21 June 2009

Sold everything

Every lower middle class woman dreams of a loving husband, who brings home handsome salary, enough to rent a roof, feed two and save a little for the future. I always tried to make the most of whatever the fate offered me.We weren’t well-versed. I had quit school after seventh class, so that my brothers could study and I nursed a neighboring baby, while his mother went to work. In return, she bought books and uniforms for my brother, paid my mom hundred rupees every month and fed me once a day. When, I returned home, I helped my mum cook dinner and wash vessels. Dad was a drunkard and died few years ago, because of the same.

I married Rajiv, after a year. He worked in an iron molding factory. Thankfully, he didn’t booze and even he believed in making the most with whatever we had. He too saved a little for our future, but not much as he sent money to his old parents. I supported him by nursing neighboring children. Their working mothers paid me for the service.

I delivered Karan and Kiran after two years. The twins brought not only loads of happiness along with them, but also immense responsibilities. Kiran was a smart girl and Karan was also quite intelligent. They topped the class every year and Rajiv worked harder to meet their requirements.

After nine years…

11 June 2009


For me life didn’t end after Prabakar. I wanted to live for myself. It’s not like I hadn’t liked Prabakar. He was my love but for me love didn’t end with his death. My parents wanted me to remarry and I didn’t object. Living after losing beloved one wasn’t a sin. Even Prabakar would have wanted me to live happily even if he wasn’t around. If only he hadn’t met with that accident, we would be gaily living together.

My in-laws didn’t like the idea of remarriage, as it was against their traditions. They kept me almost locked inside a room. I wasn’t allowed to come out until men went to work and I had to go back to my room before they returned home. I was never invited to any of the family celebrations and was made to wear white dresses, not even a pinch of color in it.

I tried to bring some colors to my life by painting. Prabakar always appreciated my painting skills and encouraged me to pursue my interest. My in-laws didn’t want me to paint and all, but I didn’t allow them to win over me again. They had me following their rules enough.

Twigs and Rags

I wasn’t a king, neither was my father nor was my brothers. We, sparrows were just gleaner. My sisters worked as hard as my brothers did. Neither, we knew who our parents were, nor our parents knew us. Like all my sisters and brother, even I had taken flight from home, immediately after learning to fly. Sky was our life, earth gave us food and trees were our home.

My mate and I collected twigs and rags. We wove nest, after filling our stomachs and quenching our thirsts. Everyday, we flew in and out of our unfinished nest. Most of the times flew together but sometimes alone. We flew miles over rivers and mountains protecting ourselves from ravens and birds of Jove, saving ourselves from wind and rain.

After many weeks of hard work, our nest was complete and warm. My mate laid three eggs and we watched over them day and night. I carried worms and flies for her while she gave the eggs her love and warmth. Sometimes, I sat on the eggs so she could stretch her wings a little and have a drink.

09 June 2009

King Sized

Motorbikes have always been my passion. I started riding bikes at the age of thirteen and dad bought me one on my eighteenth birthday.

Every night, I go for a long ride. Most of the times, I go alone but sometimes any of my friends give me company. I don’t get enough words when it comes to describe how thrilled I get riding the bike beyond 100-110 km/h.

In my friends circle, I am known for my riding style. I take ten minutes to cover the same distance that any of them do in thirty minutes. Sometimes, I jump traffic signals and ride on pavements to reach the terminus quick. To be honest, riding bikes and breaking rules are as good as being narcotized. Driving after getting drunk is another thing. It has its own beauty.