Moody

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My parents are concerned about me. They are worried sick that I may have a serious problem. They don’t like it that I keep to myself these days. They tell me not to me so moody, spending so much time behind the closed door of my room. Painting and poetry befit people of gloom, I am told.

But within the comfort of my room, I am myself. Nobody to be compared with, none to compete with. I spend my time reading, writing, painting and dreaming. I enjoy the slow pace of life here. My mom sees this as a danger signal. She thinks that I’d be better off doing the things she has planned so meticulously for me.

Strangely, those are the very things I loathe. Being dragged from piano lessons to dance class to martial arts to public speaking and debate clubs. Participating in endless competitions. Bringing home shining golden trophies that will be showcased in our living room. A spectacular display of my failure. Failure to freely do what I love.

Sometimes I want to scream. I want to tell my parents that I am not one bit excited about their plans for me. That I find solace in the silence of my room, putting my thoughts into words. I want them to know that I am not insane just because I prefer to be on my own. How can I tell them that it is their plans that suffocate me? Plans where I don’t belong.

As we sit with the psychiatrist, my mother goes on and on about how I am so downcast in spite of them being such encouraging parents and me being an achiever. As usual I keep waiting for my turn to talk knowing that it will never come.

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Content

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Her wardrobe was an explosion of colour and glitz. Radhika was spoilt for choice when it came to clothes, accessories and almost everything else she wanted. She was the pampered wife of a millionaire who went on endless business trips around the globe in search of better deals and more money. They owned a lot wealth and lead a lavish life; an outsider could never find any flaws in their life.

Yet, as she stood in front of her cupboard trying to decide what to wear to the party that night, she felt a strange sense of emptiness. She couldn't fathom what it was. Maybe it was time to shop for new clothes and bags. Maybe the diamonds had been worn too many times and it was time for a new set. Or could it be because it had been long since a holiday in an exotic resort in a faraway land?

What was it she lacked? Why did she feel empty? Her thoughts were disturbed as she looked down from her window at the adjoining slum. Where did these people come from? She watched with shock and disgust as two urchins sifted through the garbage, picking bottles and jars. When their sacks fattened up with objects of glass and plastic, they exchanged them with a man, for some money.

The children dashed to the nearby shop that sold fly infested samosas, pastries and snacks dripping with oil. Radhika watched them munch hungrily on the samosas. Their faces burst into smiles as they wiped their oily hands on their knickers and prepared for a nap near the stinking pile of garbage. She then realised what was wrong. She had never once felt content.





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Reasons to Smile

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I've heard it’s a bad world out there

filled with people who don’t care,

with not a trace of goodness left,

hopes murdered by treachery and theft.

But a fleeting smile on a stranger’s face,

a hand to clasp on gloomy days,

tears of joy, someone to befriend

a heart that awaits sorrow’s end,

blossoming love in differences stark,

a burning candle in the darkest of dark,

fiercely kept promises, never forgotten,

the tender touch of a child begotten,

patterned doodles on new painted walls,

space on the bed for the bears and dolls,

a love-struck couple on a romantic date

and words of apology, sincere even if late

tell my heart to bring forth the smiles

that will surely see me through miles;

I believe there’s goodness everywhere

if only to see them we show some care.

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P.S : My list of reasons to smile is endless, just shared a few. Keep Smiling :)

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Poisoned Pleasantries

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Any social gathering, be it a wedding, a party or even a small family get together has a dangerous tendency to turn into a buzzing hive of gossip as long as there are enough people and delicious food to fuel stray sparks caused by snide remarks and incessantly wagging tongues that seem to have snapped free from the wiring that links them to the brain respectively. These meetings are the perfect times for people to catch up on each other’s lives, being “busy” at all other times. So it is quite natural that questions that prod, pry and probe into others’ lives are shot off at random, amidst the zillion interactions that happen over food and drink.

What I find absolutely amusing, is the ability of people to spice up even mono syllable answers and comments of others into emotional epics of melodrama and serve it to others. For example, a “well-wisher” asked me if I was pregnant, to which I answered in the negative. News spread that we as a couple had decided not to have kids and soon every other person in the crowd wanted my mother to “speak to me (and my generation of selfish youngsters)” to throw light on the folly of our decision. Talk about (bungee) jumping into conclusions!

At another function, someone passed a “well meaning” remark that my husband and I were saving money by eating less (both of us happen to be thin). Some others went to the extent of judging my culinary skills. Such remarks filled with malice defeat the whole purpose of getting together. Instead of going home with pleasant memories, one is often left wondering whether theses forced relations hold any meaning at all. Why make an attempt to keep in touch with people who eagerly try to bring you down all the time, no matter what you do or say?

Once, during a wedding someone went on and on in loudspeaker mode about how ugly the bride looked. I could only pray that she hadn't heard those rude words, for doesn't everyone want to think they look nice on their wedding? If only it is possible to press “mute” when some people talk! Now when I think of it, more instances surface to my memory. People commenting on the colour of your skin, your attire, your diet, your lifestyle choices, career (or the lack of it), how you choose to celebrate, where you go on a holiday, how you spend your wealth and so many other matters which I think are too personal to be dissected in public. People have their opinions, I know. But why air them all unnecessarily? Why is there a deliberate lack of connect between the tongue and the brain?

Of course, one way out is to shut these people out by giving them and their comments a cold shoulder. Sometimes it is not that easy, especially if the person is a close relative. Some people are sensitive and can easily get hurt by these bullets from mindless mouths. I don’t mean to say that we should be hypocrites and shower praise without meaning a word of it. But if we don’t have anything nice to say, isn't it better that we keep quiet. That’s what I do. Remembering the words of Mark Twain: If you have nothing to say, say nothing. How true- if you don’t have anything nice to say, golden is the colour of your silence.

The Heroine

There was an ocean of people pushing, pulling and jostling eagerly waiting to catch at least a glimpse of their favourite star. Cameras, mobile phones and eyes watched athirst with bated breath. Journalists were ready to take notes, critics to shoot questions, policemen positioned to take action at the slightest sign of trouble. She was on her way and would arrive soon. The crowd was ready to wait an eternity for that blessed moment of sensory treat.

Maya was a recent addition to the film industry but her magical looks, effortless acting and impeccable style had already transformed her to a demigoddess. Youthful romeos dreamt about her day and night, the middle aged drooled over her pictures that seemed to be omnipresent (someone had even pasted her poster inside a public toilet) and the older men remorsefully remembering their prime as they thought of her.

The wait was over. Their goddess had landed from heaven among their midst. Each look of hers, the turn of her neck, her graceful gait, everything about her was lapped up like a sponge and relished like nectar by her fans. She walked over to the stage, escorted by her assistants and took a seat among the other guests. The press conference pertaining to her upcoming release was about to begin.

She patiently answered all the questions with honesty, stopping once in a while to sip some ice cold water. She felt comfortable to be amidst people who showered her with love and admiration. She could see people arguing with the guards, trying desperately to gain entry into the hall. Cameras clicked, slurping up every bit of her. She felt important. She was on top of the world. This was what she had dreamt of all her life and now she was living her charismatic dream.

Somewhere far away a whistle blew. Perhaps some fans were trying in vain to catch sight of her. No cause for worry. Then a second whistle by a policeman. Would the crowd go crazy as they sometimes did when they saw their superstar? The third one was really loud and with it the smell of overcooked lentils wafted into her nostrils. The crowd, the admirers, the press, the policemen, the banners, bouquets and cameras vanished into thin air. She was greeted by spices and vegetables, greasy utensils and a bucketful of smelly clothes.

The happiness bubble

Her excitement was overwhelming. She beamed and grinned as she stood in front of the huge shiny mirror in her bedroom. She scrutinized herself again and again. She couldn’t afford to make the slightest mistake. She tried various kinds of smiles and finally settled for the one that was restricted to the outline of her scarlet red lips. A smile that was never destined to reach her eyes. Quickly, she marked her mental checklist- the stylish hairdo, with a few careless strands that framed her face, the flawless make-up that hid the shadows around her eyes and the horrible freckles and blemishes, her smooth and supple skin that was newly waxed, the tastefully chosen diamond jewellery that was custom made to look just like the one a woman flaunted at a party few days ago, her designer sari that was sure to steal the show and the stilettoes that cost a bomb but elevated her to “a higher level”. Perfect.

Pleased with her efforts, she dabbed some perfume and nodded at her husband. He noticed the grief and loneliness in her eyes that the make-up couldn’t hide but chose against speaking about it. He got the car keys and prepared to lock the door. She almost forgot her precious Louis Vuitton! She cursed herself for her negligence, grabbed it from the closet and got into the car.

They drove in silence as usual. They had nothing to say to each other. For the past twenty years, their relationship had been engulfed by a strange kind of silence. Convenient, because there were no loud fights that turned eyes in their direction, because they were free to weave their dreams and desires into a cocoon around them and nest peacefully in its warmth. She adorned herself with an aura of confidence that sometimes dangerously lurked near arrogance  to hide her insecurities; while he thought of the jokes he would crack at the party to mask his desperation and emptiness. She thought she was happy. She mentally rehearsed her carefully chosen response to all the compliments she would be showered with.

They arrived at the venue that was tastefully decorated with the finest fragrant flowers and soothing lights. There was colour, music, food, chatter, whispers, laughter and clinking of glasses everywhere. She felt glad as people stole glances at her. Some with envy and some with admiration. Her happiness knew no bounds as people admired her attire, jewellery, bag and almost everything about her. So what if her husband did not notice her, so what if they were strangers sharing a bed? She was admired by so many people here at the party. Everyone loved her diamonds. They were jealous of the LV she clutched. She forgot her grief and erased the loneliness that had stealthily crept into her life. She was the star of the show tonight. She was haloed by an endless bubble of happiness.

Suddenly, everyone’s attention was drawn to the black Mercedes that pulled up at the parking lot. Out came a young lady who wore bigger diamonds and a more expensive dress. Everyone was breath taken by her beauty and style. The endless bubble of happiness popped with a bang. But of course, there was another party coming up.

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