So, Deepa came to me weeping furiously. Yet another fight I thought. She plopped herself down on the chair in front of me sniffing and muttering between the sniffs. I handed the tissue box to her and passed her some water. It was 11 am on a Wednesday not the best time for my boss to see me doing girl talk. I meekly went up and shut the door.
Deepa continued sobbing and grabbed tissue after tissue. After about two minutes of the sobbing silence, I asked – “deepa, you want to tell me what happened?” Hysterically Deepa started speaking and in between sobs and sniffs I could understand are as follows:
· I don’t understand men
· What do they want
· Why are they always creating issues over non issues
· What’s the point of being together if all we can do is fight
· I don’t want to continue like this.
Oh and she also slipped in the fact as to how lucky I was not to have a man in my life to deal with all this on a regular basis. Deepa was engaged to Amit. They seemed really happy and things were going on fine. One fine day these fights started and non issues became issues, frivolous stuff became larger than life and what they used to love about each other became problems. A story of every couple, I thought.
I wondered- “What does it take for two people to be happy?, why is that all couples start all great and amazing and sooner than later regular mundane issues take precedence, tempers fly, impatience creeps in. Each one wants to change the other for their need. Why??? Did you not choose to be together because you liked the differences and in no time you want to change the person to what is acceptable to you?
My mind wandered and I worried about various things- are their really two people who are meant to be together? How do u resolve issues which cause friction- do you sleep over it and let it pass? Or you discuss it but do these discussions lead to any conclusion? Two people are bound to differ and one has to accept the differences but as human beings we can’t. We can’t accept and we can’t let go. We hold on to things which can be brushed aside by a hug or maybe a blind eye but the wet towel on the floor, the scattering of shoes, the food items for dinner become bones of contention. Why?? I would think that a couple can change a bit for each other and accept the rest of the differences but easier said than done. Overtime, the real person hidden behind the courtship period emerges and rigidity sets in. I had no answers to any of these questions for myself or for Deepa. “You can work it out” is all I could tell her!!
Maybe a few rules would help as and when I do find my special someone-
· Never sleep over a fight
· Have your own world- do your own thing, have your space
· Learn to ignore a couple of things/remarks/comments/ situations (however, this can work only if the other person does the same)
· Don’t discuss every single contention and over rationalize so much so that you make an issue where there is none. Sometimes a blind eye, counting to 10 or just a hug solves things
· Accept the differences- its good. (mutual acceptance is the key)
· Learn to let go- never keep things to your heart
· Apologize even if it not your mistake
No one is made for each other but you take the good things and sort the rest. Its going to be a trail and error method and soon a couple will become attuned to each other. However, the change is a phase and it will happen over a period of time. Nothing is easy and relationships are definitely not so do a few things and over time probably it will be worth it, maybe not that day but when you look back these small things will make the big difference.
Oh! In the meanwhile I consoled Deepa. Amit had called and sent her flowers. She was smiling at an sms when my train of thoughts ceased. I could not help but smile. Relationships… .. there will always be the devil on one side and deep sea on the other and meanwhile we can just walk the line!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
bhola
The fields were green in the rains, the breeze was so fresh. I could almost hear myself gasp as I tried taking in the fresh air. The pitter patter of the rain drops sounded like music and the hush of the trees added that beat to the glorious nature melody. I skipped and ran across the greens. The roaring in my tummy told me its lunch time. Running home I looked forward to the helping of rice and maybe there would be some steamed potatoes today well mashed with some mustard oil, onions and chilies. If I got real lucky there might be some ghee too. I ran even faster and suddenly I fell into the ditch which I failed to see. A loud jarring noise followed. I sat up realizing that my dream was shattered and my reality was far from the greens and the breeze. I wiped my face and my neck which was wet with the perspiration of the hot and humid night. I jumped out of bed the moment realizing that a brief delay in answering the bell would result in some remarks from memsahib.
It was barely 6 am and my reality of serving the household of 2 at Greater Kailash II, New Delhi had just sunk in. The garbage collection boy frowned as I opened the door saying “kya, itna time lagta hai darwaja kholne mein !” (Does it take so long to open the door?). I meekly handed the garbage to him. In my second year in the capital, I realized after many hard lessons that smiling at people, thanking them, expecting them to smile back never helped. No one ever was pleasant without a motive so it was better to just be elusive.
The mornings were always a hurricane. Between 6 am to 9 am when the house hold left, I had to get breakfast ready, pack Tiffin (2 different ones), finish sweeping and moping the house etc. I rushed around the kitchen. I knew the tiffin was the tough part, Memsaheb tool 3 roti’s, one bowl of vegetables, a dal, curd, salad. Saab never liked the staple diet as he liked variety and craved over chicken which memsahib never let him eat. She would keep saying eat healthy, look at yourself, you need to be in shape. I sneaked a bit of the dry chicken from the night before, dal, sabji in his tiffin. The tiffin’s were ready and lined up near the exit. The breakfast was simple- cereal (some fancy thing in a box called Kellogg’s, it seemed an awful waste of money. I could have made daliya for a year with that money), fruits (3-4 kinds all neatly cut up), milk, toast and sometimes if they asked an egg.
I could hear the shuffles in the room inside around 8 am. I finished cleaning the house and laid the table. Saab and memsahib ate well and cribbed about the ac not working for an hour. They asked me how I slept. I replied that I slept well and never felt the load shedding. Memsahib instructed me on the items to be cooked for the night.
BY 9 am I was home alone. I loved this part of the day. All the time was mine, I cleaned the house, dusted the rooms, washed the clothes, ironed the earlier day’s clothes. By 1 am I was done. I had my meal of rice, dal and aloo and lay down for an afternoon nap. I had to go buy the vegetables in the evening and I would cook dinner. I knew no one would return before 8 pm. They went to some gym to work out ( I always wondered why not walk in the open air, run, play rather than going to another closed place and use big heafty machines) and came back all exhausted. They would eat dinner post 9 pm and sleep after 12 pm. These were my days. There were a little different days where some people were called, then there would be more cooking then there would be days where they would not eat at home and there would be no cooking.
My life was simple. I felt grateful, I could send money home every month, I could save up for my family back in Orissa. I had little or no demands, I was fed and I had shelter in this household and the work was not too much. I knew of people from my village who had to toil for hours endlessly to earn even Rs. 500. I felt privileged. There was a lot of money in Delhi, the family had a lavish lifestyle, they had two cars, spent a lot on eating out ( I have seen shocking bills of Rs.5000 left in clothes given for washing ), shopped but they were kind people who never yelled or troubled me without reason.
I looked forward to my yearly break when I would go back to my village, amidst the lush green place and enjoy the breeze. I sighed as I put on the fan and sat on the floor. I knew another day would go by and another and soon months would pass. I felt blessed, I saw the complications of the lives people led here- money, power, pressure, health, competition, expenses… the needs and the ends were endless. When did life get so complicated I felt. I lived my cycle everyday, I was content and I served with a happy heart. I wish that my contentment would reflect in the family too and they would find some solace in their complicated lives. If only they could be content, if only they could stop running and live… just live by being bhola for a day.. dream of the green fields and look forward to one bowl of fresh rice… I dared not say that but I smiled more.. I helped more.. I tried more.. I hope someday my acquired family at GK (as they call it here) understands the meaning of living… simply living….n being content about it..
The door bell rang at 6 am.. another day … for bhola was just about to begin………
It was barely 6 am and my reality of serving the household of 2 at Greater Kailash II, New Delhi had just sunk in. The garbage collection boy frowned as I opened the door saying “kya, itna time lagta hai darwaja kholne mein !” (Does it take so long to open the door?). I meekly handed the garbage to him. In my second year in the capital, I realized after many hard lessons that smiling at people, thanking them, expecting them to smile back never helped. No one ever was pleasant without a motive so it was better to just be elusive.
The mornings were always a hurricane. Between 6 am to 9 am when the house hold left, I had to get breakfast ready, pack Tiffin (2 different ones), finish sweeping and moping the house etc. I rushed around the kitchen. I knew the tiffin was the tough part, Memsaheb tool 3 roti’s, one bowl of vegetables, a dal, curd, salad. Saab never liked the staple diet as he liked variety and craved over chicken which memsahib never let him eat. She would keep saying eat healthy, look at yourself, you need to be in shape. I sneaked a bit of the dry chicken from the night before, dal, sabji in his tiffin. The tiffin’s were ready and lined up near the exit. The breakfast was simple- cereal (some fancy thing in a box called Kellogg’s, it seemed an awful waste of money. I could have made daliya for a year with that money), fruits (3-4 kinds all neatly cut up), milk, toast and sometimes if they asked an egg.
I could hear the shuffles in the room inside around 8 am. I finished cleaning the house and laid the table. Saab and memsahib ate well and cribbed about the ac not working for an hour. They asked me how I slept. I replied that I slept well and never felt the load shedding. Memsahib instructed me on the items to be cooked for the night.
BY 9 am I was home alone. I loved this part of the day. All the time was mine, I cleaned the house, dusted the rooms, washed the clothes, ironed the earlier day’s clothes. By 1 am I was done. I had my meal of rice, dal and aloo and lay down for an afternoon nap. I had to go buy the vegetables in the evening and I would cook dinner. I knew no one would return before 8 pm. They went to some gym to work out ( I always wondered why not walk in the open air, run, play rather than going to another closed place and use big heafty machines) and came back all exhausted. They would eat dinner post 9 pm and sleep after 12 pm. These were my days. There were a little different days where some people were called, then there would be more cooking then there would be days where they would not eat at home and there would be no cooking.
My life was simple. I felt grateful, I could send money home every month, I could save up for my family back in Orissa. I had little or no demands, I was fed and I had shelter in this household and the work was not too much. I knew of people from my village who had to toil for hours endlessly to earn even Rs. 500. I felt privileged. There was a lot of money in Delhi, the family had a lavish lifestyle, they had two cars, spent a lot on eating out ( I have seen shocking bills of Rs.5000 left in clothes given for washing ), shopped but they were kind people who never yelled or troubled me without reason.
I looked forward to my yearly break when I would go back to my village, amidst the lush green place and enjoy the breeze. I sighed as I put on the fan and sat on the floor. I knew another day would go by and another and soon months would pass. I felt blessed, I saw the complications of the lives people led here- money, power, pressure, health, competition, expenses… the needs and the ends were endless. When did life get so complicated I felt. I lived my cycle everyday, I was content and I served with a happy heart. I wish that my contentment would reflect in the family too and they would find some solace in their complicated lives. If only they could be content, if only they could stop running and live… just live by being bhola for a day.. dream of the green fields and look forward to one bowl of fresh rice… I dared not say that but I smiled more.. I helped more.. I tried more.. I hope someday my acquired family at GK (as they call it here) understands the meaning of living… simply living….n being content about it..
The door bell rang at 6 am.. another day … for bhola was just about to begin………
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Till we meet again………
We go back a long way. You have always been there for me, my soul rests with you. Yet I have not written to you for long. My mind is juggling several thoughts, the ink is drying up and the scrolls remain bare. Joyousness in its bounty has taken over and frivolity is overpowering. Then I should write more to you, you say? Share with me those moments in your mind, let me dance with you in the oh so melodious chant…
I stare blankly.. overpowered with emotions and thoughts. Maybe I am skeptical about sharing my joy, maybe I am superstitious, maybe I am just in my own exclusive world. It’s a whirlwind of things which swerve in my mind, its happiness personified, its anxiousness un controlled, its hopelessly hopeful. I wish I could share my journey with you… sigh! How I wish..
I close my diary and consoling it say.. sometimes my dear diary, word’s are not enough and I am glad to be in one of the times!
We shall part to meet soon where I take you with me on this journey…. Till then…
I stare blankly.. overpowered with emotions and thoughts. Maybe I am skeptical about sharing my joy, maybe I am superstitious, maybe I am just in my own exclusive world. It’s a whirlwind of things which swerve in my mind, its happiness personified, its anxiousness un controlled, its hopelessly hopeful. I wish I could share my journey with you… sigh! How I wish..
I close my diary and consoling it say.. sometimes my dear diary, word’s are not enough and I am glad to be in one of the times!
We shall part to meet soon where I take you with me on this journey…. Till then…
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Roots
Invigorating from the first step
Reciting volumes of history
The clickety of the cobbled roads
Endless charm of the memorial
Smell of gastronomy all around
Engulfed by the constant chatter
The comforting chaos surrounds you
Even if the screeching cabbies zoom by
The debates on soccer and world politics
Yet a comfort in the way of life
The luscious green on the rains
Lal mati of the countryside
The eccentric intelligentsia of the mind
With a bold step of culture in one’s stride
Quoting history in every breath
The city still bound in time
Sounds of music in every household
Redefining creativity in every step
Bamboo, wood or paper never molded this way
Creating structures of divinity
Touching euphoria in the dhaki sound
Broadest grin across the ageless family it brings
The sumptuous food which binds one and all
And the in explainable “areektu” serving
I mesmerize in childlike glee
Wondering constantly
The vagaries of the glorious state
Never lived did I but I feel I did
The guiding invisible hand for many years
Today defines what is truly me
Reciting volumes of history
The clickety of the cobbled roads
Endless charm of the memorial
Smell of gastronomy all around
Engulfed by the constant chatter
The comforting chaos surrounds you
Even if the screeching cabbies zoom by
The debates on soccer and world politics
Yet a comfort in the way of life
The luscious green on the rains
Lal mati of the countryside
The eccentric intelligentsia of the mind
With a bold step of culture in one’s stride
Quoting history in every breath
The city still bound in time
Sounds of music in every household
Redefining creativity in every step
Bamboo, wood or paper never molded this way
Creating structures of divinity
Touching euphoria in the dhaki sound
Broadest grin across the ageless family it brings
The sumptuous food which binds one and all
And the in explainable “areektu” serving
I mesmerize in childlike glee
Wondering constantly
The vagaries of the glorious state
Never lived did I but I feel I did
The guiding invisible hand for many years
Today defines what is truly me
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Your Music and My Lyrics
Life has its ways always
Its when unexpected things hit you on an idle day
Is when you realize the endless nuances it offers
You meet people for a reason they say
Some for a season and some for a lifetime
But always for a reason.. n mostly the reason being u
Some add music to your moments
Making you float high for a few days
Some add the tune which you want to hum for a while
Few add music to your lyrics
Meaning to your song
And even fewer sing along with you
Life reinforces disbelief and strange belief
When one meets such people
Making you ride on the sounds of music
I wonder if its for a season or seasons or longer
But I am glad to have sung my heart out
At the song we created together
Its when unexpected things hit you on an idle day
Is when you realize the endless nuances it offers
You meet people for a reason they say
Some for a season and some for a lifetime
But always for a reason.. n mostly the reason being u
Some add music to your moments
Making you float high for a few days
Some add the tune which you want to hum for a while
Few add music to your lyrics
Meaning to your song
And even fewer sing along with you
Life reinforces disbelief and strange belief
When one meets such people
Making you ride on the sounds of music
I wonder if its for a season or seasons or longer
But I am glad to have sung my heart out
At the song we created together
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
On a day like today
The droplets sparkle and glisten
I wonder if its for a reason
The clouds in their resplendent glory
Speak their very own story
The wind uplifts my soul
Adding a spring to my sole
The rumbling skies and the cloudy haze
Turns the mundane alive and ablaze
The rain, winds and clouds gives me serenity
Showing the holy trinity
Nature seems to be beckoning its way
On a day like today…
Sigh… on a day like today
I wonder if its for a reason
The clouds in their resplendent glory
Speak their very own story
The wind uplifts my soul
Adding a spring to my sole
The rumbling skies and the cloudy haze
Turns the mundane alive and ablaze
The rain, winds and clouds gives me serenity
Showing the holy trinity
Nature seems to be beckoning its way
On a day like today…
Sigh… on a day like today
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Tempest
The fragrance unfolds, drapes and engulfs the room
As I slowly glance up
The view is hazy due to the storm
The rain lashes on incessantly
The constant murmur only beckons silence to my ears
The aroma of the flowers reverberates
The tempest unfurls both within and around
I see rain in my eyes, the storm in my head
As I stare blankly at his posthumous portrait.
As I slowly glance up
The view is hazy due to the storm
The rain lashes on incessantly
The constant murmur only beckons silence to my ears
The aroma of the flowers reverberates
The tempest unfurls both within and around
I see rain in my eyes, the storm in my head
As I stare blankly at his posthumous portrait.
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