Unclaimed corpses.

Ela clutched Alia in her arms and jumped.
The cold water almost made her forget that she was here to drown her cancer-ridden body along with that of her spastic four-year-old.
She almost forgot to hold on to Alia as the water filled her lungs and every instinct screamed survival. Almost. But she did not fail.


This is an attempt to meet a challenge: write a story in not more than 55 words, they said!!!!!!

Write a short story in exactly 55 words, no more, no less. Title not included. Tag #55word. Plz RT.

An irreverent look at: Children's Day.

Children's day never meant much to me. In school it was just another day for yet another boring trip to the planetarium, where we promptly took off our shoes, put our feet on the reclining chairs and went to sleep! Speaking strictly for myself, Chacha Nehru, with all due respect, failed to inspire me or make me feel loved. Moreover children's day was bang in the middle of our final exams, so it was just a day of respite, that "no exam tomorrow" kind of glee that only a school kid will understand!
Today's children, are, obviously, much better informed. The entertainment organised too is more refined. My daughters have a mini fete to attend in school, for which, much to my dismay, they have taken almost a year's worth of pocket money to school!
Then of course, they know all about Jawaharlal Nehru, warts, rose and all. They saw it all (yes, you guessed it!) on the net! They did not glean the information from grainy black and white images on TV or from an encyclopedia which had an overload of information and no pictures ( yup, we had one of those at home!) And whenever I asked my grandfather (he was a treasure house of information!) about Nehru, he'd lauch into a long winded story about the Indian National Congress and his (Nehru, not my grandfather) fascination with Edwina Mountbatten, I would hear all about his education in England, the fact that he was the first Prime Minister of independent India and how he hung on to Kashmir at the cost of peace and hated Jinnah and was also responsible for the partition and the pains it wrought etc etc etc. As a foot note my grandfather would add, it was his birthday on 14 November and yes, he loved children, or so they say! Hence, Children's day!!!!! Lah di dah. (BTW, after so many years, today I suddenly remember my grandfather with a lot of affection and nostalgia, it was, incidentally, his birthday, yesterday!)
Of course in school we were taught to respect and admire the gentleman (Nehru, not my grandfather!) but those are two things that, I have discovered, cannot be taught. They have to be earned. And in my humble opinion, the guy may have loved kids and had a vision and all that and he WAS the first PM of independent India, but that's it.
What they could not teach me to do is to be fascinated by his achievements, and if you ask me, save for that oft repeated midnight speech, I really do not know all that much about the man. But, yes, I have read a few books that do chronicle Nehru's fascination for Lady Mountbatten and yes, Kashmir was certainly an issue with him and history does show him to have his scheming moments but all that is so passe. So ordinary. So expected. All famous people are like that, no?
Yes, my husband would shudder if he reads this, he's very big on historical personas and the Nehru family in particular and he has been brought up to be appropriately respectful, and yes I am an ill informed nit if that's all I know of Nehru and his ilk, but lets just say I feel that rather than know about the man, its more important to instil the necessary values in our future generations. So today I sat and thought about all the difference I make to the children around me and I think I've done a pretty good job at teaching children the values of life. Why, they get those lessons from me each day, they have learned all they need to become responsible citizens of the world, only by listening to all I have to say. To wit:

TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE-"If you're going to kill each other do it outside-I just finished cleaning."

RELIGION-"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."


TIME TRAVEL-"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to kick you into the middle of next week."


LOGIC-"Because I said so, that's why."

FORESIGHT-"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."

IRONY-"Keep laughing and I'll *give* you something to cry about."

OSMOSIS-"Shut your mouth and eat your supper."

CONTORTIONISM-"Will you look at the dirt on the back on your neck!"

STAMINA-"You'll sit there till all that spinach is finished."

WEATHER-"It looks as if a tornado swept through your room."

HYPOCRISY-"If I've told you once I've told you a million times-Don't Exaggerate!!!"

BEHAVIOUR MODIFICATION-"Stop acting like a nincompoop."

THE POWER OF CHOICE: "Do you want a tight slap or the peas?"

OBEDIENCE: "I did not ask you to like it, I asked you to eat it!"

RESPECT: "I am big, you are small, I can beat you up!"

THE CYCLE OF LIFE: "what comes out, goes back in. You puke and I'll feed it to you, you every last spoonful!"

ENVY-"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do."

Can you think of any more? I am sure all us moms have a few, do share. Some of the above have been gleaned from the net, some are, I believe, my very own. I realised universally all moms use them. The idea too was inspired from http://www.boardofwisdom.com/default.asp?topic=1005&listname=Parenthood, I shall add as I remember more! Or maybe I'll just ask the kids!!!!

Butterflies!!!!!

Hello friends. I have a confession to make: I am petrified of public speaking. I know, I know, many of you will ask how then am I in a profession where speaking is all I really do and I shrug in reply. Somehow, safely ensconced inside a Courtroom, cocooned in a world of black coats, talking about the facts of someone else’s life, I find my comfort zone. Any other kind of speech makes me nervous: butterflies flit about in my tummy and I constantly feel like I am on a roller coaster that is going down a tad too fast. For as long as I remember it has always been that way. In school, dramas or plays were fine, once I was on stage with my rehearsed lines, I was fine. But debates left my hands ice cold and impromptu speeches are just something I never did. “Just say a few words” are words I dread, they always have me diving under the table for cover! And elocution? Why, I am just about as expressive as a dead goat!
But this time, I’ve been cornered well and proper. There’s no escaping it this time; yes, I’m talking about the coming book launch this weekend. It’s so easy to write, to pen one’s thoughts on paper for the world to see. You can place your entire world in scribbles on a page, and you can fill it with lies or reality as you wish. But speaking? Reading? Talking about myself? I’m utterly tongue tied. “Just say why you wrote the book” says my coordinator…..
“It’s in the book, why don’t people just read it themselves?”
“Okay just talk about yourself.”
“All I can think is, I’m nervous, can I say that?”
“No you cannot. And nothing about being crazy either, or tactless!”
“But that’s who I am: it’s defined me all my life!”
“Don’t be idiotic, read something from the book.”
“No, no, no, I’m too shy.”
“Ha, stop being a nit!” The arguments fly back and forth, my husband has joined in on the conversation and he frowns disappointingly at me, “…be serious, tell us what you want to do!” They both turn and look at me expectantly.
“Okay,” I say, quietly, hesitatingly. “Can’t I just hide under the table?”
If murder was legal, I do believe I would be dead by now (to be honest, I actually found it quite funny)! Write down a speech they said, we will look at it. So this is what I was trying to do. Well, I’ve failed again, haven’t I?

Oh Calcutta!

Speaking for myself, I hate Calcutta in the pujas. I hate the crowds, the noise, the traffic jams, the din of the loudspeakers, the eternal shuffle-shuffle of feet all night, the bedecked people in "jeaner pant", and the pseudo intellectuals that abound. So each year I try to run away from it all, a few times I have even been successful. But yes, by and large, except during the puja madness, I do love Calcutta, (note, NOT Kolkata) and it is not something that came naturally although I was born here and the city has been my home for the better part of my life. No, this is a city that has grown on me, wrapped itself around my heart, its tentacles created by memories and nostalgia.
Yet, it wasn't always like that. As a child I quite liked the pujas, we had a family friend's place to go to and once there, the few days passed happily enough with me oblivious to the religious sentiments around me. Not being very religious by nature, or having any particular love and affection for the pujas, I never thought of coming home at the time while in college: so lazing on a hill in Pune or lying on a beach in Goa during the two days we got for Dusshera, I never even wondered what the fuss was all about. After I got married I learnt that people actually go for all night pandal-hopping and slt!!!! So I tried it once. Um, after an hour of so of jostling in crowds in the heat and dust and gazing at yet another brightly lit pandal shaped like (surprise!) a temple which you anyway saw better from the cool confines of the ac car, and pushing through endless traffic jams, and yet another Boltu and Bapi and boudis shouting "ei je, Pinku, kotahi geli?" at the top of her voice, and observing Roadside Romeos batting eyelids at Jhinchak Juliets and vice versa, I had had enough. Never again, I vowed! So nowadays even if I am stuck in Calcutta at this time of year, I hide away at home and hope I do NOT have to step out of the house for as long as it takes! But yes, the loud noise and shuffling feet and lights follow me into my bedroom and haunt my nights!
So even though I do not completely agree with all of it, today I came across this article shared by a friend on FB and thought I'd share this write up by Vir Sanghvi on Kolkata and Durga Pujas:

"What 'Pujo' means to a Bengali ?
Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously.

Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc.

And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay.

But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is about is recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more, no Bengali minds you saying that.
Rather, he is proud of the fact.

Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character. It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter
contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think of the drawbacks as strengths in their
own way). Calcutta embodies the Bengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed; the complete transparency of all emotions, the
disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human
existence.

That's why Calcutta is not for everyone.

You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi. You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught
beer; Bangalore's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta.

When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't
remember the things that people remember about cities.

When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park. When I think of NewYork, I think of the frenzy of Times Square.
When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee.
But when I think of Calcutta, I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle
of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah Bridge. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget or replicate - the people of Calcutta?

When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I
learn't about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learn't other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learn't also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion.

In Bombay, a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same
income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at
least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world. Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his
table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry And for him, religion and culture will be in
inextricably bound together.

Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.

The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic expression and yes, the cult of the goddess. It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta, the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking?
To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta. And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy. Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you let Calcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever.
Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal.
It's a feeling that'll never go away."


well, then, happy pujos, everyone, let the madness begin!!

An irreverent look at : Karma.

I hate waking up in the mornings. Yet, each day these days you will find me up at an ungodly hour (yes, even 6 o clock is ungodly as far as I’m concerned) wishing I were back in the land of Nod. Why? Karma of course. And the fact that my daughter’s not very good (read: weak) in Maths! Now my dad always used to say that the best time to do math is early in the morning while the mind is still fresh and undisturbed. So following his advise I am experimenting with my daughter in the hope of early morning mathematical enlightenment to dawn!
Of course all through my growing up years I always was told that my life would come to naught because I woke up at 5:57 am and somehow brushed my teeth and changed (no, night clothes were not allowed in the dining room!) and reached the breakfast table by 6 am with seconds to spare! My father pointedly looked at the watch, my grandfather would loudly say that now since everyone was finally at the table, could he have his tea as it was going cold, and my sister would snigger at me from across the table. You see they were all early birds and had been awake for hours: busy at their morning walks and yogas and stuff and generally doing whatever early birds do at that hour!
That is a trick I rarely duplicated after I left home. The only sunrises I have hitherto seen are when I have been awake all night, or HAD to get up for a family puja or an early morning flight! Waking up early has never had any charm: the chirping of the birds, the light peeping over the roof of the next building, these things leave me unmoved.
Which of course brings me to the other reason why I am up. Why, Karma of course. That damn bugger has been deciding my life from day one! When Karma said “clean the kid’s poo” that’s what I did, when karma said “stay home and cook” or “now you can be the cleaner” or “today you are the bloody driver ‘cos the driver is too drunk to come to work”…..guess who fell in line? I did. So this Karma fellow has me running about trying to catch my own tail all day long. Sometimes I want to kick it in the balls: “hey, this is not my life, my life is simple and carefree and I do not have to get things done, they get done by others, I’m the one who orders everyone around!” Karma grins and says nothing. One more kick in the butt and I’m racing about again…..from piles of paper work to unfinished drafts to snotty clients to harassive solicitors to whiny kids to glowering judges to a bunking part time maid to a half wit driver to TV gobbling kids, I have it all! I feel like a hyperactive cowherd most days, constantly chasing after everyone in an effort to stay in one place and hoping to hang on to what’s left of my sanity too!!!!
Anyway early morning has one advantage, save for my daughter occasionally poking me to ask yet another daft question, which I try to patiently answer, I have the quiet smell of fresh coffee and silence around me. My thoughts fall in place, the clutter clears up and suddenly I find the room in my mind is cleaner, the windows are less dirty and there’s more light coming in! Memories suddenly become more lucid too and I start to think that I am feeling calmer………until I am jolted back to reality “Ma, do I divide or multiply?”
“Obviously, if its not one, it’s the other, read the sum again!” (yes, before you ask, for me, that is a LOT of patience!)
The daughter reads the sum over, I inspect my now empty coffee cup and sigh as I turn to her with an amount of frustration in my voice. I can hear the lock turn in that clean light-filled room in my mind! Karma rubs his hands in glee, he has a long "to do" list in his hand....I'm cornered, and I know it!
Until tomorrow morning, then!

Girls, girls, girls!!!

A few weeks ago, a friend came over and she and I sat with our drinks on the balcony, savouring the soft breeze and the easy companionship which does not have to be expressed in words, a friendship that does not need to be defined or expressed in speech. Ah girlfriends! What would life be without them? For at the end of the day, only a girlfriend will understand why you are upset that the pudding has not set or why watching the advertisement with that sweet chubby kid brings a lump to your throat! You can share your angst your joy and your pain and the girlfriend will be there to help you laugh it off, giggle at what you cannot change and give a fresh perspective on who you are. They are the cornerstones of your existence they sit and listen to your ranting AND they come back for more! That’s more than one can say about most men!
Having come from an all girl’s school, I should have more than my fair share of girlfriends and yes, I guess I do. But the ones that really count are ones who do not need a reason to be my friend. One look, one glance and bingo, there they are! It does not matter that there is almost a decade between us, it does not matter that oceans divide us or that the last time I spoke to her was over a year ago on her birthday and this year I didn’t get round to calling. Who needs a reason? I can call now, meet after days or months or years and I slip back into the friendship like that old slipper you never forgot. Take for instance this school friend who left school suddenly when we were in tenth grade. She was one of my best friends and I was pretty cut up about the way she suddenly disappeared. Now, two days ago, I reconnected with after twenty-five years! I had searched for her but had given up on ever finding her. Then, lo and behold, she pops up on facebook (of course) and we chat on the phone and I can feel the years melt away, we remember the old times, the quiet times and it doesn’t really matter, that gap of a quarter of a century! Who, but another girl will understand that?
So here’s to all my girlfriends, the ones we giggled about boys with, the ones who laughed at us because we were stupid or stood by us when we were hopelessly wrong, the ones who understand that the husband is being crabby so we have to cancel that lunch appointment, the ones who know kids can be so demanding at times they won’t let you talk on the phone in peace, the ones with who nothing is taboo and you are not judged or patronized, the ones who will agree to go on a bike ride with you at two in the morning “just because’, the one who will wear a swimsuit and get into the water with you even though she does not know swimming, the one who will take the blame when your father frowns at you for being late, the one who will take responsibility for she is the teachers pet, the one you can wake up at any hour of the night by honking loudly outside her door (never mind the neighbours!), the one who will agree to go “paaaarp” in a loud voice because your bike horn is not working, the ones who will sit with you in the moonlight on the top of a hill and let you shout into the darkness and then laugh herself and you silly afterwards, the ones who insist on writing your paper for you for otherwise you are not ready and might flunk, the ones who will share their last drink and last drag with you because you’re feeling like a lost kitten, the ones who will bring you in out of the cold and make you warm again, the ones you who soothe you when you are hurting so badly you cannot think, the ones who pick up the phone and instantly know that something is wrong, the ones that laugh with you and cry with you, the ones for whom a little silence is enough, the ones for who words are not necessary.
I think about all this and then I think there is so much much much more….and then I think one thing: I am so blessed to have friends like you. Thank you everyone, you know who you are!