WRITE A PAGE A DAY! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Freepik

Here I am at the end of a month of writing on February 29^th, a taxing yet enjoyable exercise which I managed to hang on to by the skin of my teeth.

#WriteAPageADay by #Blogchatter challenges writers to write across the month and complete ten thousand words. So, there I was, all set to take the bit between my teeth and canter on, despite dire threats from my better half.

“Don’t you already have enough to do in a day without this added complication?”

I nodded, mulling over how to work it out. Being in school from 9AM to 4.30PM is a major chunk out of a day, no doubt. I could always do away with my evening walk! Wait a minute… what evening walk? That had already been done away with in my previous challenges.

My better half and I both believe in the adage, “Eat well today for tomorrow you diet!” Hence, there are days we gorge, mostly on weekends, and then come back to our senses and our diets the rest of the week. Makes cooking a whole lot easier!

Dinner? What could be easier than making hot and crisp dosas to be eaten right off the stove, while watching our favourite series and movies?

Anyway, sandwiched in between all these activities, my brain cells were on a permanent overdrive, wondering what exactly I could write on each day. Often, I would start writing without an idea of where I was going, running blind, if I may say so. Somehow, the words would magically form themselves in a kind of woozy pattern, swirling in the air around me like so many little jigsaw pieces, till finally they rearranged themselves into coherent little wholes that dovetailed into my daily posts.

29 days of relentless writing – I would like to brag a bit here. I had completed my 10,000 words by my 13^th post. Then a kind Blogchatter soul, Geethica, gave me a gentle nudge suggesting that I could continue writing till the end of the month.

Exactly what I did! I wrote short stories, a poem or two, a couple of book reviews, sharing apt images from Unsplash and Freepik, a process I truly enjoy. Everything was going well till two days before the end of the month.

Crash! Wham! My Facebook and my Instagram accounts got hacked and there I was, supposedly doling out free financial advice to all and sundry on how to make money grow on trees and make clothing lines sell. As I lost control of my precious accounts, I had frantic messages and calls from people along with screenshots about the mayhem the fraudster was wreaking on them.

I sent equally frantic mails to the support staff of Facebook and Instagram about the hacking, hoping against hope that a miracle would take place. When it did not, I went ahead and created a new Facebook account. I am yet to create an Instagram account.

After much heartbreak, there looms a lesson learnt the hard way!

Never trust anyone on social media. If a person messages you, always be on your guard, especially when the language spoken appears fake or the demands unnatural. As I have said earlier, there is a special place reserved for fraudsters who manage to hoodwink people online, invading their personal space, that place being the hottest part of hell.

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

565 words

 

LOST WORDS! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

                                                                                                       Unsplash

Over the decades, words fill our lives, words spoken, words penned and words that stay unspoken within the soul. There is so much of our hearts that go into these words, and stay there in the world, in the form of books, articles, poetry and the like. That is what we writers live for. Spaces form between words, and there are times when words dry up as well. But we need to battle on, even on days when we have nothing to say.

When one fine day, those words are taken away, it can be heartbreaking. Even when there are back up files because there are specific moments when these words make all the difference, and when the moments are taken away, the words cease to have the same effect.

There are thieves who steal away words for nefarious reasons… to hoodwink the innocent and to make a quick buck. These are the people who hide hearts as back as the night within pristine exteriors. One day, when something precious is removed from their hands, they will realise how dastardly it is to steal words and moments so significant. I wonder if hell fire is too good for these sinners.

It is time to start afresh on a new page, on a clean slate and with a new profusion of words. There is no past here, only the living present and the unborn future. As H.W. Longfellow put it so eloquently,

 “Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act – act in the living Present,

Heart within, and God o’erhead.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

277 words

SIMI’S MA - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 

Pinterest

“Ma, why the long face?”

Simi swooped down on her pensive mother, swinging her around as she used to when she was a teenager. Her mother’s face lit up at the sight of her beloved daughter.

“Simoo, when did you get here? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming.” She gave her a bear hug, pausing only to ask, “Where is Akshat? I hope he has come as well.”

“Oh, Akshat had a boring conference to attend. He will be here tomorrow,” replied Simi irreverently, grinning at the shocked expression on her mother’s face.

“Don’t say such things, you silly girl!” Ma remonstrated, pulling her ear in fun. “Your husband needs to be respected.”

“Of course, I respect him, Ma. However, that does not mean I need to revere him. He is, after all, a human being.”

Ma said nothing, but Simi knew she had struck a chord within her heart. She knew how much her mother had had to adjust, being married to a man, not only much older than her, but also a bit on the dour side. If Simi had developed a funny bone, it was definitely from her mother’s side of the family. The other side found it difficult to crack their muscles into a smile. The most they unbent was on their wedding days at the behest of the photographer who begged them to not look as if they were at a funeral.

Simi had hardly seen her father in an affable mood, even when she was growing up. Her irrepressible personality evoked frowns from him, especially when there were visitors at home. Mealtimes at home were gloomy occasions when they would have to eat in silence. Often, Simi would look at her friends’ fathers longingly as they laughed and joked with their children. That world seemed so far away and unattainable to her.

Luckily, Ma was different when she was away from her husband. She would take Simi for little treats to the stores, sometimes buying her ice cream when she felt that the atmosphere at home was particularly trying. Ma and she would run along the lake that flowed alongside their home, waving at people in the boats that slipped by.

Ma at home was a different person when her husband was around. Simi called him Baba but she hardly knew him. His gruff voice, his disapproving glances and his strict regimen would curb her wild spirit for the moment, but those moments did not last long. For the moment Baba stepped out, Ma and she would turn into comrades in arms, laughing and joking as they spent precious time together.

When Simi got married to Akshat, Ma was the one most affected. Baba’s life went on like a placid stream, unruffled by anything joyful. Ma missed her child desperately. For years they had been companions.

Simi pulled at Ma’s hand. “What are you thinking off? Where is my Ma’s beautiful smile?”

“I feel it went along with you when you left home!”

The rejoinder was instant, and Simi was taken aback. Never had Ma said anything so poignant, so laced with bitterness and her heart broke.

“Ma, isn’t it time you tackled Baba and spoke to him about how you feel? You have repressed your feeling for too long.”

Ma smiled sadly. “You know your Baba. Do you think he will even listen?”

Simi pressed Ma’s hand gently. She could feel the rough calluses on it, a trait of a hand that had never stopped working. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. She could not recall one word of appreciation that came out of her father’s mouth, not one compliment for her mother. She began to weep as feelings of desperation assailed her. How could she leave her Ma and go away? She who was the only source of joy in her Ma’s life?

Ma sensed what was going through her daughter’s chaotic mind. She smiled at her, wiping her tears away.

“Don’t cry, child. This is the life I have chosen for myself. Your Baba is not an expressive man, as you know. However, he has taken care of me in his own way.”

Simi gazed at Ma’s face that seemed calm, almost resigned. There was no rancour or discontent on it. She realised that Ma was trying to tell her something in that moment.

“Simi, there are so many women in the world who have borne physical and emotional abuse from their husbands. So many who have turned into mental wrecks due to sadistic behaviour and domestic violence! Have you ever, even once, witnessed any such behaviour at home? Has your Baba lifted a finger against me or you?”

“Then why did you say that your beautiful smile left along with me?”

“That was just a momentary pang when I saw you after so many days, my child. That does not mean that I am living a miserable life here.”

People were made differently. Some were cheerful, others stayed serious. Some smiled and joked, others were like wallflowers.

Ma was like a hardy flower that could thrive anywhere. She had adjusted to her marriage and learnt to live with a man who smiled little, yet took care of her in the way he knew best.

That day Simi learnt a life lesson that she would never forget.

Ma had learnt to stay happy by making a bouquet of those flowers within reach.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

907 words

ANARKALI BY HARSHALI SINGH – BOOK REVIEW - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

                                                                                                       Amazon.in 

The name ‘Anarkali’ evokes memories of the beauteous Madhubala in ‘Mughal-E-Azam’ twirling around in a hall of mirrors, her reflection being multiplied to the lilting tune of an unforgettable song. Harshali Singh’s latest offering ‘Anarkali’, from the Readomania publishing house, offers us an insight into the background of this magnetic woman who, as the tagline claims, was ‘The Courtesan, the Pawn and the Queen’.

The narrative begins with the story of Nadira and her indomitable mother who takes her daughters on a perilous journey through the Khyber Pass to Kabul, “a mother who went through hell to keep her daughters safe.” On one special occasion, Nadira is paraded before the emperor himself, the mighty Akbar, in the hope that he finds her promising enough to be taken under his wing. Once she passes muster, she is determined to prove worthy, absorbing all the attributes that she needs to sparkle in the harem of Shahenshah Akbar, a man with three demanding queens and several favourite concubines.

Entranced with Nadira’s maiden performance before him, Akbar names her ‘Anar ki Kali’ which he calls “a fitting epithet to her blushing beauty”. She is ensconced in the peacock rooms, one of the most beautiful spaces in the palace.

Many characters people this absorbing narrative, bringing it to life. Anarkali soon realises that she needs to use all her wiles and intelligence to survive in this web of intrigue riddled with critics and naysayers – Queen Ruqaiya and Salima Begum, in particular.

Harshali Singh once again proves why she is a writer par excellence. She impels her Anarkali to play the mahal (palace) as she would play Shatranj (chess), moving step by step to turn from mere pawn to the queen of the emperor’s heart. Every chapter begins with the description of a chess move that mirrors the action in the words that follow.

The appearance of Prince Salim, the crown prince, and his shadow, Durjan Singh, Commander Mansingh’s son, change the even tempo of Anarkali’s life, as she grapples with emotions that threaten to overwhelm her. From the controller and the knight of her own life, she treads into forbidden areas, meeting powerful men head on.

The intrigues, the challenges, the passion and the perils in the ephemeral life of a courtesan are beautifully described as Anarkali falls from grace.

Was Anarkali a pawn in the hands of a tyrant or did she have a say in her own destiny?

As the blurb of the book suggests, “Was she purposely erased from the annals of history for questioning free will?”

This gem of a book with its eye-catching cover will stay with the reader for its lifelike portrayal of its exquisite protagonist and the travails she went through in the Mughal court. Harshali Singh proves her prowess over the English language and apt Urdu embellishments, both of which she uses to enhance her writing.

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

481 words 

 

 

WHEN PASSION AND PROFESSION COME TOGETHER! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 

QuoteFancy

What is it that I call work? Or do I label it my passion?

Is it the writing I do as I explore words in all their beauty, creating sentences that magically weave themselves into meaningful forms, making my heart swell with joy and fulfilment?

Is it the rapport in the classroom that I always seem to have enjoyed, having meaningful conversations with young minds, sharing a joke, and imbibing the sense of drama that makes such a difference to life itself?

Is it the sessions that I had with the wonderful ladies who made up one half of the Indian Army, as I learnt wonderful lessons from mentors who made life a pleasure by just being around? Or those illuminating moments when I could, as a mentor myself, give my nuggets of wisdom and receive many more in return?

What about yesterday, when I followed a mentor who has always been in my life, my mother, taking in her every move, as she strove to hand over a lifetime of learning and experience to me, expecting me to fill her shoes, walk in her footsteps, and yet, create a new pair of shoes of my own.

When my immediate family, my husband, my daughter and my siblings, understand that what I do is important because it helps me evolve as a person, that makes my successes and achievements even more special.

When work and passion come together in so many ways, and God makes His presence felt through understanding dear folk who support me whole-heartedly from home and at work, I consider myself truly blessed in the various roles I play and in the space I inhabit.

That is when a favourite quote springs to mind, making me smile in content.

“God’s in His heaven/ All’s right with the world.”

                     Pippa Passes – Robert Browning

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

313 words

DAD AND ME! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

My Dad was an Army man. When I was young, I would look at him with my big eyes, dapper in his olive greens. When he swung me up, I saw the world through his eyes. I would scream when he went away, for even then, I knew that he would be away for days. Mom would console me, but I would watch his figure recede, and point after him.

Dad was my first knight in shining armour. He taught me to love books, and bought me my first stamp album. When he was posted away from us, we would exchange exotic stamps of myriad countries. Maybe that is where I imbibed my love of history and geography.

 He also taught me to collect match labels, and it was amazing the varieties of labels I had, all carefully stuck in an album. He was extremely talented and once I recall him making a post-box for me for a fancy dress contest in school. He slaved over it, covered it with red paper, painted on all the details on it, and put it over my head. Only my face was outside and the whole effect was so authentic that it won me the first prize.

 Dad would sit by me, and help me with my sums. Math had always been a dreaded subject with me, but he drove the bogeyman away with his facile explanations.

He wrote the most beautiful letters to me, with nuggets of wisdom, little bits of advice, funny snippets and corny jokes that made them priceless. “Don’t worry about winning or losing!” he once wrote. “Life is all about participating, and above all, enjoying the ride.”

I did hope to inherit his love of drawing, his innate goodness and his ability to see the best of people around him.

When I was eighteen, he went away, and this time, I could not even scream. For he had moved on into another world, and all I had left were his wonderful letters, my stamp collection and a lifetime of precious memories.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

345 words

THE CRYSTAL BALL - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Unsplash

The psychic gazed at the crystal ball before her. Her eyes were meditative.

“Child, you need to break out of your old life and move on. I see a big house filled with emptiness.”

Elena clasped her hands together, dreading what was to come next. The psychic did not disappoint her. She peered into the crystal ball, her beautiful face pensive. She lifted her head and continued,

“I see a tall man. He is attractive but there is a dark aura about him. He is not what he seems.” Her forehead constricted as she whispered,

“You may be in danger.”

Elena’s eyes widened in alarm. She had had a few suspicions about Ryan that had kept her up at night. Now this woman seemed to be hinting at danger as well.

“Why am I in danger?” she asked in desperation.

“The man has fallen out of love with you. He feels that you are an obstacle in his path to success.” She smiled sadly, pausing to look at the pretty girl who sat before her, downcast.

“What should I do? I do not want him to leave me. Is there someone else?” she asked softly.

The psychic gazed at the crystal ball again.

“I cannot see anyone because the future is hazy. The dark aura indicates that you need to get out of this relationship before it is too late.” She breathed heavily, and suddenly stood up, pushing her chair back with a jerk.

“Danger! I see blood, and violence and death! Beware! Get rid of him! NOW!” Her voice rose to a scream and Elena shuddered. She hurriedly got up, placed a few coins on the table and rushed out of the dim room, her thoughts awhirl.

It was ten minutes later when the psychic stood up, tidied her hair and called out softly.

“You can come out now. She has gone.”

The tall dark man came out of her bedroom, a grin on his attractive face.

“You played that well, my dear. What an actress you are! Crystal ball and all!”

He held her around her slender waist and twirled her around, humming a merry tune.

“Now all I need to do is wait till she makes up her mind to leave me. I have sold her a sob story about being penniless and how I am a millstone around her neck. Last night, she was so upset to hear of my pitiful plight that she signed a substantial cheque in my name.” He laughed sardonically. “Little fool! It is so easy to hoodwink her.”

She shushed him with a finger.

“Don’t be overconfident. What if she gets to know about us?”

“Well, you scotched that idea, didn’t you, by suggesting that the crystal ball was hazy. She is too much of an innocent to realise that you and I are together. By the time she does, I would have got a few more huge cheques out of her and then you and I will disappear.”

That evening Elena and Ryan were at dinner when his phone rang. Elena watched him as he spoke to the person at the other end, his face turning pale as the conversation continued.

“Now look here, I do not have that kind of money. There is no way I can earn it as well.” He paused, and listened to the other person.
“I am sorry. You will have to do what you like. No, I cannot sponge off my wife. I have some self-respect, after all.” He cut the call, his face pale and set.

“What’s the matter, Ryan?”

“Nothing, my love! Just a case of some money I owe to someone. Don’t worry your pretty head over it.”

Elena nodded and continued eating. Ryan glanced at her. She did not seem upset in the least. He needed to add a hint of drama to the situation,

“Well, this man says he will hurt me if I don’t pay him his money. When I told him to go ahead, he threatened to hurt you. That really hit me hard, you know.”

Elena smiled at him. “Ryan, I can take care of myself. In fact, I went to a psychic today who told me that I should leave you. Much as that would break my heart, I feel that I should heed her words. In fact, she told me that I was in danger if I continued to live with you.”

‘Oh, my darling, I cannot think of life without you,” Ryan said, pulling her up from her chair towards him.

Elena slipped out of his arms. She moved away from him.

“Ryan, that psychic was specific. I need to stay away from you. Hence, you need to pack your belongings and move out by evening.”

Ryan gaped at her, mystified. For once he was at a loss for words.

“Elena, how can you say that? You know how much I adore you. You are my life.” He stretched his hand towards her, but she remained unmoved.

Ryan’s mind was churning. What had happened to his gentle Elena? There was a firmness in her eyes that he had never seen before. Where would he go? He was dependent on her for all his needs and expenses.

Elena smiled at him, aware of the confusion in his mind. It was time to put him out of his misery.

“You know, today when I went to the psychic, I had no idea what I was going to do. She helped me to make up my mind. She is very good at what she does. She had almost convinced me of the danger I was in, and she kept gazing at her crystal ball. As I looked on, I saw a reflection in the side of the ball … that of a man who appeared familiar because I knew him as well as I know myself. I peeked into what appeared to be her bedroom and I caught a quick glimpse of you there.”

Ryan’s mouth fell open. The next moment, he went on his knees and began to bluster, trying to prove his innocence. Elena shook her head, and he fell silent, aware that he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Ryan, you have till evening to move out. Good luck and goodbye!”

As she strode away, head held high, Ryan sank into a chair, holding his head in despair.

At the door, she turned around once more.

“I have stopped payment on the cheque I gave you last night. Now if you need money, you will have to look into a crystal ball!”

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

1104 words

 

 

 

THAT EVENING - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Unsplash

He glanced at Swati’s perfect face – a face that he had memorised every detail of. The large lustrous eyes, the aquiline nose, the high cheek bones and the delightful dimples that appeared when she smiled, making her appear younger than she was.

She looked at him enquiringly.

“What’s the matter, Akshay? You are looking at me as if you have never seen me before?”

“I have never seen this side of you before!” The thought struck him like lightning. However, he merely shook his head.

“No, love, I love looking at you. You know that, don’t you?”

Her smile was dazzling, and his mind went back to those days when he would have died for a smile of hers, when he was head over heels in love with her. For a moment, he was distracted, and his eyes lost their focus. She frowned in bewilderment as she placed a slender hand over his.

“Akshay… Akshay, you are in a strange mood today. I have never seen you like this.”

He pressed her hand as he tried to get his chaotic thoughts together. He needed to mask his actual feelings…

Swati was left with a feeling of unease. She wondered what Akshay had in his mind. He had always been malleable, and she could twist him around her little finger. Maybe, that was why things happened as they did…

“Tapan, Akshay has been acting awfully strange over the past two days.” Swati’s voice held a note of trepidation. “Do you think he suspects anything?”

“No way… Akshay has never been able to see anything beyond his own nose. I should know. He is my best friend, after all!” Tapan’s guffaw made her wince. She had always felt that he was a trifle crude, but then, he was everything that Akshay was not – well built, confident and good looking, which is what had attracted her in the first place. She had resisted his advances because she had scruples. However, one fine day, she had succumbed and the two had hidden their affair from the world, and especially from Akshay.

That evening, Akshay had invited them over to his bachelor pad.

“Come over for a drink, guys,” he had said. “What are best friends for after all?”

Swati and Tapan were in Tapan’s flat when he had called. Swati shushed Tapan, gesturing to him. “Sure, I will be over at around seven. See you, then!”

“I will call Swati right away,” continued Akshay. “I hope she will be free as well.”

Tapan smiled across at Swati who struggled to stop a giggle.

“Fine! That will be great. Bye for now!”

Tapan cut the call with a flourish and threw his mobile on the couch next to Swati.

“Poor guy! My heart aches for him,” he said with a snigger.

Swati looked at him, irritated. She hated his attitude at times. She wondered why she had got involved with him, especially when Akshay was such a decent man.

“Come in, come in!” Akshay let Swati in. Tapan was already there and was sipping on his first drink. He smiled at Swati and rose to give her a bear hug. Swati held back slightly. She was not comfortable with the gesture because she was truly fond of Akshay.

There was a bottle of wine on the table. Akshay went to the bar and picked up three long-stemmed wine glasses. He brought them to the table and poured wine into all three.

“Cheers to us!” he said, lifting his glass.

The other two responded to his toast as they took a sip together. Akshay watched them even as he held his glass aloft. He had not tasted his wine yet. As he continued to gaze at them, Swati suddenly noticed that his glass was untouched.

“Come on, Akshay, join us!” she said, taking another sip of her wine.

Akshay smiled at them both. He shook his head, and deliberately placed his glass on the table, and walked out of the room, locking the front door behind him.

Two hours later, he strolled back into the room where Swati and Tapan lolled on the couch, their breaths stilled forever. Akshay still had his gloves on, the gloves that both the others had failed to notice. He had been confident that they would not notice, just as they had not realised that he had not taken a single sip of wine. The poison had worked and now he set out to get rid of the bodies. They would not be missed for the next two days as it was the weekend.

After he had stashed the bodies away, Akshay made his way back home. Everything was in order for he was a meticulous young man. He washed the glasses and poured the wine down the kitchen sink. He thought of Tapan and Swati in the river where he had thrown their bodies into the deepest part, inundated with seaweed and clinging roots. It was possible that they would not be found for many days.

Akshay took a shower and changed his clothes. He glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled grimly. It was time to play the part of the grieving friend who would report that his best friends had gone missing.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge

886 words

 

 

 

 

THE BLISSFUL SILENCE - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Freepik

“Will you please tell her to keep out of our lives? How dare she come between us?”

Anu was at the end of her tether. She and Madhav had been happily married till she came along, with her lilting voice and persuasive ways. Now, they could not spend a moment together without her.

Madhav gazed at his wife indulgently. “Come on, Anu, just let her be. She is not the kind to cause any friction between us.”

Anu snorted. “She is around all the time… she gets on my nerves. I really don’t want her around. We can’t even go for a drive alone without her constant prattle!”

“She’s not that bad,” protested Madhav. “She does help us most of the time, doesn’t she?”

“She doesn’t stop talking. She thinks that she is the cat’s whiskers. How dare she interrupt us all the time?” She paused, and the frown on her forehead deepened. “I can’t stand the way she speaks, as though she is a walking encyclopaedia. And her pronunciation is all wrong!”

Madhav opened the refrigerator and took out a cold bottle of water. He poured it into a tall glass and offered to his wife, hoping that it would cool her off.

“Did you think any more about the new television that we should pick up?” he asked, hoping to calm her down.

Before she could reply, there came the voice of the know-all again.

“The best television sets are available at the Reliance Digital showrooms. They cost…!”

Anu lost her temper and banged the glass down abruptly.

“There she goes again! If she does not pipe down, I will go mad!” She turned around, ready to flounce out of the room, when Madhav caught hold of her hand.

“Come and sit down. I promise to talk to her.”

As Anu sat down on the sofa sulkily, Madhav raised his voice.

“Alexa, shut down immediately, please!”

The silence that followed was blissful.

I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

 336 words

DANCING TO THE END - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 

When she danced it was as if the whole world held its breath, so graceful were her moves, her expressions and the emotions which spilled out of her lustrous eyes. The first time her parents had taken her for a ballet recital, she had watched, wide-eyed, her hands clenched, her heart beating so loudly in time to the music. Before they got home, she had made up her mind. She wanted to be a ballerina, and a world renowned one at that.

Her parents were ecstatic. Her mother had also wanted to learn dancing, but she never got the chance to when she was growing up because her father was a diplomat who moved about a great deal. She was determined to see that her dream was realised by her daughter.

The classes began and they were gruelling. The little girl suffered aches and pains, her toes were bruised with the routines. However, she pushed herself to extremes and there were nights when she had to put her bleeding feet in hot water to ease her pain. Her mother was amazed at her capacity to endure the long, strenuous rehearsals. There was a fire deep within the girl’s heart to become the best dancer ever.

Soon the hard work began to pay off. Newspapers began to write about her, comparing her to the great artistes of all times. She turned into the lead dancer and even her contemporaries gazed at her in awe as she pirouetted her way into stardom, setting every stage she graced on fire. Her parents were obviously proud of her achievements and there was a whole room at home dedicated to all the trophies and prizes she had won.

Her final triumph came when she was chosen to play Odette in Tchaikovsky’s famed ‘Swan Lake’, a ballet classic that held the elements of great passion, betrayal and drama. She knew that this was the role that would catapult her to fame. Her heart pounded at the very idea of being part of a recital so wondrous and she put in her soul in the rehearsals, drinking in the beauty of the epic drama. It was as if she needed nothing else – food, drink, rest or sleep. Her mother pleaded with her to cut down on the routine which consumed her, but she shook her head and continued to twirl around, long after all the other dancers had gone home to rest.

One day, after a particularly difficult routine, she collapsed on stage and the director, and her co-dancers, rushed her to hospital. She lay there, pale and wan, as her parents hovered outside the ICU, their hearts in their mouths.

“Your daughter is exhausted. Her body has collapsed due to the strain,” the young doctor’s tone was grave. “She needs complete rest. Obviously, she has not been eating enough and her body is weak.”

Her mother burst into tears. “Oh, doctor, it is all my fault. I wanted her to become the best dancer ever and she took it too seriously. What do we do now?”

Her husband held her hand, trying to console her. The doctor gazed at her distress, but he had to break the bad news to her.

“I am afraid she will not be able to dance till her body recuperates. She will need to stop her dance routines till she recovers completely.”

“That will break her heart,” her mother wept. “This is what she has wanted to do ever since she was a child.”

The doctor was polite, but firm.

“No dancing, for at least the next few months! She can always take it up again once her health improves.”

She lay in bed, tears rolling down her gaunt cheeks. How much she had struggled to get to this point! She could not bear to think of giving up ‘Swan Lake’, not when she had come this far. The recital was five months away and she knew that she had to get back onstage to play the role of her life. She dashed her tears away, and assured the doctor that she would work on her health. All she wanted to do was play the role of Odette.

The next two months went by as she took particular care of her diet, her rest and her exercise. She did her normal dance routines, taking care not to overstrain. The doctor was happy with her progress as he monitored all her levels. By the fourth month, she had a bloom on her face, and a smile as she slowly got back to her dancing in tiny doses.

“No strain, mind you!” warned the doctor who was keeping an eagle eye on her progress.

********

The audience held its collective breath as they watched the enthralling ballet recital come to life on stage. The exquisite music of Tchaikovsky, the grace and beauty of the dancers in their tutus, the enchanting story of the Prince who fell in love with Odette. When she made her appearance, she owned the stage with her radiant presence. The swan song left not a dry eye as she danced her heart out. The applause at the end went on and on, with shouts of ‘Encore! Encore!” As she bowed low along with her fellow dancers, she knew that this was the happiest she would ever be, this perfect moment that she had dreamt of all her life.

Her parents hugged her as she came towards them, her mother’s eyes awash with happy tears.

“My child, you have achieved the impossible! We couldn’t be prouder of you!”

As the accolades continued and people kept congratulating her, she looked around for the one person she hoped to see. Her gaze moved from person to person and suddenly, there he stood, his eyes filled with admiration. She blushed as she held her slender arm out to him. He came closer and he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

“You are magnificent!” he whispered in her ear as she blushed all over again.

It had been a tough challenge, but he had met it headlong, little realising that he would lose his heart to his patient.

She leaned forward and whispered back, “You are magnificent yourself!”

 I am participating in the February #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

1043 words

FRIENDS FOREVER - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Pinterest

The breeze blew, lifting the hair off the nape of my neck as I stood at my balcony, watching the last of the crowd disperse on the street below. Stores had begun closing, shutters half down, as pedestrians made their way to and fro, apparently relieved that another long day was over. It was then that I thought I heard a soft knock at the front door.

I turned back, and looked at the clock that was ticking away, unperturbed, in the bedroom. I could just about read the time from the balcony... eleven fifteen.

The knock came again, a little louder this time. I peered over the balcony, but there was no one there. My front door was hidden from view, and I had no intention of toppling over the edge for an extra look. Who could it be at that hour? I certainly had no intention of going downstairs to check. Living alone had its advantages, but opening the front door close to midnight was not one of them.

The street below was empty apart from a few homeless folk, huddled into dim shapes on the pavements. These people disappeared during the day, but returned promptly as dusk fell. Each had his own spot, and they were rather territorial about them too, bickering over them especially if a new vagrant landed up.

This time the knock was louder. I needed to go downstairs, but I still had no intention of opening the door unless I knew who it was at this odd hour.

The breeze still blew, and the curtains in the sitting room moved as though they were dancing in the moonlight. At the front door, I peered through the peep hole and saw a familiar figure outside. It was Rohan, my neighbour and also a good friend from way before.

I threw the door open, and Rohan smiled, though a trace of annoyance lingered on his face.

“Does one have to break the door down to catch your attention?” he remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

“There is something called a mobile phone, you know?” I answered pertly. “Why on earth didn’t you bother to call me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, Mona!” he smiled, holding out a package wrapped with shiny red paper. I took it gingerly, aware of the many pranks Rohan had played on me while we were growing up. It was difficult to take him seriously.

“Ro, what on earth is in this?” I shook it vigorously, as he flinched away, which made me even more apprehensive.

“It isn’t a bomb, is it?”

“Don’t be silly! You think I would stand here if I had gifted you a bomb?”

That, of course, made sense. However, memories stirred within my mind of all the gifts he had surprised, rather shocked me with.

A pair of plastic lizards which made me scream, a jack-in-the-box which made me almost jump out of my skin, a beautifully wrapped skull… all these and more had been thrust on me by my good pal, Rohan!

This time, I was wiser.

“I refuse to open this ‘gift’, Ro! I do not trust you one bit. I cannot risk my weak heart anymore.”

“Weak heart, my foot!” snorted Rohan. “You are the most hard-hearted creature I have ever come across!” He paused, and then said theatrically,

“Oh, dear Mona, please open this gift of mine. You will not have reason to distrust me ever again.”

His posturing made me smile. I whacked him lightly on his head with the gift and sat down on the sofa. He promptly sat beside me.

“Now that’s like a good girl. Open it up, pronto!” His eyes twinkled in the dimness of the muted light.

I pulled at the silken ribbon and took my time unwrapping the square box as Rohan waited, tapping his foot on the floor in impatience. He had always hated the amount of time I took to unwrap gifts without tearing the wrapping paper.

I opened the box and peered within. It was a book. I brought it closer to my face and gasped. It was a book that I had always wanted to buy, but had never been able to afford.

“Oh, Ro, that’s so sweet of you. Thank you ever so much.” I hugged him in delight.

Rohan hugged me back, as he remarked, “Mona, there is another gift under that.” He pointed to a tiny box that nestled under the book.

“Why are you feeling so generous today, Ro?” I laughed, even as I lifted the lid of the smaller box. My words suddenly dried up, as I gazed down at the beautiful ruby ring that sparkled within. I took it out reverently, and turned to Rohan, a question in my eyes. Rohan’s eyes were aglow with a strange expression, one that made my heart skip a beat. Never ever had I seen him look at me thus.

“Mona, please hold out your hand,” Rohan said, his face turning slightly red.

I did as he asked, and he gently slid the ring onto my finger, as he whispered into my ear, “Mona, I love you. I have always done so.”

My heart was racing as I struggled to control the emotions which threatened to engulf me. All these years, when Rohan and I had played pranks on each other, I had always been aware of how I felt about him. My vulnerable heart had been his ever since I had known him. I could not believe that he too had felt the same about me.

“Mona?” I could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he waited for me to respond to his words.

I turned to him, my heart in my eyes as I looked at his loved face.

“Ro, I love this ring almost as much as I love you, have always loved you.”

His face reddened further, his eyes turned moist as he took in the words that were so unexpected.

We sat, gazing at each other with new eyes.  As we moved closer to each other, the breeze continued to blow gustily outside.

Neither of us knew when friendship had turned to love, but this moment would be one we would remember all our lives.

 I am participating in the #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay Challenge.

1044 words

 

 

 

 

SAGE ADVICE WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT! #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Unsplash

Get married when the time is just right,

Not when your finances are a trifle tight;

Not when your parents force you into it,

When you’re not interested even a tiny bit.

 

Get married when your mind says so,

Along with your heart, and you’re ready to go!

Ready to tie the knot and not stay single,

All set to meet your true love, ready to mingle.

 

Get married when the right person comes through,

When you’re all set to say a blushing, “I do!”

For life is meant to be lived in peace and joy,

To spread your wings, an eternity to enjoy!

 

Marriage is supposed to be a lifetime tie

No matter whether you’re a girl or guy,

So, keep it simple and keep it true,

And hope to be happy your whole life through!

I am participating in the #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

144 words 

 

WHEN PADMA BANI WIFEY - BOOK REVIEW - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Amazon.in

The dedication says it all.

“To all the square pegs in round holes! Salut!”

Padma, who turned into Paula for a short while in Book 1, is back with all her vivacity and quirkiness in Book 2, so engagingly titled ‘When Paula Bani Wifey’. Author Anupama Jain’s sense of humour shines out from the eye-catching cover itself, so vibrant and yet so telling, as it brings out the dichotomy in the mind of the protagonist.

Padma and Varun Raichand, along with their daughter, Sampoorna, form the crux of this entertaining novel. Padma, pushing 40 yet looking 30, is at the crossroads in her life when her nosediving career and her pleasant plumpness are both giving her nightmares.

Varun, who loves his wife and daughter to distraction, is the “completely hands-on father. A new-age man, a millennial father” who enjoys spending time with his precious daughter. A sore point with Padma who is “very touchy about her maternal rating” in her daughter’s eyes!

Padma’s discontent with her life is revealed through her thoughts which the author has thoughtfully put in italics. Whether it is a romantic holiday alone with Varun, an exasperating trip to the gym, the frustration at her mother’s constant remote parenting and grandparenting or her fluctuating mood swings, Padma senses “the Universe’s signal of discordant notes all around.”

 Issues between Padma and Varun keep spiralling out of control and Padma begins to feel  inadequate, as the whole world envies her for having such good fortune and “tiny schisms start widening into glaring gaps in their relationship”.

“They say marriages are made in heaven and experienced on earth. So are tsunamis, typhoons, thunderstorms, and earthquakes.

It all starts slowly before the tempest builds up and then annihilates everything in between.”

To make matters worse, Padma’s old flame, Rohit, comes back into her life along with his gorgeous fiancée, Janaki aka Jo.

How do Padma’s veering emotions react to this new equation in their lives?

How does Padma’s capriciousness affect Varun’s personal and professional life?

In what manner does all the unpleasantness impact their little daughter, Sampoorna, “the loveable glue” who held her warring parents together?

Finally, what is the straw that breaks the camel’s back? Will Padma and Varun be able to sort out their differences and move on to their hopefully ‘happily ever after’?

‘When Padma Bani Wifey’ is an absorbing read that is written with humour and empathy. Anupama Jain’s writing style is uniquely her own, peppered with modern lingo and picturesque witticisms. She not only amuses but makes one ponder over the mysteries of life, including the thorny field of marital and other relationships. This sequel to ‘When Padma Bani Paula’ carries on the saga of the feisty Padma who refuses to mellow down, under any circumstances.

Padma may come across as unpredictable and impulsive, but those are the very qualities that make her unforgettable as well. She is a force of nature in her own right.

I am participating in the #Blogchatter #WriteAPageADay challenge.

495 words

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD - #WRITEAPAGEADAY - #BLOGCHATTER

                                                                                                  Unsplash

They sat in front of the television, munching at their cookies, engrossed in the drama on screen. He had retired a month ago from his job as a bank officer. She was working as a guest lecturer at a renowned college, but she too had less than a week to go before she quit as well. Another five days, a grand farewell party with an apt memento, and then she would be home with her spouse with all the time in the world to spend together.

Their children had moved out into their own worlds, with families of their own. Two daughters and one son, taking it in turns to come down and visit their parents.

“Ma, Papa, now that you are both on the verge of retirement, please come and visit us,” cajoled their son who lived in London. “You have been working all your lives and never had time to have a proper holiday. We will take you to Madame Tussauds and the Tower of London. We can eat fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and catch a couple of plays. You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

The older couple smiled at each other, as he asked his wife, “What do you think?” even as his son waited for the answer with bated breath.

She replied, “We should definitely go, maybe next year! After all, we have all the time in the world!” Their son was disappointed, but they convinced him of their decision.

Their two daughters were equally persuasive. “Ma, please make up your minds. Come, visit us!” they clamoured. One lived in Bangalore, the other in Singapore. “Next year, for sure!” their father promised, as his wife smiled on.

There was a lull in the conversation after the call came to an end. They sat in silence, elated that their children wanted to spend time with them. He stretched out and took the travel brochure from a drawer close to the wall next to his armchair. He had picked it up on his last day of work. He opened it and both pored over it diligently, going through the myriad places across the world.

“How about Greece?” he remarked, pointing to the map of Europe. She giggled in delight, an endearing sound to his ears, as she nodded vigorously. “Maybe a quick tip to Venice as well – we could count the stars sitting in a gondola! Just you and me… and the gondolier.”

Twilight had set in and she rose to switch the lights on.

“How about another cup of tea, and some onion fritters?” he asked as she sat down again. She nodded and he placed the brochure in her hands and sauntered to the kitchen.

Onion fritters were his specialty after all. He whistled a jaunty tune as he tied a bright red apron around his waist, before cutting a couple of onions into perfect rounds.

He was in no hurry at all. After all, they had all the time in the world.

 

I am participating in the #WriteAPageADay challenge by #Blogchatter.

516 words