Musk Divine..

Its heaven to wake up to the sound & smell of rain, specially how the dark wood floor of the room makes the air musky & wet...I always carry back the smells along with the sights, and the smells last in my mind forever...miss Krabi, miss musk.

Raindrops on the grass...

She glances softly at her son and says softly, " Why do you and I go with people who won't give us enough?"

I stand at the door of the teahouse to watch her walk back across the park, under the trees; she carries a white umbrella, treading so lightly she barely disturbs the raindrops on the grass. 

~ Strangers When We Met, Hanif Kureshi

Deja Vu

After a long hiatus, someone posted a comment on a really old post of mine, and I am back to my haunted corner !

>>>>>>>>>

So, I thought I had 'come out' last christmas, but that was not to be.

Christmas passed in the regular hum drum, late evening, out of sheer routine I pulled the potted pine tree into the balcony and put some fairy lights on it. Just makes me happy more than anything else. There wasn't a word uttered by the kids and I thought, finally, we were sorted.

Next morning, I woke up with a teary Ruhi peering over my face with eyes as big as saucers, looking so so so sad. I noticed she was clutching a pair of stockings in one hand. I held out my arms to her and she burst into sobs. I cradled her in my arms, at eleven she is nearly as tall as me. It broke my heart......she had hung the stockings near her bed...she said even if Mama was Santa, she was sure there would be surprise for her in the stockings. It killed me even more...I had messed up really really bad.

All the commotion woke up Rayyan, startled he sat up on the bed and then in a tearing hurry pulled his pillow away and in his typical practical way, said " Santa didn't take away my letter Mama ?"

In his neatly written handwriting he had listed a PSP, a toy car and 'something to eat'.

Merry XMas !

I messed it up badly this year :(

For the last 2 years Ruhi has been desperately looking for reassurance that Santa exists, a year before that she was sure about it and even thought she could smell his perfume to say he had visited the house !

This year she was more confident that, Santa was Me, but I knew I could stretch it for another year...but I guess I didn't try hard enough.

I sat her on my knee as she asked me for the hundredth time in 2 days "Please...please tell me the truth..are you Santa ?..do you keep the gifts under our pillows?"

It broke my heart but I said "Yes".

Her face contorted and the tears came rolling down. I told her it didn't matter and that even if I kept the gifts, Santa Claus exists...through me. We ordered her 'Fairy Cheque Book' online ( she had written to Santa for it this XMas) and I think she made her peace.

After she was off to sleep, smiling...I looked at Rayyan. He was crouching over his pillow, writing a note ! To Santa !! In his neat handwriting, spread across the page he had requested Santa for a Bugatti Veyron !!!!!!

Forgotten, made peace.

31st October 1984.

I realised this morning that the day had passed and I had not noticed. Have I made my peace, finally ?!

Green Eyeballs!

Rayyan longingly looks into the mirror, holding up his eyelid.

I ask him whats happening ?

"Mommy, I want green eyeballs"

"What ? you want to look like a monster?!

"Dont be silly Mommy, people who speak English have green & brown eyeballs. Hindi people have black eyeballs"

"Rayyan, whats wrong in being Hindi people ?"

" No mommy, Hindi people are black like you, I am fair like English people"

!!!!

I am speechless ! TV is a tough woman to contest with, I am miserably getting left behind :(

Ruhi on her 9th birthday ....

November 13, 2010

9 years of magic unfolds...

In just a year, you are quite as tall as me

You know too many things -

Those that you should learn much later

Those that I even do not speak.

This year, your favorite colour is 'Mauve',

Last year it was Pink !

You scoff at kiddish stuff and all,

But I know you secretly love your dolls.

You can fix a sandwich,

roll a 'roti' and make me tea !

You can act like a grandmother,

bully your baby brother

and shout the house down.

Though sometimes you are so soft spoken,

you are not seen or heard or heeded

something I always worry about.

A strong girl, you know to hide your tears.

You are quiet and shy.

Specially, when unkind children make light of

all the things that you so genuinely do believe

then, I have seen you wilt and cry.

You know the clothes you want to wear,

love high heels and lipstick.

Your pry on my things,

You want to know it all...

You own me like I belong to you;

But guard your own little secrets.

To the world's most beautiful girl - Happy birthday !!

The Idea that is India and those who will usurp it !

Arundhati Roy says Naxalites are "Gandhians with guns". She says many things that are meant to ignite and destroy and are a good payoff for herself. And it mostly just irritates, but this time I feel ignited that this Booker winning, celebrated with the Sydney Peace prize, Page 3 fashionably 'non conformist' writer with the illegal bunglow in Panchgani calls India "bhooka nanga Hindustan" on a terrorists sponsored public platform.

What could she possibly want to achieve ? And why didn't she stick to the language that she knows best ? Your guess is as good as mine. She got TRPs and invaded digital media opinion with a storm, strategically in advance of the American President's visit. Don't we know how to become eligible for the noble peace prize ! If only she could go to Jail.

And though I hate dissent, specially with the people I love, I am arguing bitterly with my dear friend Anna who feels that democracy urgently needs people like Ms. Roy. Reproducing an article she sent me to assuage my doubts about the object of her admiration. Maybe I have receded to intellectual infancy but she ignites me further !

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/arundhati-roy

I am living the situation every day, of a rising tide of unreasonable, cocky and destructive ideology that if indulged will usurp the Idea that is India. In a more devastating way than corruption, hunger and inefficiency can.

Out of every 5 people in my immediate family (in laws) 4 openly represent the partisan ideology of the 'fire-breathing mullahs and the maniacs' who believe that Islam will, or should, rule the world. These are not as Arundhati Rao terms the 'the detritus of two Afghan wars". These are public school educated Indian citizens, brought up and indulged in this secular country. Such bigots are indulged by our middle class intelligentsia, the english speaking erudite, fair people who sympathize for every just cause. I was quite on that side till I had a close brush with reality in the last 2 decades. I hate religious bigotry. I would not stand out on a limb until I have genuine reason to do so.

I believe that each one of us should stand up for the idea that is India before we point fingers. We are too busy trying to criticise in order to be fair. Criticisim and name calling is OK too, but in the national context, it has to have an objective ? Specially in the case of individuals who have the voice which can have far reaching global impact.

In the case of Ms. Roy, her prose is brilliant. " The blood of "martyrs" irrigates terrorism. " !! Wah, love the brilliance of your words madam. Implications be damned. Its always a pleasure ( sometimes painful pleasure) to read her language but when has she ever, if by mistake, stood up for the idea that is India. This woman, born and indulged in this country has only used her prowess to accuse her country. That is is my grouse against her. And her accusations have caused no civil change except that it gets her personal gain - peace prizes et all.

And did she just realise that Kashmir needed her voice ? Or did she weigh the maximum impact possibilities before she chose her words and her stage to repeat what thousands have said before her !

If you will read her very well written article posted above, the gist is as following :

1. LTTE of Sri Lanka were trained by the Indian Army and we have no business to denounce terrorism.

2. India is seeking war with Pakistan to avoid facing up to the serious trouble building on our home front. Pakistan is a really spoilt brat and if you mess with it, its going to be very bad for India.

3. The cute 'boy terrorists' who attacked Mumbai in 2008 s got such excellent TRPs, its admirable.

4. MumbaI police, the elite National Security Guard, and the marine commandos of this silly country willingly let non- elite people be massacred at railways stations and hospitals because did not want to risk the lives of elite hostages inside the Taj.

4. Stupid Indians enjoyed prolonged live TV coverage of the event since it was even more exciting than the movie 'Die Hard 2'. She can't get over the TRPs all that got.

5. Sadly in Kashmir, there is not adequate TV coverage, so stupid Indian are less sensitive about hostages getting killed and surmount terrorists rather fast. Brainless duds don't realise the aspirations and rights of these hapless terrorists.

6. India is a Police State. The collective Indian Media has made it a Police State.

7. Police and the Army are glorified in India ( by the media ?) at the cost of the poor little underdog - the Politicians. Perhaps she may even accuse that the govt co funded Dabangg ?

8. For Arnab Goswami, anchorperson of Times Now television, to call Arundhati Roy 'Disgusting" on National TV should have cost him his Job and amounts to incitement, as well as threat. But for Arundhati Roy to call India "bhooke Nange" ( despicable beggars in parlance") is her right to free speech !! Arnab Goswami didnt get the Booker or the Sydney Peace Prize, that Loser !

9. India is a country with a shadowy history !

10. Americans are the most hated in the world. Indians are like the Americans. Bloody Indians. Is it clear by now that Arundhati Roy gave up her Indian nationality in disgust?

11. Anti-terrorism laws are not meant for terrorists !

After the trademark ranting she offers her final one line naive solution to the mammoth issues. She ordains that terrorism can be contained by only one way - giving JUSTICE to the terrorists.

Give me a a break Arundhati Roy. We think you are disgusting.

Checkmate

Two things happened this week, enough to make me wake up from blogging slumber !

The first - thanks to resourceful bureaucrat friends, I managed to catch CWG Athletics and Badminton. While in the car en route to a friend's office, Ruhi was struggling with the math of how the 5 tickets that we had were going to be utilised. I told her A, you and me make 3 girls and there are 2 boys going with us. She immediately replied " But you are not a girl Mamma" .

I decided to be funny " Oops Ruhi, but of course ! So there are 3 boys including me and 2 girls ". She looked at me earnestly and asked " are you serious ?"

"Of course Ruhi, didnt you know I am a man ?"

Ruhi looked confused and astonished. In my heart I was confused and astonished myself !

So I look like an Android to her ? How can a nearly 9 year old not establish human anatomy ? Was she being funny as well ? Unfortunately we arrived at our destination and the conversation was forgotten.

2 days later in our lazy hour at night, I reminded her of that conversation and asked if she genuinely thought I was a man.

She looked embarrassed "but mamma you sounded so sure.....I thought maybe you are a man with long hair....for a minute I thought you may be wearing a wig stuck with glue..."

I was roaring with laughter. She looked more embarrassed and sweetly said " but you could be a man..."

The second - after we finished laughing ourselves silly about the man thing, she said " now please don't write all this on your blog".

I cannot explain how I felt at that moment. I was shocked and felt so cheated that my privacy had been invaded upon by my little baby. My ears burning in indignation I felt a surge of concern - what had she read ? what could she have understood ? what about all my angst about mixed parentage. Pretending to sound casual I asked " Have you seen my blog ? Where ? " .

She had gone to spend a night at my brother's house and it seems my nephew googled her name and they landed at my blog !! He is 10 years old.

She saw the pic where Rayyan was doodling on my leg and she read the accompanying post where I had said that Ruhi was very jealous of his talent (to draw).

My heart broke when I saw her bravely trying to fight tears as she told me " I was very angry with you mamma".

She had not called me during that trip as she usually does. She had also said nothing for about a week that she had been back home. It was disturbing.

I instinctively picked up my laptop and took her through my blog. I showed her tens of posts about her, her pics on my blog. Read out some post to her. She was very pleased and said "not sad anymore, I never saw all this". We talked some more and she fell asleep.

Am stunned to say the least. I had not anticipated she would get here, she is not yet nine !! Just proves how little I know and how ill prepared I am for the future. I am also worried about internet access and what lies in store...

However the thought that bothers me the most is that its not going to be my personal blog anymore, but the blog of the mother of my children.

Old age plans !

"Rayyan will you take care of me when I grow old"

"ABBSOLOOTELY"

"well, what will you do for me ?"

" I will buy you a computer to do the cooking and take you to the beauty parlour, and I..."

At this point Ruhi cut him abruptly, sounding very cross " No Rayyan I will take care of Mama. I will come to meet her and do makeup for her "

I am half amused half shocked ! While they squabble I wonder what I had been doing to make them both believe that all the care that I would ever need would be beauty care. And a computer that cooks ?! I wish Ruhi had let him finish.

5 years without fuss ?

The school saga continues and just as Ruhi outgrows her cocoon, Rayyan's travails begin.

I landed up to meet the teacher on the walk-in Friday and introduced myself :

"I am Rayyan's Mother'.

The teacher had been smiling politely from her desk as I entered from the further end of the room. Her smile vanished at my introduction as she gestured me to be seated.

She said : "Ah.. just as well that you came by, I was going to call you Mrs. Wasi." Deja Vu !

She said Rayyan speaks "weird things". The other day when the children were routinely asked if they were happy or sad that morning, Rayyan's eyes swelled up. He said he was "Very sad".

Upon asking the reason he said " because last night I could not finish cleaning up the house before I went to sleep". I cracked up at that and had tears rolling down my eyes. What a cheeky little pretender ! But the teacher cut me short and said " Its not funny".

He was asked to take out his swimming trunks from the school bag and he said : I havn't got any, I am just a beggar".

And another times when he hadn't finished his homework, he told the teacher his mother "lives somewhere else" and sometimes comes home late at night, "at 11 pm" to be precise.

Also, that he visits his mother on weekends and his Dad just looks him up when he is ready for school in the mornings. It looked like the teacher half believed what she had heard. I told her I was at home most of the time these days and that I do flexi hours but the tales continued, and the air became heavy in that room.

" Have you been ignoring him ?"

" Is there something wrong at home ?"

"Why would he say he is a beggar...kids don't have that vocabulary...is there a possibility of abusive language..."

My head was spinning. Of course I ignore him a lot. Of course he talks gibberish and thats one reason he is so popular. Of course he told Sridevi Maasi that her hair looked like Donkey's hair....but then we always thought he was so amusing and so cool.

He isn't shy. He talks nines to the dozens, he is sharp, much sharper than Ruhi and he is a happy child. I had never figured something could be wrong with the little chap. The teacher said I needed to watch him and that they had already started moral lessons with him about right thing and wrong thing and that God gives silver stars for truth spoken and black stars for lies. It didn't feel right to me. I didn't want a judgmental, ill natured God up there dishing out stars and stuff but then I was the mother whose child was telling highly detailed contrived stuff and it was obvious I had got it all wrong !

On another day he told the teacher (again with tearful eyes) that he was "so sad" because his mother buys new toys for him all the time when he has so many old toys that he can play with. I started to feel like someone caught doing illegal stuff " but Ma'm, thats not correct, he always demands new toys...". At the same time I felt like rushing home and spanking his tiny bum !!

The teacher agrees it may all be attention getting tactics but then I must realise that he is demanding attention and work on it. So thats my summer holiday homework to watch him closely, encourage him to speak the truth and wean him off the maid who may be inspiring him to fantasize himself as a cleaning boy or a beggar !!!

I came home and gently prodded him about what he had been saying in school. He pretended not to listen and then looked me straight into the eye and said " do you know I have REAL parents and ANOTHER parents?"

I gulped down spit and pretended to be casual and asked "Am I the REAL mother or ANOTHER one ?"

He said " REAL mother" most somberly.

"Who is the fake mother ?"

"Sheetal "

I have no friend by that name. My husband knows no woman by that name too (hopefully !). There is just no Sheetal in our universe.

I asked : "Hmmmm...who is the fake father then ?"

"Sheetal 2 ....both are Sheetal"

I wanted to laugh but I killed that urge. I thought I should tell him the angry God will give a black star but that wasnt an attractive thought either !

I told him it wasn't nice to make up stuff. He got mighty worked up and said he wasn't making up anything and that Sheetal 2 often comes to the Garage and I could meet him there.

I decided to change the topic and try another day !

5 years without fuss !

Rayyan's birthdays take me to my own childhood when birthdays were so simple and unassuming.

Only the samosas and jalebis are now replaced with Choco Pie and French Fries and of course there were no return gifts back then.

This year I set up the inflatable pool in the backyard and put up some yellow balloons. Ruhi enthusiastically invited the smaller kids from the park with a request to get along their towels and swim suits and an emphatic "please don't come if you have a running nose !"

Rayyan had a blast and that is all I had hoped for :)

My budding Little Artist !

When Rayyan runs out of paper, walls, magazines and books, he finds more surfaces for his graffiti. Like my leg for example !

Rayyan's figures have pointed angular heads and a lot of small details. Ruhi is very jealous of his talent and threw a fit the other day, sobbing uncontrollably about " why he can draw so well ! "

I am just another doting mother but I really think his drawings are very 'Souza'ish and I have been scheming to to take him to the Souza exhibition.

That should surely bring on the worst Ruhi tantrum that I may have seen till date :)

That I lovfe him !

Rayyan is trying to fit a helicopter inside the belly of a hollow plastic turtle.

I am on my laptop and there has been silence for too long, I decide to break the ice.

In a sugary sweet voice I say : "Raayi, I love you".

He looks up and in the most dismissive tone ever : " ITS OK"

Me : "What do you meant its OK ???"

Rayyan, impatiently : "that you LOVFE me "

The Ruhi update

I think we've reached a milestone with Ruhi at 8 years. I find myself completely at my wit's end most of the times and apprehensive about what may come next.

As of now, Ruhi knows everything. Sometimes more than everybody else . She says "I KNOW IT" after everything. Example :

Ruhi : Mama what does 'Do not drink and drive' mean ?

Me : Means one should not drink alcohol and drive.

Ruhi : I know it.

pause.

Ruhi : Mama what is alcohol ?

Me : Its a very bitter drink that makes people sleepy so they may have an accident if they drive

Ruhi : I know it

And so on and so forth.

I hope this too will pass ?

She is more concerned than ever, about right and wrong. Like she walked up to a man she had seen pissing on a colony wall and told him softly " pissing not allowed here" (in hindi). He was apparently some driver, he sniggered and told her to buzz off. Knowing her she must have muttered all the guts in her to do this. She didnt give up and waited for the chowkidar on the colony rounds to come by and complained about the incident. She felt very worthy when the chowkidar promised to fix the guy.

She has had her first sleep over at her best friend Rhea's house.

She has close friends who she likes and dislikes at the same time. Being a soft spoken gentle girl, she is at the receiving end of some highly manipulative behavior from other children her age. She is learning to deal with it albeit slowly. Her teacher said she needs lessons in how to be mean !

She shows a strong desire to do well in school. She is suddenly very competitive and wants to do better than most of her peers but accepts that a few friends are "way smarter" than her in class.

She wants to dress up fashionably when going to meet her friends. In dresses and skirts !!

She is constantly testing her limits with me and I have finally begun to google for " behavior problems in 8 year olds" !

And she brought in her 8th with some football, hula hoop and monkeying around !

Collaboration

Little Zorro ( short for Zorawar ) Ruhi and Little Rayyan are park friends. This evening Zorro told Ruhi and Rayyan "Allah Tala is going to send Santa Clause to my house with lots of Christmas gifts, if I go to bed on time!"

Errr, right :)))

Edited to add :

I met Zorro's mom the other day and narrated the above conversation to her. She said she knew this because Zorro came home and told her that Ruhi had said "I don't go to bed on time but Allah Tala still sends Santa Claus to my house every year"

:)))))

One more time.

'How do we know' posted a comment on an old post of mine, congratulating me on how well I had explained the concept of religious differences to Ruhi. Nothing could get more ironical and it touched a raw nerve, stirring me to write about what happened between Ruhi and me last Sunday...

There is a 'Maulwi Sahab' as he is called, who visits our home every weekend to teach Ruhi the Arabic alphabet and other things in that context. In all traditional muslim homes, at least in North India, it is a tradition to familiarize children at a tender age to the Arabic alphabet so that they can read the Koran before they come of age.

Ruhi started at 5 years and Maulwi Sahab would come every day but at the intervention of her school teacher, who felt that she was not being able to cope with 3 languages, the visits were reduced to the weekends.

I play the fence sitter's role since I do not have a strategy as far as my children's religious identity is concerned. As part of a Patriarchal society, I choose to accept that they will be called Muslims though I cringe on the rare occasion where I have had to write 'Muslim' in the school form. I would cringe equally if I had to write 'Sikh' in that space. I don't see them as either.

When the Arabic tuitions began, I took initiative to persuade the unwilling girl to sit and memorize a strange language. I would drag Ruhi from her Sunday morning cartoons to the decorated 'holy' man, who sat scowling at my undignified pajama - T shirt attire. As I understand, I must have a dupatta covering my head and upper torso in order to make an appearance before him. However it cant get more ridiculous to wear a Dupatta over a pajama night suit and then carry a protesting Ruhi over my shoulder to the carpet before him. I learnt to make do with his disapproving scowl.....

After a few months of this irksome Sunday morning routine I realized how brainless it was to force the child to study a language she did not understand without any context. And that I was basically acting on auto pilot, perhaps unknowingly, to gain the approval of a large orthodox family who would be happy to know how much pains I was taking for Ruhi's initiation. Since I had myself taken no great pains to fit in.

I gave up and announced at home, that if the Arabic lessons must continue, its got to be my husband or his folks who would have to make the effort to make Ruhi interested in it. And I was out of it, though the Sunday morning routine continues.

I often lock myself in the bathroom to avoid getting involved, sometimes I am called in to beg and plead with Ruhi. Sometimes when she gets too stubborn I am brought in to bully her into submission. I play my part and keep the peace.

With all this in the background, Ruhi has also been struggling with the concept of God for some time now. Her best friend Rhea has told her that only 'Sai Baba' was the 'real God.

During a weekend day spend at Rhea's house, she visited the Sai Baba Mandir with her family and came back happy and excited. She loved the temple experience was convinced, only Sai Baba was the "real" God!

Ruhi also loves going to the Gurudwara, and since she has a keen ear for music she loves to sit for the 'Kirtan'. From our trip to Amritsar she carried back one of those cheap lockets with a Guru Nanak picture on it and carried it in her school bag for several days referring to him as 'Sai Baba' !

She prays to the clay Ganesh figure she made at school and at other times sings Krishna 'bhajans'. She has a lingering, lovely voice.

I let it all flow till the day she announced to Kirti didi that she was a Muslim.

I realised it was time to introduce the concept of religion to her and more importantly to tell her about 'God' since very soon Maulwi Saheb would explain 'Deen' to her and that Allah was the one and the ONLY God. In her small world, It is a rather ambitious fight amongst Gods for supremacy and I didn't want a winner there !

I told Ruhi what I believe is the truth. That God is Goodness. If we are good, there is God in us. If we are bad, God goes away from within us. That if some people are more Good than others, they are more Godly than the rest and that those who are evil can also become God by driving out the 'Shaitan' in them. That God is not a man or woman or animal. That God is Goodness.

She resisted the idea initially but bought in when I told her that Mohammad, Ram, Nanak, Krishna are considered Gods because they were men who were more good than others. That they were examples of how good man can be.

That Rhea & her other friends had mammas and papas who came from the same backgrounds so such children may not understand or respect differences between people. And like Chinese are different from us and like fair people with golden hair and blue eyes are different from us, each one of us on Earth is different and that we must know and accept our differences.

That her father and I are different and we find our 'Godliness' in different things. So as our daughter she must know and accept more about differences between people, than other children.

"But, Mom who made the Earth ?"

" God made the earth"

"But God is Goodness..."

" But Goodness is also a power ...its energy and it creates..."

" Sometimes I understand but......sometimes I don't understand..."

" Don't worry baby, you will understand...."

And our conversations continue as I struggle to find the right answers.

While Ruhi raises her palms to reads the 'Kalma' when she bows to the 'Granth Sahib' at a Gurudwara and as she put her little clay Ganesh on a 'Janamaz' at home.

And so once again this Sunday as her father pleaded with her to attend her Arabic lesson, she kicked about and shouted, she would not study Arabic any more.

My mother in law who chaperons her Arabic lessons hushed her disapprovingly and I shut my mind to the proceedings thereafter and returned to reading my newspaper. There were noises of a great deal of fuss downstairs and as expected my helpless husband came back with a request to intervene. And as I walked into the room, I paused to listen.

Ruhi was saying to the Maulwi and my mother in law : " There is NO God" .

My mother in law, absolutely shocked by the blasphemy shouted " of course there is God, and he is ALLAH. Who told you there is no God ?"

'MAMMA DID"

There was stunned silence at this and strangely enough, I felt a deep surge of shame, guilt, anger and helplessness.

My voice was faltering as I called Ruhi just outside the door and said "Of course there is God"

I asked her to explain what she had just said to her grandmother. Ruhi was angry and irritated and she started screaming "You said God is goodness ? You said he is not man or woman ? So how come now you are saying there is God ? Does he have eyes ? Nose?....."

There were four people in that room with their eyes piercing through me. It is another thing to explain religion and such things to Ruhi in our intimate privacy and quite something else to explain in front of a judgmental Maulwi and a mother in law who has always maintained that my attitude was bad for the children, besides others.

I paused to gather my thoughts and started to explain that of course there is God and he is also called Allah and that he is not a man or woman but a spirit and energy. I pleaded with her to please finish her lesson and we could discuss this later. As children usually do, she noticed my hesitation, faltering and my desperation. She grudgingly sat down to read the 'Quaida' but she looked very sad.

As I turned back to go back to my room, she told her grandmother and the Maulvi. " Mamma is lying in front of you. She told me there is no God. Only Goodness".

Back in my room, I wept bitterly and cursed myself, cursed her and felt vanquished.

For the first time in 8 years I felt they were all justified in saying I'd screw up the kids life. I felt shame like I had never felt before and that Ruhi had let me down. I thought of all the times I must have made my father feel like this.

I made myself miserable for several hours until I resolved to start again, one more time.

That's how much I feel...

She slipped me a scrap of paper when I came back from work the other day.

It looked like a tiny envelope and before I could explore what it was, she demanded I see what was inside.

There was another scrap of paper inside with some scribbled words that got blurry and wet as I stared. I didn't deserve her words, I told myself. But at least she knows we try.

I hugged her and turned away to hide my tears. For once I ignored that she misspelled 'Parents' ! She went her way, jumping about as usual. Its no big deal for her to write such things and to say them often. She has no clue how my heart swells when she casually does these little acts of love.

I hope this lasts, everyone says they change as they grow up

We are like this only !

Once upon a time, many years ago there was this mousy looking  skinny girl who always walked in a straight line, with her head buried into her shoulders. She carried in her heart, the burden of many things big and small. She had been uprooted from all her childhood friends into a strange new city. The big bad Delhi. Her father had accepted a job transfer and she had come along with a heavy heart and many nights of crying bitterly into the pillow. Leaving behind a bitter childhood romance, kindergarten friends, the convent and the lazy dream of a life at RDSO.

She felt wretched for many months and it was in that state of mind, she found herself in a new school in Delhi. Her parents had chosen to stay close to her uncle's house, in the affluent Punjabi locality that reeked of vulgar ostentation, good cheer and everything North Indian. The school was an extension of that culture and she felt even more depressed. To make matters worse, she stood out like a sore thumb with her 'preppy' behavior, the teachers loved it but she became a butt of jokes with the rest. Maybe they loved to intimidate her because she was different. Maybe she threatened the culture of that place. She could not figure out the sniggering as she walked down the corridor to the class room everyday. Or the huge Sardar boy who followed her menacingly till the bus stop every afternoon as she hurried past that one deserted alley. The worst was this angry looking dude in her own class who stood diligently outside the room, staring ferociously as she walked in every morning. Over time as she made a couple of friends, the girls told her that this chap was the class rogue and to be kept away from. She once noticed he clicked her picture in class and was petrified of him after that. Those were the pre- mobile days and it was a actual camera he had got along to do this. She was apprehensive and upset but she had been ostracized enough after complaining about the burly sardar who followed her and she could live without some more trouble.

Months went by and a few days before Rakshabandhan he walked up to her with that picture he had taken and a Rakhi. He wanted her to be his sister. The girl panicked, she was sure this was some prank. But he kept insisting. So much so that one afternoon as she was rushing home as usual, he stopped her on the busy road and threatened to shoot her with a 'revolver' in case she did not agree. This was as Filmi as it could get and in true Bollywood style he barged into her house on the Rakhi day and much to the bewilderment of her shocked family, had her tie a Rakhi on his wrist. This was 25 years ago. And in the years that followed, they became friends and siblings by design. The school time toughie is now a mild mannered businessman and a father of two!

Rohit, my friend and brother, as special as my two younger siblings can be.

The context changed decades ago but the style hasn't changed a bit. In his true inimitable style he lands up at my door at the crack of dawn every rakhi day and drags me out of bed to tie the Rakhi and make him some cold coffee !! Yup, that's real stuff, I am not making it up.

We are like this only :)