forensic reports along with Abhigyaan her immediate junior officer who had been deputed to the CBI from the Delhi Police.

"One thing is for sure, this guy is a brutal soul, else why would someone want to kill three pregnant women?" she asked.

"I agree madam. Did Dr.Rishabh tell you something about the murder weapon?" he enquired.

"Yes he says that a weapon has pierced two to four inches into the flesh cutting the jugular vein." she replied.

"Oh, then there might be some clue about the kind of weapon used"

"No, Dr.Rishabh said there are no traces of any kind of metal in the DNA samples of the victims. He could confidently tell me about the kind of injury but was not very sure about the murder weapon. He says this is the rarest of the rare cases. He assured me that he is working on it."

"What will we do madam, if the forensic team has no clue about the kind of weapon. They are the only people who can give us valuable evidences that will help in the investigation. What will we do,madam?" Abhi inquired in uneasiness.

Suddenly her eyes fell on the glass of cold drink that was placed on the table. She could visualize the ice cubes getting smaller in size and blending with the drink.

"I think I have a clue." Ananya said with a dash of jubilation in her voice.

"What clue, madam? " Abhi asked .

"You know our body is composed of roughly seventy percent water and if something like a weapon has to get into the flesh and disappear, I think it has to be water. Just like these ice cubes which are merging with the drink and getting smaller in size with time. After sometime they will disappear. I hope you are understanding my point."

"Yes madam, I think I am understanding what you are saying. But then water in which form?" Abhi questioned.

"Water in solid form that is ice. It can be very dangerous if in solid form and is easily available." Ananya replied.

"Oh yes Madam, Ice can do the trick. Oh yes..."Abhi marveled at her brilliance.

"I am glad you understood my point."

"But this has complicated the case further. What will we do now,madam" Abhi asked

"I agree Abhi. But let's not lose hope. ” She assured.

“Abhi, I need all the details about the three victims. Let me know everything right from their education to their husbands to their family backgrounds. I need every bit of information about these three women.”

“I need about two days to gather all the information. I hope he doesn’t commit another murder in the next two days.”

“No he won’t. Have you noticed Abhi? This guy murders a woman once in ten days. The first murder happened on April 17th,the second on April 27th and the third on 7th May. The fourth may happen on 17th May but again I am not very sure. This guy wants to challenge our mind. I hope and pray that the fourth murder doesn’t happen before we catch him. ”

“Hope so,madam. ”

“Just two days,that’s all you have. ”

“Sure madam,I know how important it is to be quick in our profession and not waste time unnecessarily. ”

****



“These are the details, Madam” Abhi informed as he placed a blue colored file on her table.

“Wow, thanks Abhi. You took less than two days actually. Thanks a ton. ” She replied in gratitude.

“The common link between these three victims is that they were pregnant and studied in St.Mary’s College. ”

“Whattttt? That’s my college.Oh my God.Then I am sure I might be knowing   atleast one of the victims closely, or maybe my sister might have some clues since she is from the same college as well. ”

She hastily examined the file and frantically dialled her younger sister’s number.

“Oh didi, I was about to call you.” Priyanka said.

“Yeah Pri. Do you know the latest murder victim to die in the city was a classmate of yours. Did you know her? ” she probed .

“Yup didi. She was the topper in our class. An extremely intelligent woman. And recently she had got promoted as the assistant director in the Chamber of Commerce.” informed Priyanka.

“Oh God, This is insane. And you know we collected their medical reports and found out that they all went to Dr.Rashmi Prabhakar’s maternity care home in the city. ”

‘Didi, I am consulting Dr. Rashmi as well. Maybe I can accompany you to her clinic and maybe she can give you some important clues.” Priyanka told.

“No,Pri. I just want you to be careful and not go to Dr.Rashmi’s clinic for a while till I inform you. OK? ”

“ Alright didi. Rohit is always here with me. And so are dad and mom. I won’t step out of the house without Rohit. So don’t you worry” Priyanka consoled her.

****

“Dr.Rashmi Prabhakar’s Clinic. That’s our first destination for today, Abhi.”

“But why madam? What can this doctor do for us? ” Abhi asked.

“It seems this killer is getting some kind of help from Dr. Rashmi. And you know Priyanka my younger sister is also consulting her and I am really worried about her. It seems like this killer knows me as well. ”

“Is it madam? I hope she is fine. ”

“Yeah. I asked her not to step out of the house. Let’s go Abhi.”

They reached the clinic in about half an hour and headed straight towards Dr.Rashmi’s chamber.

“Hello Madam. I am ACP Ananya and I am the special investigating officer of the triple murder case in the city. I wanted your help. ”

Oh yes. I will surely help you. But…what can I do for you? ” Rashmi stammered.

She handed out a sheet of paper with the details of the three victims clearly inscribed on it.

“They were my patients. ” Rashmi said in hushed tones .

“What else you know about them? And do you know one Priyanka Sharma? ” Ananya enquired .

“She is my patient and I can only help you with the medical reports of these three patients. There is nothing else I can do for you. I think you must go and conduct an enquiry with the families of the victims. " Rashmi suggested.

"Alright, madam. Sorry for the trouble caused. Kindly hand over the reports to Abhigyaan as soon you can" Rashmi said.

"Let's conduct an enquiry with families of the victims."

"But is it sane to give this lady a clean chit?" Abhi probed.

"No. It cannot be a coincidence that the killing of three innocent women in the city has nothing to do with this doctor. Since all the victims were her patients, it's too early to comment on her innocence. Let's see where we are going from here. Meanwhile, ask Arun and Pratish to keep a check on her in plain clothes." ordered Ananya.

*****

"We condole your daughter's death Mr.Verma. I have come to you to clarify certain things. I hope you will be supportive." Ananya said.

"Yes we will help you. But please keep Mrs.Verma our of this. She isn't feeling well and might get depressed if you ask her disturbing questions." Mr.Verma replied.

"I understand Mr .Verma. Where is Renuka's husband? Can I meet him? " Ananya inquired.

"He's out to the U.S. He went immediately after the cremation. He said he wanted to be away from all the pain and I think he had some meetings there." replied Mr.Verma.

"But don't you think he should have been here and supported you. How can any man attend meetings after his wife's brutual murder? Mr.Verma if you don't mind,can I have Renuka's husband's mobile number. I need to talk to him." Ananya requested.

Mr.Verma scribbled the number on a piece of paper and handed it over to Ananya.

"I...I wanted to tell you something." stammered Mr.Verma

"What is it Sir. Feel free to tell me everything. I am like your daughter. I will support you in every way possible." assured Ananya.

"There was some problem between my daughter and her husband. I think Pranav, her husband has another affair in the U.S, because he visits the place once in three months. I am not sure but I think something is terribly wrong, because my wife always kept telling me about their fights. And I was about to speak to Pranav about the issue. But..But... Before that he killed my daughter I think." said Mr.Verma and broke down into tears.

Ananya went near him and patted his back and consoled him.

"Mr.Verma I will look into the matter. If your daughter's husband is behind all this, I won't leave him for sure. Thanks for the number"

She took leave from Mr.Verma and walked towards the door dialling the number engraved on the sheet of paper but it was prompting a busy tone.

"Seems that asshole is busy. Abhi,please take down this number and keep trying. Meanwhile we must also conduct a check at the pregnancy aerobics class."

"Sure madam. I will keep calling and inform the telephone exchange to keep a check on this number" replied Abhi.

My Lover in the White Cassock

The walk towards the church was a long one. The winding serpentine roads were a pain that broke her legs which reminded her of the pain that the rubber trees in her hometown might be going through, when the axe fell on them. Even then she loved to walk. She had broken her leg a few months ago. Since then walking seemed like a curse, infact a child who had just grown over her walker, could limp better than her. Although she loved ambling towards the church every Wednesday to pray the beads and hoard sanity. Having lived as a stay-at-home good-for-nothing keep of a husband who stayed away from Delhi for many months on the pretext of work, left her with a lot of time to pursue hobbies and also taught her to pray. She lazily got up to the call of a housekeeper who reminded her of her own mother, she vaguely remembered. To a breakfast that left, no room for lunch. This Wednesday she decided to not break the fast and head for church with a growling stomach. She loved quelling the groans of an empty stomach by guzzling as much water that her stomach could hold.

This was her way of rebelling against comfort food that her rich husband could afford.

The afternoon was welcomed by an unexpected deluge that tore the womb of the sky and fell on the parchment dried and devastated by the heat. They were a reminder of her childhood days in Kochi. A city washed by the sea that had hidden a thousand untold stories in her belly. Her mother had gone to God's house, that was what she was made to believe in as a child, when she was four. Her father was a businessman who never had too much time for a young daughter, who had just lost her mother to fate's dirty games. The free time he had was spent in devising new ways for filling the church coffers. They were perhaps one of the richest Syrian Christians in India, who were household names in every Syrian Christian household. The aristocratic royalty that her forefathers carried, was all that was needed to be honoured.

And to look with disdain on people who weren't as honourable as them.

As she grew up and stepped into the "marriageable age" she was ordered on the dinner table, one night by her father, who found solace in the wealth he was stashing with a petrified guilt, to find a husband for herself. For once, it came as a sigh of relief for her, unlike the other syrian Christian girls, many of whom had first known their husbands on the marriage bed. She had another story that wasn't letting a man walk in, the appendages of which choked her sometimes. She wore his shirt on days that she wanted to feel his skin on him, and many times the letters he had written to her as a young twenty-something innocent young man took her down the memory lane, that still knew their footprints. To get over him she had started following a strange exercise of writing a diary, where in she recorded the most intimate details of a love so shameless, yet so pure. She missed the fragrance of his cologne, the mole on his neck and the warmth of his arms, that she thought had grown up to remember her softness. They were school friends and neighbours who took to knowing each other's bodies from having started doing their homework as pre-school kids. He left on a Sunday morning, leaving at her side a goodbye letter that was a mystery stranger than the UFO's. On nights that she hallucinated about him, she used to see strange objects flying in her bedroom until she would shut her eyes tightly and chant a prayer.

Ralph was like an irritating common cold, that was taking its own sweet time to get cured.

The church bells always rang at the right time, never a minute late. Catholic people from around the sleepy neighbourhood of the government colonies attended the afternoon mass, so did a few enthusiastic school students who studied in the convent nearby. She loved to see those young girls hop around the grey cemented courtyard of the church that had started developing cracks much like the old famished building, that needed the touch of the masons urgently. On the wooden over-sized benches in the church, she had seen life change. Marriages had happened and baptisms too, but nothing changed for her. She still came to church everyday, to pray for a bit of love and everyday she had to meet with disappointment, as though God lost all his divine powers when she turned up with her requests. She was more like a spiritual atheist who had no hope in God, and only in the still silence of the white washed walls of the church that squeezed peace out its pores. She had an important thing to confess about and today she might have to wait after the mass to voice her confession. She hated to wait, all thanks to the privileges that were served to her on a platter. Maybe, that was the only gift her unloving husband could provide. That made her stand on six inched stilettos with not a care in the world.

She felt like a queen.

Story of the Honest Roadside Tea Vendor in Andheri

Living in Mumbai was a learning lesson in my life. I had to grapple with every irritating issue on my own, since the protective hearth of my home wasn't a reality anymore. I had to make a move to Mumbai for six months, but those testing times showed no signs of coming to an end. From doing my laundry without a washing machine, to having bland food to shopping for groceries on my own. The list of the endless atrocities that life had in store for me, had lost count.

I was living in the university hostel at that time. The food was tasteless and flavorless, but I had no other options but to resign to fate. The only saving grace was the tea I had in the morning and evening, which was available in those glossy coffee shops outside the campus. This seemed to be a great idea initially, until it started creating bigger holes in my pocket. Soon, I started to look for local roadside tea vendors, who would serve me two cups of tea or coffee and make my day.

I had to make peace with the reality, for the struggle to find a good roadside tea vendor was all in vain. I did find a few tea vendors, but their tea made me throw up, since it wasn't served with hygiene.  I used to guzzle numberless cups of green tea which was to cater to my health needs. Sadly, it didn't give me the kind of kick that 'tea with milk' gave me. As my mom puts it rightly, I can imagine living without food but surviving without tea is like being slapped with a curse for a lifetime.

Indecent Proposal

A young executive was nervously biting her nails, the creases on her forehead looked like those on a crumpled cotton cloth, trailing around her temple. She was wearing black formals with stilettos that stood an inch above the earth. In her right hand she held a green office file with a note attached on the top, slid under a plastic name badge. She was squatted on the sofa with her legs in a ninety degree angle to the tiled flooring, while her back was away from the rest of the sofa. She was positioned as if she was raring to jump off the couch and dart into the Manager's cabin like a zebra.

"Anna Mathew" shouted the PR executive daintily dressed in a chiffon saree.

"Yes madam, it's me" she replied

She stood up with a jerk much like a camel cobbling up a sea of dust. She paused to breathe for a minute and then slowly and steadily with the grace of a tortoise walked into the Manager's room. She was tensed, down to her last taut muscle and it took her sometime to seat herself. The room was a rectangular one or a square it seems, with Venetian blinds veiling the windows on either sides. The furniture was futuristic, with a sleek desk and chairs of black and white colour standing on either sides.  The end of the room was accommodating another table stacked with files and folders of various colours. She took a while to look through the room until a throaty voice yelled at her.

"Anna, are you here? Annaaaaaa"

"Yes sir, yes of course" she replied.

"Masters in Business Administration with two years of experience in media affairs, interesting!"

"Yes sir."

"Then why did you leave you previous job?", came an enquiry.

"I had to leave the city because my dad was getting transferred."

"Alright and who all is there in your family?"

"Dad and me, mom passed away when I was seven."

she declared sorrowfully. "Oh! I am sorry, so you are a self made girl?"

"Not really sir, my dad played a great role in bringing me up."

"Admire your dad to have brought you up single handedly."

"Yes that is why I left my earlier job to accompany him to this city.."

 "Oh! I see,that is great."

"This job will be of a great help to stay back and be doing that." she muttered gulping her saliva.

 "Have you arranged public meetings before and handled media houses?" he asked.

"Yes sir,the firm I worked in was small but exactly did all this."

 "What are your expectations from us?"

 "Anything that you think I deserve."

"Alright. We will get back to you soon Ms.Anna.Thank you."

 With the usual exchange of polite pleasantries she waded out of the room. The simper on the manager's face told the story, even then it was too early to declare herself as the winner.

 The very next day was a tough one. It was the day of the week when she did laundry. As she was separating her coloured clothes from her dad's stripes and checks, and pinning them on the line neatly,her phone rang. She quickly collected the orange bucket and all the cloth pins and darted into the verandah of the house with the swiftness of a kangaroo. Hurling the can of cloth pins into the bucket she charged into her room. Quickly she tried to dry her hands by wiping them on the t-shirt and picked the phone. It took a moment for her to gather the air in her lungs which by now were heaving heavily after the marathon run from the backyard.

 "Hello, Ms.Mathews,this is Ravi Saxena from Zoom News channel."

"Hhhello sir" after a long deep pause she replied.

"Are you alright? You don't sound good."

 "Of course sir I was in the backyard and had to come rushing to attend to you."

"Ah! Alright. This was to tell you that you've got the job. You can join from monday."

 "Ttthank you so much sir. Cannot tell you how relieved I am to have got this job." she swirled in excitement.

"Meet you on Monday then. You have to report to me at 9 am."

"Yes sir I'll surely be there at sharp 9'o clock."

 Her joy knew no bounds and she broke into a jig after the conversation. She called her dad and gave him the news immediately, even though that meant he had to walk out of an important meeting on the pretext of taking his daily dose of medicine. In the evening both of them dined at their favourite restaurant. She counted the days from that Wednesday for a Monday to arrive.

 Dressed in her favourite green salwar kameez and with a prayer on her lips, she entered the main glossy gate of the office. As she tiptoed into Mr.Saxena's cabin she could feel her heart thumping inside her,  like a drum being tapped violently at a rock concert. She got in and seated herself on one of the black and white chairs positioned opposite Mr.Saxena's tall table. He came a few minutes later and greeted her with a formal handshake and a grin that was less polite than fishy.

 "Sorry Anna it took me sometime. I was in the washroom."

 " Oh that's alright sir."

 "So you'll work under me and report to me directly. Also if you don't mind you would assist me as my secretary until the interview for a new one happens.''

 "Yes sir. As per your wish. Thank you for considering me for this job. I needed it badly."

 "Of course you were my first and only choice for this post. You are educated,young,qualified and most of all beautiful" he announced with a wimp.

Somehow the last adjective he uttered made her smell a dead rat. To clarify she asked with the innocence of a four year old child.

 "Sorry sir. I didn't get you.''

 As she blurted those sentences Saxena got up from his chair and went to the door,firmly giving instructions to the office boy wandering at the end of the corridor to not let anyone in, for the next half an hour. He pretended to the office staff loitering around, that he had to give a briefing to her about her responsibilities and didn't want anyone to interfere or bother. He shut the door behind her and locked it with a clink.

As he came back to his chair his sardonic sneer had widened as if someone had pulled his lips apart to fasten it tightly around his ears.

Losses

I miss love like the deserts miss the rain. And August is my favourite month in the year that had willed love in my name, once upon a time. Those were the days when social networking was setting foot in India. The days when people of my age burned their money by logging onto Orkut, and getting smitten by the experience of checking out people of the opposite sex.

It was the year 2008, and I was into my first year of masters. I had taken an inkling for poetry considering the fears and tears I had fought for many light years. He had left on a September afternoon selling me sorrow I was trying to barter with poetry. We were old friends who met at the bible school. I remembered his name and the one incident that told me of his dauntlessness. His father had passed away a few days ago and instead of mourning he decided to attend the bible school as we all were supposed to do every year, as young teenagers with parents rigged by religion. I was awed by the grit of this fourteen year old boy who had just lost his father and wasn’t willing to let that truth cow him down.

In my masters days, I was this boring book worm that wiggled through pages and had no hobbies to save my soul. I preferred to sleep when I had nothing else to do otherwise, Orkut would do the trick of keeping me busy, in the absence of boyfriends and even girlfriends.
Hi. Are you the same Amit whose father was in the Indian Air force in the  late nineties and who lived along the streets of the St.Mary’s cathedral, Bandra? 
Apologies if you are the wrong person.
Regards
Rachel.
 One such Wednesday evening, was the day marked for our meeting. I happened to come across his profile through a common friend and everything else is history. It boasted of an Amit Tharakan with the location pointing towards Kochi. I had my dreadful doubts about this being the same Amit I used to hate as a teenager. With fingers that were fearfully tap dancing I typed him an e-mail.
 I waited for his reply repining heavily for my impatience. A week later there came an e-mail and a yes to begin with. Indeed, he was the same confused porcupine head I had admired all these years although I was an unknown stranger to him. Alas, he couldn't recall a single day from those times, and it seemed that I had already spoilt the broth.
Contrary to my perceptions, he started e-mailing me twice a week and used to call me as and when time permitted him. As earth was revolving around the sun, our lives were also heading for a change. Our constant conversations transformed into endless discourses and if not for work and college we could have ended up setting a world record for the longest conversation held between two individuals on the phone.
On the first of January the next year, he proposed without a face to face communion. In a thoughtless moment of time, I retorted with a yes. What followed was a romance straight out of the books of a Shakespearean saga. He came to Delhi in February the following year, and without second thoughts about the world, we took to loving each other. His visits would take us to movies, retail therapy and even book hunting to libraries. Life was a poem that was watching its way to the aisle. His May day calling on my birthday brought us closer. We had taken to walking hand in hand while kissing at places where a thousand heads would turn to catch a glimpse of us. It seemed we had known each other for ages and our coming together was a plan God had inked in our lives.

The Boy who Learned to Forgive

He typed hastily into the body of the e-mail, with the subject that read “Uncle Gupta harassed me when I was all of seven.” 
He typed and retyped into the subject line, while his eyes were fixated upon the picture of the lady who had considered cooking for him, her sole ambition in life. She placed the stuffed paranthas on his table and said “Eat them before they get cold and stale.”
He closed the lid of the laptop and went over to the seating area, holding the stuffed brown paranathas his mom had made for him. 
He stared at the tiny scratch on his left forearm. And remembered the kiss she had planted on it, the last time they met. He had forgiven him.



First published in Six Minute Magazine here.

8th January

I did not hit the sack the night before that auspicious January afternoon when I was about to meet him. I counted a thousand sheep separating the black ones from the white and making them stand in separate lines, like it goes in school assembly, with a feeble hope of retiring to bed. I was worried about what I should wear and if it would be cheerlessly cold in Delhi when we meet. Those thoughts had hijacked my mind to rob me of sleep. The only hope was to spend the night staring at the yellow street lamp that always had an eye for my bedroom.

8th January was the date marked in my calendar for our rendezvous. A fortnight before, he informed without the subtle signs of euphoria that he would spend only half an hour with me, and then head to Gurgaon for his official meeting. I had to pick the broken pieces of my heart and nod in approval. I wanted him to stay longer   for us to converse. A four year old conversation was waiting to break free. Reconciling to his dictatorial declarations, I waited for the dawn to break.

While fiddling with the phone in the morning, I saw a message waiting for me in the message box of facebook!
It said that if I would reach by 2.30 pm I would get to sit with him for thirty minutes. I wonder if those words deserved to be replayed like an old noisy record. Arrrgh! I didn't know if this platonic complication should ever be called love in a future I had not seen.

I reached the International airport by 2.00 pm. The cab driver had a million questions for me, and his queries were fed with lies. I couldn't have narrated to him, my non-existent love story. After paying his fare, I hurriedly boarded the escalator. Since I couldn't show the security authorities my photo identity card, my entry into the visitor's lounge got barred. Until I rigged into my bag and saw my folder of certificates, which saved my face in that moment of disaster.  I went to the washroom to check myself out in the mirror for the faintest of fine lines and waves in my tresses had to be fixed. Later, I walked up to lounge and seated myself on one of the white seats fixed to the floor. Those butterflies in my stomach were multiplying from tens to thousands, while I kept dillydallying around the lounge. I still kept checking myself out on the masonry laid under my feet, and alternatively went to read the destination board. Then I paced to the large door out of which passengers could be seen going in and out, trying to make sure that he had not arrived yet. Meanwhile to do away with my fragile fears, I was reading prayers from my phone's folder.

While awaiting his arrival, I saw a lot of tormented souls harrying to see a glimpse of the people they had come to receive, some even exposing placards with names written on them. Meanwhile, a man came out dressed in a brown sweater and cap and shoes that were as old as him. Oh no! It couldn't have been him! Such a dumb looking fellow, even though he looked a lot like him, and if not for the guy going away in the other direction which proved to be a blessing, I would have surely gone up to him to greet him with a colgate smile. The other night I had used an abundant amount of toothpaste and mouthwash to get sparkling white teeth. A smile was the only jewel I was wearing for this date. Yellow gold will be hated to its last bit of existence and junk jewellery wouldn't have complimented the black cardigan I was donning.

He arrived a little later, looking sagged and sleepy and complaining about a fellow passenger who didn't let him slip into his afternoon siesta. He was as tall as me and my heart bled, for I liked tall guys and  I had expected him to stand taller than me. I shied like a newly wedded bride and he wasn't looking at me either, nullified by nervousness. How would two skeptical souls stammering in speech ever write a love story? I wondered!