I have a PROBLEM and I am ANGRY

I am angry, in fact I am very angry and upset. I have tonnes of things piled up on my head today and I need to complete them at the earliest. But I want to write. I am not the kinds who can keep everything wrapped up inside my heart and fake a smile easily. I have to vent it out to feel better. 

I have always loved kids. To all the smart ones out there who are dying to ask me, then why don’t I have one of my own? You can read my post on this hot topic here (http://khushizdiary.blogspot.in/2014/01/the-curious-case-of-aging-ovaries-and.html). Now back to what I was saying, I love kids. I adore them. And there is a reason behind it. Kids are not manipulative like their adult counterparts. Kids, don’t cheat or stab you on your back. Kids, don’t gossip. Kids are honest and most of the times upfront too. They speak their mind and have no inhibitions. I always believed that kids are a better company until this morning. One call from "A" and this bubble that I lived in for years blasted leaving me clueless and agonized. 

A is a lovely mother of a lovely little 6 year old. She informed me that her daughter has excelled in her academics and scored a brilliant 97%. 

Woohoo!! I jumped and congratulated her. "Your little girl excels in everything", I screamed joyfully on the phone. But the reaction from A was faint. 

"Khushi, my daughter hasn’t scored well in other things. She has scored only 89% in Confidence, Honesty, Integrity, and Carefulness. A was certainly worried.

Was I listening things? The moppet was ranked and judged on these parameters? I was stunned.

"You must be kidding", I tried faking a giggle.

"No, no, she has really scored pathetic in these things." A replied sadly.

"But wasn’t she doing well in her extra curricular activities? And she has won several awards too. So how could she be not good with her confidence and all that." I tried understanding this whole concept.

"God knows", A sighed and hung up.

I felt a whirlpool and a hurricane and a tsunami of anger roaring inside my heart and lungs and a strange pain in my rib cage. Are kids as little as 6 getting judged on these parameters? And how do teachers arrive at this score? "Oh, you little boy, you haven’t been able to learn this poem that your forefathers wrote 4 centuries ago. Though the poem holds no significance as such you must still leanr it. Now that you couldn't, you score a 50% on confidence. Now you little girl in the corner, you have not been keeping your books inside the bag as I instructed you too hence you score a 20% on carefulness. And you little girl, laughing and giggling happily, you share your lunch box with everyone and others also share their lunch box with you. Sharing is a bad thing and you have no integrity at all. So you get a 30% in Integrity. But you the silent little lad, you have been learning all that I have been teaching and preaching without asking any question, hence you score a 100 % in honesty. 

Grrrrrrr......I am annoyed.

Come to think of it. Are we being really fair to our children? Are we not pushing them in to a tunnel where they will be judged, at times humiliated and then made to sit in the corner? Are we not teaching them to silently comply to the non rationale norms of the society? And are we being good parents at all by accepting all that schools have to offer in the name of education? 

Teachers of course need to inform parents about the child’s strength and weaknesses. It helps parents in better parenting. It helps the child to understand the difference between right and wrong and that’s how kids learn. Teachers and schools play such a vital role in guiding and molding kids in to better humans. But we have absolutely no right to judge a child on his honesty or integrity or whatever. I am not against teachers or schools. I am against this mad race that kids are forced to run. 

As a child I looked up to my teachers for guidance and support. I was a very naughty child and my teachers will vouch for it. Throwing ink on others, playing games during history class, looking outside the window whenever I got bored and what not. Yet my mother was never told that her daughter is careless or dishonest or has low confidence. My strengths were channelized in the right direction and my weaknesses were worked upon. I was punished for my mistakes and appreciated for my achievements. I guess I was extremely fortunate to have wonderful teachers who were passionate about their work. My teachers loved us. They were stern yet affectionate. And whatever little I am today, a large part of the credit goes to my teachers. 

Times have changed and so has our perception about education and success. Our expectations from our children have also undergone a serious metamorphosis. However why do we fail to understand that a six year 20 years ago and a six year old now has the same expectation? All that a kid wants is love, care, guidance and a place where he/she can be himself/herself without any inhibitions and express freely with out the fear of getting judged or rejected. I am sad, I am very sad. I wish I could change the way our education system is shaping up. Hundreds of so called International Schools have come up but unless we really do something about this madness that has become a part of our education, international schools won't fetch us anything.

Stop judging children. Encourage their curiosity. Support their little ambition. Participate in their seamless imagination. Lend a hand when they fall. Caress their wounds. Help them become better humans tomorrow. Don’t rank them. We are here to nurture tender little wings of our children so that they can fly but all we are doing is mercilessly chopping off their soft feathers.

I have a problem and I am in agonized.

Angry, Anxious, and Annoyed,
Khushi


I am sharing this wonderful video that further explains my agony.

On Daily Soaps and Enlightenment

These days I am on a research mission, picking up subjects that were earlier left unattended by me. I have picked up a new pair of lenses as well and I can now look at things from a different perspective. Recently, I decided to indulge in some of the daily soaps on our national television and see if my perspective on them could change. I was amazed to find out that these soaps were not at all what I had heard or thought about them. I always detested them and I must admit I am guilty to bits to have neglected these wonderful ladies on screen. 2 days.... just 2 days and I am enlightened. In fact, this morning R accepted that he had finally seen the Halo over my head. In tears I ran towards the mirror, my right leg first and then the left and I talked to myself. If you think I had done this before, then you are wrong. I have learnt it from these soaps. I feel so elated. Not only this, these soaps have also taught me some of the most important lessons of life. I am amazed at how fast and how far our society has grown. I shall not keep these gems with me alone. Hence you are welcome to be enlightened as well.

Five Valuable Lessons for Women:

If you are not married at least 4 times,you are not married at all: Five years of my marriage and I am still with just one husband. Darn! I felt like a failure after I saw that this leading lady was preparing for her 4th wedding with her second husband. Success, really means that you have to be married at least 4 times in one lifetime. Each marriage has to be celebrated with pomp and joy. After all, marriage is just for fun and frolic, is it not? And it is mandatory to hate all four respective husbands because in all probability they will either be your business rivals or they could be friends with your enemies. Also, you have to ensure that all your husbands are happy after the wedding and you have to mandatorily fast for them on Karvachauth. Most of them will love aaloo ka paratha too. I was almost in tears when I saw this. See, this is exactly why men across the globe want Indian women. Because, irrespective of everything, she will still fast for him. Our society has become so advanced yet Indian values are so intact. I am sobbing, already!

You cannot marry the man you love: What needs to be noted is that you will never ever end up marrying the one you love. The logic is simple. There are 100%  chances that however young he is, he will certainly have a past. A past where a woman he loved wore green mascaras, thick black kajal, maroon lipstick, vermilion that started from the Nalasopara of her head and ran through Marine lines on her forehead. She broke his heart and ran away or perhaps died in a car accident. Do not feel relieved that she is dead unless her face is shown when her dead body arrives. Because the dead almost always come back. If the first wife doesn’t resurrect and arrive then chances are quite high that your best friend will suddenly become devilish and marry the man you love. So watch out for your best friends. To tell you, I have two best friends... R is in extreme DANGER!

Talk to yourself so loud that everyone can hear it but you: We have all read that one must sit and spend some time with oneself. This leads to self realization. Based on this concept the women in these soaps talk to themselves. Usually about a plan they plot or about how they feel about their 4 husbands. The key here is that you must compliment your inner words with your expressions. Say, you are planning to save your 4th husband from the clutches of his third wife who is a witch. So you must furrow your eyebrows, shrink your eyes, blink them frequently and gently shake your head first to the left and then to the right. Then lift your head a little up and then a little down. You may also try shedding a few tears but ensure that the kajal remains intact. It isn’t easy at first but then practice makes a man perfect....Oops, sorry a woman too!

The attire and make up matter the most: See it’s very easy. We all believe we are "good women". Hence do not wear heavy make up and heavy jewellery. As far as possible wear cotton suits and sarees. If you are a little modern yet the sati savitri of the house then you can at the most wear a polyester suit with light makeup. Your mascara should be negligible, thin line of kajal, long hair, small vermilion, light pink lipstick. And the most important thing your mangalsutra should be long enough to touch your belly button at least. You may try for one which reaches till your knees as well. But if you are the wicked kind, do not worry. Wear the most expensive jewelery and the most gorgeous make up with snake bindi’s on your forehead. Drape yourself in the most beautiful chiffon sarees with backless blouse. Ensure that your kajal is very thick so that when you talk to yourself like in Point No. 3, your eyes should be able to express every word well. If you belong to the group which is the meanest of all then you can wear tight jeans, short tops and enjoy sips of wine. After all it’s only the mean and wicked women who wear makeups and relish drinks. Other’s just wear a mask and drink “adrak wali chai” which they make for the entire junta in the house!

Babies are made only on rainy days in an isolated place: Just like animals have a mating season, these soaps have taught me that humans too have a mating season. Irrespective of your status with your current husband, Ding Dong (Read my post on aging ovaries to know in detail about the DING DONG Funda) can only happen on a rainy day when you will certainly be caught in an isolated place outside with him. Such isolated places usually have a place to stay warm, have a comfortable bed and even a kitchen to make coffee. The hormones level will be so high that the next day you will feel morning sickness and you will test positive for pregnancy. The challenge however lies in finding such a place. You may want to try the outskirts of the city or visit a village for some adventure. And do not worry about your future husbands. They are generous enough to accept you with your previous husbands children. Believe me, the kids will love him too. I did not know life was so simply profound. I am touched.

I am thrilled to have spent so much time on these generous and informative soaps. I know what you are thinking - 2 days and just 5 lessons? However the good news is that I plan to invest and indulge a little more till I am completely submerged from head to toe in these valuable lessons of life.

Till then, I will order my knee length Mangalsutra and Google about this isolated place where babies are made.... Don’t you know it rains often in Bangalore?

Love,
Khushi

The Curious Case of “Aging Ovaries” and other adventures!

Before you assume anything about this particular blog post, let me warn you that this is going to be a completely non informative and a annoyingly ludicrous post. In case you still wish to proceed, then, “Management will not be held responsible for your lost belongings”, which in this case will be a part of your brain. The decision is entirely, YOURS!

So, The Curious Case of “Aging Ovaries” began long long ago, right from the time mankind existed and evolved on Earth. As this species called "man" evolved from Stone Age to Homo Habilis to Homo Erectus and finally to Homo Sapiens; similarly, the ovaries also evolved and passed through various stages of evolution. We can even name it as "Homo Ovariens" to make it sound a little ancient and biological. Sounds nice, no?

If you think that this curious case is an easy one to solve, huh, let me tell you, you are mistaken. This case is distinct for each woman and is resolved (or at times remains unresolved) by certain long distant relatives, mostly aunties in their early fifties and sixties. But at times, research has also shown that relatively younger aunties have also shown interest in resolving this for women younger to them.

Do you still not get it? No worries. Help is at hand.

If you are a woman and have been married for some time, then I am certain that you at some point in time must have encountered women from various groups asking you about your future plans. And if you were like me and thought that they were genuinely interested in your career plans, or plans about your health or education then I am sure you must have fallen flat on your face, just like I did.

It began six months after my wedding when I was celebrating my 25th birthday. Along with warm wishes and blessings, I was also bestowed with age old, tried and tested tips on how pregnancy and having babies can bring joy to my life. Since it was coming from my loved ones I could easily brush it aside saying that I wasn’t prepared, yet. Then almost 6 months later, as I was celebrating my first wedding anniversary, it started all over again. I was flooded with tips on conceiving and pregnancy from distant relatives who hadn’t even seen me for ages. Usually this information reached me through the most “easy to convince” medium, my mother. I would laugh at it and this would put my mother in trouble. She couldn’t understand if I was NORMAL. Well, she is still confused.

Since then the intensity of tips and suggestions and free advices have been increasingly going up on the graph. Some of the examples are listed below:

1. The Pro-creation Test: What is wrong with you? You are turning 26 and you have not pro-created even once? Sheesh!

Me in my head: Though I was doing well with my work, my relationship with my husband was amazing, I had still failed the Pro-creation Test!

Sob!Sob!

2. Go see a Doc: What are you doing? 27 is the right age to have a baby. See, don’t hide from me. If you are having any problems, go see a doc. Some doctors do magic and within 3 months you will be “TOING”! Then this person pointed towards my tummy and pinched me mischievously and winked.

Me in my head: No wonder the ad, Ye to baba TOING hai became so notoriously famous! Sigh!

3. Ding Dong, anyone?: Hey are you not planning a baby yet? Been married for 3 years, no? Are you not getting time to do “DING DONG”? Winking!

Me in my head: DING DONG? Really? People do ding dong to have babies? That means the famous dance number by Madhuri Dixit was actually a song promoting Pro-creation? Darn! I am enlightened!

4. Count the "THAT" : Hey, see if everything is alright with you then you must get your husbands THAT counted. You know what I am saying na? If you are hesitant, then I can ask my husband to talk to him. A very serious and intense look!

Me in my head: Yeah! Your husband seems to be an expert at counting, THAT!

5. Ripe Mangoes? Err Ripe Ovaries: See, at this age our ovaries are very ripe. One shot and we will be pregnant. You must plan your first baby now.

Me in my head: Wondering which shot is she talking about? Are babies planted through a shot? EEESH!

6. Marriage on Rocks?: Babes, any problem in your marriage? See love marriages don’t last long. But I suggest you must see a marriage counsellor. Once you are sorted, go ahead and have a baby soon. After that you will not even need your husband.

Me in my head: Really? then where do these husbands go? Mystery still unsolved.

7. An annoying tag: Don’t you love children? They are so adorable and cute. Darn! How can you guys (R & I) not like children? tears welling up in her eyes!

Me in my head: Annoyed and throwing imaginary things at this person. I even threw a rotten tomato and stale egg...Grrrr!

And the most scandalous.....

8. The Aging Ovaries: See just like we age, our body ages too and our reproductory system along with us. So before your ovaries are over aged, you must and should plan a baby.

Me in my head: Aunty, do not worry. My ovaries are subjected to intense yoga everyday and they are rocking as Madonna, inside me.

The list is endless and with creativity pouring out of people’s ears, I suspect the list will continue to increase. Do not get me wrong. I have immense respect for women who take this major decision of having babies. It is indeed a daunting task. Carrying a child inside you for 9 long months, then enduring extreme levels of pain and delivering the child, going through physical, emotional, and hormonal changes, attending to every little need of the child, laughing with it and crying with it... and so on and so forth. No wonder they say, “There is no parallel for your mother elsewhere in the world”.

Some of my best friends have recently delivered babies and they are lovely. I adore these little darlings. But then, as I said earlier, having a child should be a woman’s decision. Moreover, the couple in question should be prepared financially, emotionally, and with every aspect to bring up a child well. It isn’t a cake walk. I believe, it’s about time our society breaks this bubble and moves out of the “first marriage-then procreation model.” Sigh! It will take quite a long time for this transformation though.

We all know people who genuinely care for us will never push us in to anything we are not prepared for. And in case it does come from our loved ones then we all know it’s the peer pressure that they are dealing with. Most of the times it's the societal pressure that our loved ones succumb to.

Nonetheless, till this bubble exists, there will be women like me who will laugh at it, try and make their way out of it, and one day perhaps, will announce the birth of a little bundle of joy. As they say, “Never say Never!”

Love, 

Khushi!

P.S.: The curious case of aging ovaries is still unresolved! Wink! Wink!

On being a Bookworm and living in a parallel world!

“So you read?” Asked the interviewer.
“Yes, I do.” I replied proudly.
And then the discussion moved on from the job details to the recent books I have read and how I felt about them. Yes I made the job.

“Now, go sit and read this and tell me what you read.... Get that K?” Mom handed over a thin book called "The funny tales of Tenali Raman" to me when I was 8. I could hardly read then. Forget reading, I couldn’t even pronounce the words well. I was always confused between D and B and often wrote “DEBROOM” instead of “BEDROOM”. It was later corrected by a whack on my - you know what...! Anyways, she ( my mother ) wanted her hyper active, super naughty, and over talkative daughter to be calm for some time while she could finish her chores. Soon this practice became a habit and a habit became an integral part of my character.

As a child I loved stories. Lots of them. Every night my mother would read stories to me and my siblings. I grew fond of them. The kings and queens, the fairies, the warriors, the heroes, and all those characters which existed in these tales. Yeah, we didn’t have Harry Potter back then but we had Panchtantra, Jataka tales, Tales of Tenali Raman, Tales of demons who were defeated by brave warriors, etc. And each one was real in my world.

So, with this book gifted by my mother I was introduced to the wonderful world of books and reading. Sensing my love for stories and reading, my parents started gifting me books. This made me happy and somewhere brought some peace in their lives which was turned topsy - turvy with my unimaginable pranks. And since then there has been no looking back. I have read almost everything I could lay my hands on.

Later, as I was growing up, a parallel world was growing up with me. In this world existed Akbar and Birbal, then Hardy Boys walked in, then sci-fi story characters came alive, and so on and so forth. My school also played a very important role in motivating me to read and read more. In almost every competition at my school, the award was a certificate along with a book. So, if you win, you get a BOOK! Just imagine...! So be it Elocution, Essay Writing, Debates, Story Narration, or anything else, I participated in everything possible. When I was announced the winner I would be thrilled at the thought of a new book coming my way. When I lost, I grieved over the loss of the book. I laugh over those silly things now. But all said and done, books have been faithfully walking with me.

I am since then living in a parallel world. I have laughed with the characters, cried with them, mulled over the words of certain characters, and often curiously bitten my nails when I was almost at the end of the book. This parallel world worked on no rationale, there were no rules, no guidelines, but they existed, Really! In this world, animals spoke like humans, humans were turned in to frogs, there was a girl who was the size of a thumb, there was a boy who had a long nose, there was a king who could never solve his own problems and employed a really witty man to help him and many more things. This world had people walking on water, a witch who only lived in a jungle and trapped little children, step mothers who were mean, siblings who loved sugar etc.

Then I grew up and fell in love with new characters who were more real, who were like me. Initially my reading was limited to Indian authors, then the international ones walked in with their words. I relished them, revelled in their pleasure, travelled across the globe with them, fell in love with them, envied them, understood tangled relationships, empathized with them and what not. My books taught me more than anything or anyone could ever teach. They have been my anecdotes during trying times, my companions when I felt lonely, my family when I was away, my refuge when I wanted to shut myself away from this real world, and most importantly, my shield from the pessimisms of life. The best part about a book is that, irrespective of its genre or it’s ending.... a part of your soul feels rekindled, uplifted and spirited.

Photo Credit: lefunny.net

“Books have magical powers”, said my English teacher once. And with each book I read, I find her words resonating in my ears. She was right. Yes, they have unbelievable magical powers. Apart from imparting knowledge, books have further enhanced my creativity and imagination.

The part of  my brain which enhances imagination is so fueled right now that if you tell me you have an ass for a boss, I will immediately imagine it. You don’t believe me? then try it. :)

If you are a Bookworm like me, I would want to congratulate you. May our tribe increase.

If you don’t, I suggest you to try it once. I promise, you will not be disappointed.

And if you find them interesting, then spread the word. Let the world read...!

Photo Credit: themetapicture.com

Kifo Nzuri

Malhar Krishnan  Sharda Iyer,

4th January 2014.
 

I signed at the bottom of the page and closed the book. The tedious process of signing the books was finally done. The muscles of my back were tauting, my knuckles had developed a severe phobia of pens and markers and my eyes were as tired as hell. I was sick of signing these books, travelling between geographies and time zones, delivering motivational speeches to people who waited in long queues to hear me talk about me. They believed I was living a perfect life. However the truth was buried.

The truth was that I was leading the most loveless life. I was hollow from the inside of me. For ages I hadn’t felt my heart beat, I had been unable to see beauty in anything that the world considered beautiful. For more than a decade I had only written books and stories and walked across the globe for inaugurations faking smiles.

My bags were packed and ready. I had to leave for Jakarta in about 20 minutes time. I was eagerly waiting for the cab to arrive to pick me and drop me to the airport.

Just then my show organizer called and informed me that the flight to Jakarta had been delayed by 6 hours due to a sudden storm that was fast approaching Cape Town.

Darn, I banged my fist on the wall. I was annoyed at this sudden delay. I opened the curtains and looked outside the window. It was raining heavily, dark clouds had covered the otherwise clear blue sky, there were occasional moments of lightening accompanied by loud sound of thunder. I saw weaker trees getting uprooted, stronger ones holding the ground beneath them strongly . The storm had really decided to claim the evening.

I reclined on my chair anticipating some sleep. Well, good thing about delays are that you get some unanticipated time to mull over your fears.

“May I come in Sir?” I heard a knock at my door.

“Is it room service? I don’t need anything. I will check out in about 6 hours. My flight is delayed.” I confirmed without moving an inch from my chair.

“Sir, its the cab driver”, I heard from the other side of the door.

My flight to Jakarta was delayed. Why has the cabbie come so soon? Darn! I was annoyed at this uninvited guest.

I opened the door and found her standing at the door, drenched completely from head to toe. She was tall and huge, had curly locks, a very dusky complexion that shone with all its might, eyes that were so deep that for a moment I felt I had seen the world in it.

“Sir, it’s raining outside and driving back home will be difficult so I thought I will come to see you a little early.” She explained peacefully.

“Little Early?” I looked at my wrist watch and exclaimed.

“Sir, I have read your books and admire them. So I thought this will also give me an opportunity to spend some time with you. So...” she tried getting my acceptance over her unwelcome presence.

I realized I was being impolite to a woman. I gestured her to come inside. She slowly walked inside. I noticed she was wearing a uniform. Fiery red shirt, spotless white jacket. She held a small book in her hands. Your Karma, it read.

Strange, I thought to myself.

“Would you want a cup of coffee?” I asked trying to camouflage my annoyance over her uninvited visit.

“Certainly Sir. She made herself comfortable near the heater.”

“How did the Hotel authorities let you in? Isn’t this a five star hotel?” Sarcasm was my middle name.

“Well, I sneaked in Sir. Most of the times people don’t notice me coming. Only the ones who have a clear heart and virtuous life can see me coming.” She smiled.

“So you mean, no one ever notices you? because a clear heart is an impossibility in today’s world.” I smirked.

“Exactly Sir”, she replied holding the coffee mug closer to her lips.

“How can someone not notice a huge woman like her?” I thought to myself. Well, this is Africa, anything can happen, I consoled my self.

“Sir, do you really like writing?” She broke the awkward silence that was slowing enveloping the room.

“Well, yes I do. I always wanted to write. Hence...” I detested this question more than anything.

“But Sir, why do you always write tragic endings?” She interrogated

“Errr! I don’t know. May be because... I..”

“Do you feel sad from within?”She was making me uncomfortable.

“I have some unclosed business, some unheard voices, some unexplained feelings, trapped within me.” I tried brushing the topic aside.

“Then why don’t you seek a closure, Sir?” She stared straight into my eyes and I felt lost for few moments again.

“Sir, we African’s believe that one must seek closure before it’s too late. You never know when will the soul separate from its mortal body. No one knows when will Kifo arrive? She sounded like a monk.

“What is Kifo?” I asked annoyed over her Swahili accent.

“Sir, Kifo in Swahili means death.” She answered.

“See, it’s my personal life and I don’t want to discuss this with a cabbie I have never met before.” I was curt this time.

“Do you still long for Niharika? Do you still hold a grudge against her?” She asked sipping her coffee.

I was stunned. For a decade I had been escaping from this name. Ruuning from continents to continents to forget this name.

“How the hell do you know about Niharika?” I was intimidated by this woman’s knowledge about me.

“It is written Sir.” She explained sensing panic in my voice.

Really? Mr. Murthy, my manager must have let the cat out. I felt anger soaring like an avalanche inside me. How could he give out my personal details like this?

“Sir, you must let her go. She has walked ahead and it’s time, you do too. Sir, forgive yourself and forgive others. Open up your heart to your Amma and Appa. Let love flow in to your life again. Mend your relations with them. They long to see their son. Close your unfinished business. Heal yourself. Let guilt move out. Let compassion fill your life.”

She blurted in her Swahili accent like an agony aunt.

“How the hell on earth do you know all this?” I bellowed at her.

“Listen Miss, don’t try to get close to me. Leave and wait at the hotel lobby. I will see you in 6 hours. Now leave.” I angrily opened the door.

“It is written Sir. I just want you to liberate yourself and love your life. It’s precious.” She said as she stood and looked at her book as if trying to read something.

You have a gentle heart. She read from her book again.

I turned to her and gave her an angry stare.

“What do you want for God’s sake?” I screamed louder than the sound of lightning that struck miles above the place I stood.

She wore her jacket and left without responding.

I reclined back in to my chair wondering over the moments that I had spent with this African woman I had never seen in my entire life. She had opened my wounds to the world. I felt vulnerable and gullible.

Resentment - Forgiveness

Malhar, may I? I heard a familiar voice at the door.

Who the hell is it? I barked like an angry dog waiting to pounce.

Niharika? came a prompt reply.

Was I listening things? Niharika in Cape Town? I pinched myself and it hurt. I was awake, I wasn’t dreaming.

I jumped from my chair and opened the door. There she stood in a simple blue and red salwaar kameez, her long hair tied in a pony tail, her long ear rings hanging from her ears, her pink lipstick making her lips look fuller, kajal neatly lining up her black eyes. She was just as I had seen her 10 years ago when she abruptly left me. There was no reason given, no arguments shared, no explanation sought for, nothing at all. Only a hug and a whisper, “Move on Malhar, I will always love you.”

Nihar...I ..I mean Niharika, you in Cape? I was mumbling.

“I never left Malhar. You never let me out of your heart. But I am trapped now. Let me go. I had to leave you because I loved my family more than you. They were against us and I had to oblige. Please forgive me and let me go. Let go of the resentment you have for me." Niharika pleaded.

But?? I felt short of words. I had never got a closure to our relationship. I was scarred. And now when she was around and I was getting what I longed for, I couldn’t speak a word.

“Let go. The resentment that you are holding in your heart is ruining your life. Amma and Appa are waiting to see you. They want you to be happy, again. Your resentment towards me has made you a different man.” Niharika was as vulnerable as I was.

“You met Amma and Appa?” Sweat beads formed on my forehead. I held the handle of the door tightly.

“Yes, they are here. But they can only come when I go.” She informed me as I cried my heart out. I hadn’t cried for ages.

I looked at her, held her hands and whispered, “Go Nihar, I set you free. Go, be a doting daughter. I forgive you”, and I gently left her hand. She slowly walked away.

After a few steps I lost her sight. I felt a heavy load off my chest. I could breath easily.

Guilt - Acceptance

A few moments later I saw Amma and Appa walking towards me. I had not anticipated them, here. I ran towards Amma like a lonely child and hugged her like I often did as a kid. I slipped in to my childhood where hugging Amma was as easy as breathing. They walked inside the room with me. Appa carefully closed the door.

I cried like a child. “Amma please forgive me for being an unreasonable son. I know I have ignored you and Appa. I never fulfilled my responsibility. I have hurt you both. I was selfish." I felt the sword of guilt hovering over me cutting through my flesh and bones.

Appa lovingly stroked my hair. “Kanna, we know everything. We knew you were heartbroken. We knew you were battling a bigger battle within yourself. We were never angry with you. We wanted to help you. Let the guilt out. We love you.”

Appa’s words soothed my soul. These tiny drops of love fell on my ever thirsty heart. I felt lighter, happier and a sense of relief that I hadn’t felt for long.

“I will be a dutiful son, Appa. I won’t hurt you both anymore.” I promised them.

Amma sang the lullaby I loved and I felt my eyelids drooping. I was asleep in no time.

Love - Expression

Sir, are you ready? I heard a loud knock at my door and woke up with a start.

1:00 am, I looked at the wall clock.

Sir, are you alright? I heard the knock again.

I rushed towards the door and there she stood. The same peaceful look, bright eyes, strange uniform and her little book.

“Thank you cabbie," I was on my knees.

“Sir?” she was perplexed.

“Thank you. Had it not been for you I wouldn’t have realized that I had been wasting my precious life over things that are of no value.

“Sir, you look younger and happier.” She giggled.

“Well, may be because I have shed all the anger, guilt and resentment. May be now you see the real me.” I laughed through my tears.

“Great then. Let us have another cup of coffee to celebrate this moment. After that I have to drop you on time. The storm has also subsided. I have other pick up’s lined up as well.” She said and entered the room.

“Come and meet my parents”, I urged.

“Well, they left Sir. Thus I am here to accompany you. They had to catch an early morning flight.” She informed.

“What? Amma and Appa left? But why?” I couldn’t understand a word.

“Sir, it is your journey and not theirs hence they couldn’t join you.” She explained.

“So Sir, you feel better now?” She asked trying to divert my attention.

“Yes I do, cabbie.” I am sorted from within. I smiled.

But she still had some questions on her face. She opened her book and read. “But you still have an unfinished business. You have left someone waiting for you.” She exclaimed.

Waiting? I thought to myself.

Oh! Yes, Swara. The woman who has loved me from the time she understood what love feels like. Amidst all this mess, I left her lingering on a thin line of hope that someday I will marry her.” But how the hell do you know this? I felt fear for a moment.

“It’s written Sir.” She answered again.

Written? Well, Mr.Murthy will have it from me, I whispered.

Sir, may be you should call up Swara and get this unfinished business a closure.

I suddenly felt a sense of urgency within myself. I immediately picked up the phone and called Swara.

Drrn Drrn... the ring went for long before a sweet voice answered.

“Swara, is that you?” I asked with my heart pounding.

“Malhar? what happened?” A question for a question.

“I love you Swara, will you marry me?” I proposed.

There was a pause for 20 seconds and I heard a feeble “Yes” accompanied by silent sound of tears amalgamated with a beautiful smile.

“Swara, I am so happy. As soon as I reach Chennai we will meet up and we will.... we will marry Swara.” I replied before she kissed the phone and hung up.

“Cabbie, you are a genius. I love you.”  I had never hugged a huge woman but I hugged this amazing woman who I met just a few hours ago.

“Well Sir, people usually hate me and are wary of me.” She giggled again.

Hate you? Why? You are so wonderful and pretty. I complimented this wonderful woman.

“Nzuri, is it?” She jokingly asked.

“Nzuri?” I asked back pondering over this word

“Nzuri in Swahili means good....beautiful.” She translated.

“Ah! Yes yes, Nzuri.” I laughed again.

We shared another cup of hot coffee. This time a serene silence filled the room. Soon the storm subsided and the weather became clear. I started packing my stuff as my cabbie scribbled something on her book.

Gratitude - Prayer

“Cabbie, the night after the storm shall always remain in my memory. Usually storms bring destruction, but for me this storm has uprooted my false beliefs and what has remained grounded inside me is the person who loves life. I shall fondly remember this night and you, till eternity. I told her.

“Sir, in my company, people usually see their entire lives flashing in front of their eyes.” She mysteriously answered.

“Ah! Then you must be a monk.” I nudged her jokingly.

“Sir, do you really love your life now?” She curiously asked.

“More than anything, cabbie. I am keen on going back to my loved ones.” I told her excitedly.

“Well, Sir in that case I can’t take you to your destination”, she answered and started leaving.

“What? but why?” I was stunned at her words.

“Sir, I suggest you must cancel your flight to Jakarta and leave for India today.” She ordered as if calculating something.

“Cabbie, what are you saying?” I worriedly asked her. For once her eyes looked shallow.

"Sir, life does give a second chance to people who love it, who realize their mistakes. You have got a second chance. I shall pray to God for you. A strangely beautiful expression covered her face.

“Sir, you have to promise me that you will not write tragic endings anymore and that you will believe in the goodness of life.” She requested.

“I promise, cabbie.” I held her huge palm gently.

“And the next book that you write you must thank me for giving you this chance to write again.” She spoke as if she were doing a favour to me.

“But how do I thank you? I don’t even know your name.” I explained my helplessness.

She mysteriously smiled and opened my palm. Then she placed her little book in there. This book shall guide you. I need to go, now. There are other pick ups for the flight to Jakarta. She informed me and left in a hurry.

I still don't know why I felt compelled to obey her. Obliging her words, I called up the show organizers and cancelled my trip to Jakarta. They hesitated but eventually agreed. I immediately booked an evening flight to India and extended my stay in the hotel for few hours, more. I couldn’t contain my joy. I was excited about surprising Amma and Appa. The thought of meeting Swara made me beam.

I prayed like I never prayed before. I thanked God for sending the cabbie to me. I thanked him for the last night. I thanked him for the storm. Had it not been for the storm, cabbie wouldn't have spent so much time with me.

Realization -A second chance

Just then my phone rang. The name, Yousuf flashed on my screen. Yousuf was the event manager from Jakarta.

“Sir, are you alright?” he enquired as soon as I answered my phone.

“Yes, I am fine, Yousuf. What happened?”

“Malhar Sir, did you not take the flight to Jakarta?” he curiously asked again.

“No, Yousuf. Haven’t the organizers informed you? I cancelled my trip to Jakarta.” I informed him.

“Thank God Sir, because the flight to Jakarta has crashed and there are no survivors.” He informed me with sadness rolling over his tongue.

I couldn’t believe my ears. I immediately hung up and rushed towards my luggage. I anxiously pulled out the little book that cabbie had given me.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. I slowly opened the little book and it read....

Malhar Krishnan  Sharda Iyer

9 July 1980 - 4 January 2014 - 4 January 2054

 Kifo Nzuri - Angel of Death.

An Account of 5 years!

As I comfortably cuddle up inside my blanket in this wintry November night, thousands of random thoughts run through my mind. There is something about November that makes me nostalgic. Mind is a potent tool, isn’t it? Within moments I find myself dressed as the bride standing alongside R. I count my blessings, smile and we take vows. Life changes, forever. A smile runs through my face, tinkles me and makes its way in to my heart. Five years, already? I ask myself again. Our wedding picture on my study table with the date clearly mentioned on it, confirms. Yes, five years of Marital Bliss…..Five years of countless moments of love, laughter and absolute insanity. Today, as I take stock of these five years that just flew by, I shuffle the memory bank inside my mind, revisit and re-revisit several moments again. And as soon as I open my heart, several warm and beautiful memories find their way out, fluttering around me and playing those moments like a lovely movie in front of my eyes. I am glued to them and find myself reminiscing over them again and again and again….

Five years…..Five lovely moments…..Five stories…. R and K, together, forever.

1. Masala Dosa Vs Pav Bhaji - 2009

R: Let us eat dinner outside today. No cooking at home. He announced proudly.

K: Yes of course. Let’s eat Masala Dosa, K suggested.

R: Masala Dosa? His expression changed. All my bachelor life I have survived on Masala Dosa, not anymore. Let us have Pav Bhaji instead, he proposed.

K: you must be kidding. I come from Bombay, the land of Pav bhaji. This is South India, not Bombay. When in Rome, do the romans. So when in South, do the dosa’s, I charge.

R: Yes, I know but I don’t want to eat Masala Dosa at all. So let us do this. You eat Masala Dosa and I eat Pav Bhaji, what say? He beamed anticipating victory.

K: Frowning.

R: Confused. This was the first time he came across a woman throwing tantrums.

K: Alright…whatever you say…But where there is love, people eat Masala Dosa for each other. K proclaimed like a Love Guru.

R: ey? Who said that? Where did love come here in the first place?

K: Well it did….tears rolled down K’s cheeks.

R: Okay, we will eat Masala Dosa. Happy?

You can imagine K doing a hi-five to herself in her mind and throwing an imaginary fist in the air. This was the first argument in her marital life and she had won it, with ease. Well, R in his mind was still confused about love finding its way through Masala Dosa and Pav Bhaji.

Ah, and all you lovely friends out there, don’t worry about what happened later. R and K feasted on delicious Masala Dosa’s with Pav bhaji stuffing inside. They serve this in MTR, the famous place for all the Dosa cravings in Bangalore.

2. The Golden Bride - 2010

R and K had just shifted in this new house in a plush locality of Bangalore. It was a humble home, good enough for a childless couple. K loved it because it had an open terrace in the front. She was quite new to this “independent house concept” of Bangalore. All her life she thought a home meant a flat in a huge complex of the ever crowded city of Bombay. Though the house was beautiful, there was something annoying about it. It was a pesky neighborhood aunty whose favorite thing to do was ask people really personal and annoying questions.

K: R, this X aunty meets me every day when I return from office and asks annoying questions.

R: ignore her and she’ll get the message.

K: No you don’t get it. If I don’t answer she thinks I am shy and repeats her question the next day.

R: Okay, what does she ask?

K: she asks personal questions like when are we having babies? How much do I earn? How much you earn? and how much my father earns? etc etc etc. But today she crossed all limits. She wanted to know how many kilograms of gold my father has gifted you as a dowry.

R: Really? Darn. She gets really up, close, & personal with you. R smirked.

K: I am going to tell her that dowry is an offence and that even she shouldn’t support it. K suggested

R: No, don’t. Just do as I say, R winked.

The next evening when K saw the aunty standing at the gate, K smiled inside. She had it from me, K whispered to herself.

K: Hi Aunty. My father gave 50 kgs of gold to my husband. Within two years it has increased to 52 kgs. And with the way my husband is pampering gold with pizzas and ice-creams it will surely cross 55 kgs this year. K said, without any discomfiture.

Well R and K lived in that house for some more time before moving in to their new apartment. But the pesky aunty never bothered them again.

P.S.: Gold is 65 kgs as on today. J

3. Cheap Tricks and the Hired Crow – 2011

Before I let you know of the cheap tricks, let me help you with some background. R has really nice long locks and he treasures them. Since he has quite curly locks, he spends thousands to get them ironed out and another set of thousands to maintain them. To be honest with you, I sometimes envy his hair. It has got that perfect luster, strength and grace. But that’s not the point. The point is that after every ironing session of horribly boring 5 hours, he doesn’t let anyone touch his hair for a week, at least. Not even his wife and that’s quite annoying at times.

R: Straight out of the ironing session moved his hands carefully through his hair. So, how does it look K?

K: Lovely, as ever. Can I touch it please? I love doing that. K exclaimed.

R: Naa…not today…may be a week later. Right now I need to be careful.

K: Yeah but I just want to run my fingers through it, K explains.

R: Cheap tricks ey, K? R winks.

K: very funny…K frowns. And 3 years of living together gave no room for any emotional atyaachar either. So K gave up.

As K and R walked outside the salon towards their car, several people ogled at R. Some were envious of his locks, some were amazed and some were just impressed. But K was indifferent. As soon as they got inside the car, K burst into an unstoppable bout of laughter. She laughed so much that tears welled up in her eyes. R was stunned. He knew that K had her episodes of maniacism (as he called it), but this was the first time in public.

K: Let me help you. I shall clean it for you. K removed a tissue from the tissue box and leaned towards R’s shiny locks while simultaneously trying to control her laughter.

R: These tricks won’t work on me anymore, K, R winked again.

K: yeah Mr. James Bond. My tricks don’t work on you anymore, thus I hired a crow and he has quite nicely pooped on your freshly ironed hair. And K burst in to another bout of unstoppable laughter. As R promptly looked at himself in the rear view mirror he too couldn’t help but laugh at this episode.

Well, since then K & R often laugh at this incident. And yes, K and only K has been issued the license to run her fingers through R’s hair just after he has burnt thousands on them in a plush salon of Bangalore.

4. A little shying – 2012

R: when your parents come to see us this year we will visit Ramanshree California Resort again, what say?

K: WOW! That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s visit it on 5^th itself. I added.

R: Okay.

5^th July is when R and K got engaged and this day held special importance in their life. And the resort where they exchanged the rings had lovely memories of this event. Hence whenever an opportunity arrived to visit the place, R and K grabbed it with both hands.

 As planned, R and K visited Ramanashree California Resort on 5^th July 2012 along with K’s parents. They relished the yummy food, walked in the lawn for some time, and shared many peals of laughter.

K’s mother: K, I have never seen you shying like newlywed brides do. K’s mother teased her.

K: I am no more a newlywed bride Maa, K replied.

K’s mother: I know but I have never seen my daughter as a shy girl ever. Not even during her wedding, Sigh!

K: Hmmm, well it’s better late than never. K smiled. She walked up to a tree in the lawn and gestured her mother & R to join her. She then stood like a shying girl in black and white movies and R somehow managed to control his laughter. The moment was captured by K’s mother in the form of a picture though R still thinks that K looked amazingly funny and laughs like a maniac every time he even thinks about it.

Often when the entire family comes together, the picture becomes a hot topic of discussion.

5. The Best proposal – 2013

K: R, it feels like yesterday that we fell in love, isn’t it?

R: Yes. I still can’t believe we have walked together for almost five years now.

K: I treasure this journey. You are the best husband ever.

R: Right back at you girl.

K: But R, you never formally proposed me, K said playfully

R: Of course I did. That’s when you said “Yes” and we got married. Isn’t it?

K: yeah, but you never went on your knees and opened up a ring box, like how they do in movies.

R: hmmmm, well as you say, I don’t have a romantic bone. R smiled mischievously and the conversation ended.

But then it had only ended for K. The conversation was still alive inside him. R along with K’s mother planned a wonderful surprise for her. On 5^th July 2013 as K was gearing up for a small celebration, she was made to stand in the center of her living room with her eyes closed. And after a few moments as she opened her eyes, she found a tall, dusky, handsome man with long locks on his knees, holding a small, beautiful ring in his hand.

R: Will you marry me, K? I am head over heels for you.

K’s heart was filled with warmth and she smiled ear to ear. The dimples on her cheeks expressed the extent of joy she felt within her.

Without a moment of hesitation, she said, YES, YES, forever YES.

It is through these moments of absolute maniacism and giggles that we have found love. These moments kept us going through the trying times of our lives. It certainly feels like yesterday when on the 9th of November, R said I do, and I echoed, I do too!

Happy Anniversary "R". When I count my blessings, I count you twice...or may be a hundred thousand times. 

Love,

Khushi!

The Secret Diary

This post won the "Silver Batom" in Blog-a-ton 40.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 40; the fortieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "MAKE A WISH"

"Happy Birthday Maya." I hugged my beloved wife. "Okay, now make a wish today and I promise I shall fulfill it." I held Maya's hands firmly.

"Can I ask for anything, Saahas?" She reconfirmed and smiled.

"Yes, anything." I assured her.

"Okay, I want to read your baba’s diary, the one that you, baba and Maa treasure."

"But Maya… that is…" I was hesitant.

"You promised me." She frowned.

"Okay. I will give it to you. But promise me you will never let Maa and Baba know about it."

"I promise." Maya instantly agreed.

As I gave the diary in her hands, I knew Maya will be reading the most beautiful story ever. A story where 3 people made a wish and how God made it a reality. 

9^th July 1987

“Ey chottu, do cutting chai dena…” I called out to the little boy who stood at the corner of the tapri. He was clad in a creamish white vest which was torn from more than one place. The tiny holes in his vest spoke tons about the hollow life he was leading. A brown pant that barely covered the other half of his little body was as shabby as his vest. We sat across a white table which was now drenched with raindrops. Monsoon had hit Bombay.

He came running to us and placed two tiny glasses of chai on the table. Nisha, smiled at him lovingly. He smiled back. Thank you, she said.

"Kitna pyara baccha hai na ye?" Nisha was in complete awe with him.

"Hmmm…" I affirmed.

"Kitne saal ka hoga?" She enquired.

"Pata nahin Nisha… hoga 6-7 saal ka." I was a little annoyed at her.

"Don’t get irritated, Rahul. I was just curious. Sip your chai now." She sensed my irritation.

As I sipped my chai, I saw him running to almost every corner of the little space that the tea stall occupied on the busy street of Bombay.

10^th July 1987

“I am in a meeting Nisha. I’ll call you later”. I tried disconnecting the call.

“Rahul listen. Please come here as soon as possible”.

Sensing fear and anger in her voice I got worried.

“Where are you Nisha? What happened? I am leaving from office”. I enquired

“Rahul come to Anna Bhai’s tea stall. Chottu is getting beaten up. Nobody is helping him”. Nisha was crying inconsolably.

I am coming to pick you. Tum beech mein mat padna (do not get in between the fight). I instructed Nisha as I started my car.

The sight was shocking when I reached Anna Bhai’s tea stall. I found Nisha holding chottu in her arms while chottu was bleeding through his mouth and tears rolling down his little cheeks. But I noticed his eyes today. He has beautifully expressive eyes. They  pierced through my ribs and pinched my heart. I couldn’t look at them for long.

“Let’s go Nisha”, I insisted.

“Yes, let’s take chottu to the hospital. He needs medical attention. Bohot maara hai isko.” I could feel Nisha’s pain through her words.

But I was skeptical on taking chottu alongwith us. On humanitarian grounds, I couldn’t say no.

 “Okay, let’s go to Dr. Bhatia and get a first aid done.” I agreed.

We reached Dr.Bhatia’s clinic and he was shocked to see us with a little child who was bleeding profusely.

Dr.Bhatia was our family doctor. I had known him since ages. In fact I had seen him age gracefully. He was one of the finest doctors and one of the finest people I had ever known. Known to all for helping the needy and less fortunate.

“Who is he Rahul?” Dr. Bhatia enquired as he was administering Chottu’s wounds.

He is.. I fumbled.

"He works at a tea stall near my office. Those brutes have beaten him up" Nisha informed Dr.Bhatia.

“Cruel world outside.” Dr.Bhatia sighed.

“I have given some medicines. The wound will take time to heal. Give him after he eats something.” Dr. Bhatia instructed Nisha.

I thanked Dr.Bhatia and we left his clinic. Chottu was limping. That’s when I noticed he was bare feet. That was his reality. Harsh and crude.

As we drove back Nisha insisted that we take him home. But I was unsure. We hardly knew him though she was adamant.

“Didi, I will go back to the stall. If I don’t reach there, Anna will beat me up again. That’s when I heard him. His voice was tender and very soothing.

“No Chottu, you come with us.” Nisha insisted.

“Didi, Anna is my owner. I must go. If he finds me, he will kill me.” Chottu insisted that we drop him to the tapri.

We obliged. But what he said resonated in my ears for very long. Chottu had an owner. Anna owned him.

11^th July 1987

I couldn’t sleep last night. I was eager to see Chottu. As I waited outside Nisha’s office, my eyes constantly searched for this little boy. And then I saw him, running around, serving cutting chai to so many people who were oblivious to his wounds. Some on his tender face, some on is tender heart. Something inside my practical head wrangled. I wanted to turn a blind eye to him. But I was moved, moved by the fake smile that Chottu wore on a rainy evening of July. The rain couldn't wash it. I was speechless. I was hurt.

25^th July 1987

Last two weeks were very different. Nisha and I met Chottu every day. In fact I pick up Nisha every day from office. And we sip a chai at Chottu’s stall almost every day. No we don’t speak to him often. He gets afraid of Anna Bhai. May be he gets beaten up if he talks to anyone. So we have tiny moments of conversations with him when he brings chai on our table. Nisha loves him I guess. But what surprises me is that even I like the boy. May be I have fallen in love with him. I can’t write anymore. I want to cry..over my helplessness, tonight.

5^th August 1987

"Where is chottu?" Nisha enquired.

"Gaon gaya hai." Anna bhai informed us.

Nisha was not convinced. She could see through Anna Bhai’s white lie. Sensing a fish, she tried checking with some other people who were like us, very fond of little chottu. That’s when we were informed that Chottu was beaten up for eating an extra biscuit in the morning. He was beaten on his legs and face. I can only imagine the pain he goes through every day.

Nisha and I don’t know where he lives. We have to find out soon. One of the onlookers also told Nisha that they twisted Chottu’s hand mercilessly. Nisha has been crying bitterly since then. But a question haunts me. In spite of several onlookers the child got beaten up? Why could no one come forward and help him? But then I have no right to say this. I am no different. Am I? Today is the most painful day of my life.

15^th August 1987

"Where is chottu?" I enquired at Anna Bhai’s tea stall.

"Bastard eloped last night stealing money from my house. Bastard!" Anna bhai answered.

"What? Eloped? Where did he go?" I further enquired.

"I don’t know Saheb. And you shouldn’t worry as well. He was a very smart guy. I gave him shelter and food and he ran away." Anna bhai was clearly angry. Angry because he will have to find another Chottu to beat up.

But I was happy. I was happy for Chottu's freedom. Where ever he is, I pray for his happiness and safety.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Saahas, where are the missing pages from this diary. Do you have them? I want to know what happened to little Chottu." Maya looked eager to know more.

My legs wobbled as I reached out to my drawer. I took out some torn pieces of paper from Baba's diary and gave it to her.

6^th August 1987

“We need to meet Inspector Shinde,” I informed the guard at the entrance of Wakola police station.

“He is inside. You can meet him. The guard pointed towards a tall and dusky man standing upright inside the police station.

“Inspector Shinde, I am Rahul Goenka. Dr. Bhatia must have informed you that I am coming to see you. I introduced myself without any delay.

“Oh yes. Dr. Bhatia is like a father to me.” Inspector Shinde was one of the many people who loved Dr.Bhatia.

I told him everything about Chottu. He promised to help us find him. He was like a silver lining in our otherwise dark life.

By the way Nisha has not been eating well. She has been praying endlessly to her God. But I don’t think he is even bothered. He didn’t hear her prayers when we lost our unborn child. He hasn't even been kind enough to bless her womb again. And now when she has found her joy in Chottu, he is punishing her, yet again. When I think of Chottu and Nisha, I believe there is no God. Or even if he is, he is lost.

9^th August 1987

“Inspector Shinde? Did you find him?” I immediately gasped as I heard his voice on the phone.

“Yes. He is in a bad state, Rahul. He lives in a very unhygienic condition. In fact when I saw him today he was lying on a gunny bag in pain. It seems this time he has been beaten up horribly. I think he has not been given medicine as well. He is yet another victim of  bonded labor. His father sold him to Anna Bhai for 700 rupees.”

My heart sank as I heard Inspector Shinde.

“Inspector, Nisha and I have decided to adopt Chottu.” I instantly informed him.

“It’s not easy Rahul. Such cases are very complicated. And we have our limitations too. But I assure you that if you are serious about this, we can find a way out.”

“Okay. I will come to see you this evening." I informed him and hung up.

I was heart wrenched. Chottu told Inspector Shinde that he gets food only once a day. At seven, the child is enduring so much. That’s the state of children in India. But I am not a helpless onlooker anymore. I am not.

12^th August 1987

“Shinde Saahab, do anything but the child needs to be out of the hell he is in. We are willing to do anything for that.” Nisha tried telling Inspector Shinde.

“Bhabhiji, I can’t do anything legally. It may take time and meanwhile Anna can harm the child but if you wish to take the other path then perhaps… “Shinde hesitated.

“What does that mean?” I curiously asked.

“I can help the child elope and then you can adopt him. Of course we will have to hide the child for some time. I will take care of the legal issues involved. And as far my experience says, owners like Anna, do not usually file a missing complaint with us. It’s too much of a hassle for them.” Shinde’s plan was illegal but then it made sense.

“But how do we reach Chottu?” I asked.

I will talk to Chottu about this on the stall today. When he returns home with Anna in the night that’s when we will have to ask him to escape. The child will have to show some courage." Inspector Shinde completed.

"Inspector Saahab, he is one of the bravest child I have ever known." Nisha informed.

"If that is the case then what are you waiting for?" Inspector Shinde hinted.

Nisha and I looked at each other. The decision was obvious. We wanted Chottu.

I am eagerly waiting for 15^th August. At midnight, when the world will sleep, Chottu will rise to freedom, freedom to live a life, freedom of childhood.

15^th August 1987

“Anna, I want to pee, Chottu informed Anna just like how Inspector Shinde had instructed him.”

“Okay, but come fast. I am very sleepy. Anna hushed the child away.”

Chottu nodded. The child knew this was his only chance to freedom. Was he sacred? Yes he was. He was after all just a 7 year old.

He slowly walked inside the bushes near the Santacruz Bridge. That’s where, Inspector Shinde and his team had been hiding along with Dr. Bhatia and me. As he walked inside they grabbed him and we slowly escaped with the child in his jeep.

“Chottu, ey Chottu.” Anna was calling out madly. Lytle did he know that Chottu had left.

Chottu is out of his clutches now. He is at Inspector Shinde’s house, the safest place at the moment for him. He will be shifted to Dr. Bhatia’s polyclinic tomorrow to get treated and then he will be ours. I feel peace within. Nisha is on cloud 9. Pagli…!!

I think God has finally heard us. I just can’t wait to hold my son in my arms. Yes, My son. Tonight a father is reborn, a mother is reborn. And so is born our son… Saahas!”

Maya wiped her tears and hugged me. She was moved by the story of a child labor. But not all stories have a happy ending. Do they?


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