Jason's Duty - Alisha Guenzel

                                                               

Review by Deepti Menon

The McGregor ranch seems the perfect place for romance, though Jason, “a dark handsome cowboy”, the eldest son of the family, has no time or inclination to fall in love. When Jonas, his father, falls ill with a congestive heart problem, much of the responsibility of taking care of the horses, and the running of the ranch, fall on Jason. His brother, Jude, is still young. His other brother, Jesse “didn’t have the ‘crazy’ gene of taming horses.”

The story opens with Jonas receiving a phone call informing him about the death of his good friend, Edward Sheridan, in a car accident. His widow, Lindsey, is also a good friend of Jason’s mother, Anna, as the two “families families lived on the same country roads” years ago. Lindsey and her daughter, Haley, come down to the ranch for a change.

The first few meetings between Jason and Haley are stormy, as the girl is still getting over the tragedy of her father’s death. Anna’s maternal intuition fathoms that Jason and Haley need each other as both are loners. She tries to throw them together as much as she can, asking Jason to ‘babysit’ Haley, which he does rather unwillingly.

Haley, with her “crystal blue eyes and wavy blonde hair” is a mystery to Jason. He finds her “an ice queen” with “an attitude problem”. Haley too finds Jason difficult to deal with initially, but they slowly come closer while doing chores together and grooming the horses.

However, the spectre of Haley’s fiancé, Andrew Manchester, who belongs to a “big corporate family that owns their very own advertising agency”, looms large over their lives. When the Mc Gregor boys got off to auction their horses, leaving Haley behind at the ranch, both Jason and Haley struggle to put their relationship into focus. Andrew, however, wants her back in Los Angeles.

Haley finds herself hemmed in between the two men. Jonas and Anna feel that she is perfect for their Jason. However, Andrew lands up on a surprise visit to figure out what is keeping Haley at the ranch, and away from him.

There are some beautiful moments in the book. Anna tells Jason to be patient as “God works HIS best miracles when we are not looking”. Jason hangs on to his hopes, as he hopes to woo Haley who has “waltzed into his life like a tornado”. The underlying motto of the book is mentioned often. “Each situation has a reason for happening.”

Romance is a genre that touches the heart and this love story tugs at the heartstrings as it is simple and tender. When Haley falls off a horse, and is unconscious for a week, the readers wait to see who she will choose in the end – Jason, the rugged cowboy or Andrew, the city slicker.

Alisha Guenzel tells a tale that flows with ease, the language is uncomplicated and the narrative effortless. She leaves a few strands of the tale untold, confident that there will be sequels to be told in the future. This is a feel-good story that will bring cheer to the reader even on a cloudy day!

                                                         

 

A Beautiful Mind!

                                                                   

She was a teacher, one loved by all, for she gave of herself unstintingly. She gamboled with the young ones, playing games that they giggled over. She made her little students learn to hold a pencil, and draw lines till they were perfect. She would walk into a senior class and take a class on Shakespeare, enacting the roles of the three witches in Macbeth, while the students would sit, wide eyed and inspired, not moving a muscle till the last sinister chuckle. A big heart she had that could encompass the whole world, for she saw good in everyone and everything! Children loved her for what she taught them, parents adored her for what she meant to their children. She could be firm and inspire awe, but the firmness would disappear the moment her lessons were imbibed.
In Kerala, the Pulluva ladies are known for their songs sung to the accompaniment of little lute like instruments. These women come to houses and sing of blessings and little joys. They accept little tokens of money from the owners, who request them to sing of blessings to their loved ones.
It was on one such occasion that I watched as my beloved teacher stood outside her house, waiting for her turn. There were a number of women, including a lady sage, all of whom watched the little ceremony.
                                               
                                                 

The voices were soft, each mentioning the names of the people they wanted blessed. Most spoke for their sons and daughters, a few for their grandchildren, yet others for their nephews and nieces. The lady sage also asked for special blessings to be bestowed upon her children and grandchildren. The singing continued, the musical instrument played on.
Finally came the turn of the teacher, who had been standing patiently, with a smile on her beautiful face. She was the last in the line and the women looked at her expectantly, waiting for the names that she would utter. She offered them some money, folded her hands and said in soft tones, but clearly, "Bless all the children in the world, bless the child of every mother and every father, for they are all precious!"

                                                           

Tears came, unbidden, as I heard that lovely voice, and the compassion that shone from the face of that wonderful teacher. They were tears of joy, for I was also included in that list of children, as were all the children in the world. They were also tears of joy because I was so proud of that beloved teacher, who loved, and still loves the poem, Abou Ben Adhem, because it symbolizes all that she believes in. But what I was proudest of was the fact that this teacher who had taught thousands of children how to live life with joy and compassion, and still does so, is none other than my own mother. And in the words of Abou Ben Adhem, "May her tribe increase".

                                                               

 Dedicated to my mother, Mrs. Nalini Chandran

As a Beginning For a Beginner - Neelam Saxena Chandra

Book Review - Deepti Menon

It is heartening to see a book dedicated to all the budding authors of the world, a book that is the brainchild of the prolific author, Neelam Saxena Chandra herself. The stories were chosen through a nationwide contest for writers aged between 11 and 20, and this anthology is a culmination of the best examples of writing from the entries.

True Sport - Aravind Sampath

The saga of former boxing champion, Arthur Gordon, who loses a bout against reigning champion, Arnold Fischer, but is determined to leave his mark in the world by training a new champ in the form of Aaron Sam, a puny young man, 'toned' yet 'petite', as quick as lightning. The young man, whose 'feral senses were commendable' goes through defeat. However, does he triumph in 'the final sermon'?  Aravind Sampath delivers a knockout tale in true boxing parlance, blending emotion deftly with action, to create a story par excellence.

The Customers - Utkrishti Katheriya

The city of Lucknow "is a remarkably dusty book, full of stories, that are yet to unfold", seen though the eyes of a taxi driver, "within that white metal body on those four wheels', which encompasses his world. He ferries a young woman on her way to a divorce to the airport, but tips a motor cycle, whose rider is a 25 year old man, "with a sardonic but friendly smile", who is also about to get a divorce. The story ends, leaving the readers in a sense of shock, as the taxi driver throws out mementos handed over to him by his passengers into the Gomti river. A narrative that flows as gently as the river itself, written with maturity by a young writer.

Roll, Camera, Action - Chinar

A young girl dreams of meeting her favourite super star in this story that is short enough to keep the interest of the reader.

Twist of Fate - Vanshika Vikas

Robin Thompson goes through a life threatening ordeal only to find himself in a worse predicament than he had anticipated. The story, modern in its narration, speeds towards a crescendo as Robin realized that the truth can be very different and that life can be filled with deception. A well crafted tale with a twist in its tale.

A Reunion Surprise - Radhika

Six childhood friends, known as the 'Scandalous Six' in their school days, decide to have a reunion after twelve years in which they have not seen one another. "Time clotted and finally healed all the bruises caused by severance". The meeting is a joyous one at the Taj on 16th August, 2014, but the surprise at the end leaves the reader with a sense of bewilderment and loss. Radhika's writing has a lustre that shines on in the heart of the reader.

The Eventful Life of Athens - Divyashri Mishra

Athen looks up to his father, but is derided by him, and his wife's family, all his life. The reader sympathizes with "the ugly life Athen lived every day, the frustrating atmosphere he breathed every moment". How Athen finally finds his niche in society and turns his life around forms the crux of a story which is perfectly edited, and expressed by Divyashri!

The First Meeting - Nidhi

This is a tender story of a pair of jilted lovers, Rahul and Ayushi, desperate to pick up the pieces of their lives and move on. Their diaries play a significant role, bringing strangers closer. Nidhi writes maturely for her age, and uses the flashback angle to reel in  her readers. 

The Deluge - Anshika Jejani

Anshika Jejani reveals a breezy joyous style of writing, as apt descriptions of the rainy season dot the pages of her story. Despite her catchy tongue-in-cheek style, she manages to put across a message about the responsibilities of citizens, emphasizing on how social networking sites could be used responsibly to avert potential tragedies.

The Saviour - Lalima Yadav

The beginning intrigues, with a monologue by the protagonist, Antriksh, that reveals the troubled workings of his psyche. He is "an imperfectly perfect dude", a man with a golden heart who wants to extricate his mother from her job as a maid. He chivalrously saves a girl from a potential molester, only to find his troubles have miraculously disappeared. Here is a positive story, almost on the lines of an O Henry story, written with an ease that makes it a pleasure to read. Lalima ends it with a moral - "One is rich if he/she has a big kind heart not a heavy bank balance", but the lightness of the telling takes away any semblance of a moralistic tone.

The Gift - Shreyansh Jain

Alan Smith gets a special gift on his 13th birthday, after he flounces out, disappointed with his gifts. He excitedly realizes that he suddenly has super powers. Will these powers be able to combat and defeat the super villain, Anarchy, all set to destroy the world? This story stands out in that it is very different from all the other stories in the anthology, a story written by a young writer with a highly imaginative bent of mind.

The Solitary Rag Picker - Shagun Shrivastava

This is one of the most beautiful and well crafted stories in the book, and Shagun Shrivastava reveals a masterly style of writing, descriptive and reminiscent of Gray's Elegy. "And even slower trudged the life of the ancient rag picker." The reader remains awe struck at the ease with which beautiful images are interspersed with stylish language to create a magnificent tapestry.

One Night @ Party!!! Aviral Sood

Rukmani helps her parents to celebrate her two year old brother, Manav's birthday. A frisson of dissatisfaction disturbs her as she feels like a cartoon sidekick bustling around to get things in place. Mrs. Sen, a guest, is dressed to the hilt in a red gown and a necklace worth four lakhs. The significance of the necklace emerges as the lights go off and it disappears. Inspector Sharma is summoned, and the Nightmare party turns into the best day of Rukmani's life. How does she solve the case? Where is the necklace hidden? These and other questions are put to rest as the mystery unravels in a manner calculated to pique the curiosity of the readers.

Ticket to Life - Ashi Mittal

Sahayta and Sihag are total strangers who share a common seat on a train to Mumbai, even as they chat, bicker and keep each other company. Ashi Mittal proves that she is a talented young writer with a flair for the dramatic, as she deftly nudges the narrative towards a twist that transforms the very tenor of the story. 

'Okay' - The Life Changer - Niranjan Navalgund

Can the word 'Okay' be a life changer? Niranjan Navalgund impresses with a philosophical story that showcases how people need to take responsibility for their own lives. There is a beautiful reference to Narendra Goidani's article on Kintsukuroi, a Japanese term meaning "to repair with gold". The story itself is simply expressed, but its message of filling cracks with gold stays on in the mind of the reader. As is the case with Niranjan's writing, once again he offers a story that defies pigeon holing as it goes beyond mere story telling.

The Girl on my Bench - Ayesha Adhikari

Ayesha Adhikari is an intuitive writer who weaves a tale of love, longing, disappointment and fulfillment, the tale of Aryan and Riya, of sweet embraces and ugly misunderstandings. "Sometimes, we have to wait; wait till the dawn breaks and brings with it the warm shine of love, happiness and joy." This story is a simple paean of the love of a star crossed couple, yet one that ends in hope. 

The Black Secret - Ishika Kumar

'The Black Secret' is an intriguing story written in the first person by Susan Black, the daughter of Professor Richard Black, a prominent scientist, who suddenly disappears when he was working on a top secret project. Susan is determined to delve into the mystery of her beloved father's disappearance. Ishika Kumar uses the unusual technique of writing in the present tense, taking the story forward in a precise and convincing manner, creating a well edited narrative that does not falter. "There is a wider world" is the oft used quote that exemplifies the theme of the story.

The Magical Stone - Aradhya Gupta

This tender little story is the stuff fairy tales are made up of, as it describes "fresh dew drops from the new born leaves, playing with the young rabbits." Angelina finds a magical stone, "a precious and gifted stone", a gift from the angels. Written in a style reminiscent of popular bedtime stories, Aradhya Gupta obviously believes that the world is a beautiful place, and it is to be hoped that she continues to have stars in her eyes, always.

Blue Jean - Viola Rastogi

Raven and Corbin find themselves adrift on an island named Hispanulas, on their voyage back from South America to the United States. They dodge bullets, and come across the inhabitants of the island led by a beautiful lady with "smooth olive skin, bewitching eyes and delicate features", all of whom are obsessed by the Americans. Raven discovers the reason why, and it is up to her to make the right choice. A story that plays on the nerves of the reader, suspenseful and intriguing!

Into the Garbled - Srishtika Prakash 

This appears to be the shortest story in the anthology. It narrates the story of Hans Hellmesberg, an erudite young man well versed in the works of Freidrich Nietzsche, as he makes a journey into the realms of his own psyche. Action packed, the story seems to end too quickly, leaving the reader a trifle off balance.

Can I Go To School? Nilakshi Pathak

Nilakshi Pathak wrenches the heart with a theme all too common in our country. Pinky, the daughter of a daily labourer, is proud of her brother who goes to school. She meets Sabi, who offers her a ray of hope, as she looks forward to being able to go to school herself, thrilled to have made a friend for a lifetime. She returns home where a heartbreaking verdict awaits. Nilakshi tells the story in a matter of fact, yet effective, tone, swaying the reader with her impeccable writing which hints at emotions that simmer under the veneer.

This is a laudable effort, bringing out the talents of young writers all of whom obviously love the written word. The one flaw that takes away from this effort is the large number of punctuation errors, peppered liberally across the anthology, which point fingers at the editing team.

Death, be not proud...

                                                                           

   

January is always a month of memories, the month when Death swooped in and scooped away my father, a man of whom everyone said, “The good are taken away early!” A profound saying that held no real comfort to those who were left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives and move on! The 29^th of January would always remain the day of our biggest loss, the day when there was a click of the gate at nine in the night, that hour when our lives changed irrevocably.

We do no rites, our homage, more love than homage actually, dwells deep within our hearts, when we write down our feelings and talk to our mother over the phone. Our shrines stay in the recesses of our memory.

“My father – I fondly recall

He never once lifted his hand upon me,

Except to caress;

A mere raised tone

Could quell my high spirits;

I loved him so...

My eyes fall on that page

Smudged – almost blotted out

As I had poured my heart out

Over the tragedy that had left our home

In shreds!”

However, every January, something good happens in our family, be it a new story published, a piece of good fortune, a financial blessing, or just a meeting of old friends, proving that Dad is alive in spirit, taking care of us as he would have done, had he been around. January has metamorphosed into a month when we smile more, because we feel the presence of a love that was meant to be ours always.

February is the month when my father in love (I do not believe in the term ‘in-law’) passed away, leaving us bereft. Just a month earlier, his little great grandson was born. He lived long enough to bless the little boy, and it was as though he had transposed a bit of himself into the soul of the little boy, and peacefully moved on.

“What a miracle this is!

As one spirit ebbs away,

Drop by drop, another takes life

Growing stronger every moment,

A delicate, intangible thread

That links them together.”

Every year, on that day, his daughter and his son bathe early, cook a handful of rice and place it on the balcony, and invariably, a crow appears out of nowhere, and pecks daintily at the morsel, casts a glance and flies away. A strange phenomenon in cities like Bangalore and Chennai where crows are more the exception than the rule! Yet another example of how the spirit reigns over the flesh!

                                                                             

 So many faces have disappeared over the decades, faces that were deemed so permanent in our lives that when they were no more, their loss left us heartbroken. Every wedding in the family saw fewer loved ones, smiling irrepressibly out at us from blurred photographs, as though they were saying their final ‘Goodbyes’ to us. Great grandparents, grandparents, uncles, friends’ fathers, family friends... the list was open-ended. Ancestral homes vanished, as though they were a pack of cards that had been blown down by the wind, and emotions were all that were left, along with a handful of black and white photographs to remind us of loved ones gone by.

The shattering tragedy of bereavement is all too painful.  Till then, death is perceived as something that happens to other folk, never to us. We offer comfort, write mails in condolence and offer platitudes, for nothing can ever take away the anguish of the bereaved. “Time is a great healer” – “You have to live for your children!” At that moment, the impulse is to snap and retort, “It’s all very easy for you to say so!”

However, as the decades go by, and life continues in its own even pace, the unbearable anguish turns into a permanent ache; the void is like a landfill that is bottomless. We talk less of the souls gone by, preferring to think of them all having a pow-wow in heaven, sitting on grassy banks amidst fields of brilliant flowers, smiling down gently at our antics on earth. “Ah, my headstrong daughter is on the warpath again!” laughs my grandfather, as my father nods smilingly. How proud he is of his wife who has braved the world, and created a niche for herself and her daughters after his passing!

Our loved ones look more relaxed, freed of worldly diseases and hardships that dog them no more. Their attitudes seem to say, “Grieve not for us, dear ones, for we lack for nothing where we are. The only loss that we have suffered is that of our hearts, for we have left them there on earth, with you.” And this is probably why good things happen to us, despite all the travails and the ordeals that finally make us see the light at the end of the tunnel. Nothing worth having ever came easy, after all!

And to end with the rendition of an amazing poem by John Donne who cocked a snook at Death!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6_-C2dcFuc

                           “Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

                            Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

                            For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

                            Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

                               

                           From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

                           Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

                          And soonest our best men with thee do go,

                          Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

                         Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

                                          

                        And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

                        And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

                        And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

                       One short sleep past, we wake eternally

                       And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”                        

                       

                                                                        

Sticks and Stones!

Coming down to Kerala on a break is always such a pleasure! It is where you have grown up, after all, and spent many years, interspersed with joyful and not-so-joyful moments. The climate is the same, the roads are as dingy, there are myriad flats in place of individual houses, and all’s well in God’s Heaven.

The only thing that remains unchanged, and will always do, is the attitude of the people here. We Malayalis have a style of our own, which grants us the leeway to be extra familiar, and one step forward would take us to the brink of rudeness. And from the brink to a topple-over is the easiest step forward ever. It doesn’t even need a shove, however much the other party is provoked!

I walk into a friend’s home, and after the customary hugs, the first statement is, “You've put on weight, you know!”  This after regular walks, a strict diet and numerous packs of Sugar Free sloshing around in your system! I smile weakly, and nod, hoping that there’s an end to the matter. But open lips do not zip themselves up so easily! “Your arms have grown muscles, you know!” The friend’s mother has to add her pennyworth. “I remember you when you were in college! Such a slip of a girl zipping about on your moped! Such a pretty sight!” There would be a pregnant pause where I would heave a sigh of relief and try and change the topic to the pretty flowers in the garden, the polished tiles on the floor or the darned weather outside! But obviously my weight is a more entertaining topic, and the tirade goes on. “Your cheeks have grown!”

How do I remind them that I was born with apple cheeks, and that cheeks do not magically appear and disappear, but like Tennyson’s Brook, go on forever? “Uhhh… have you ever seen me minus my cheeks?” I venture hesitantly, and the reply comes in like a boomerang. “No, but they have grown rounder!” And the parting shot, a back handed compliment, if ever there was one. “But the weight suits you, you know? You look like a mother now!” A statement which will slowly turn into, “You look like a grandmother now!” if my daughter deigns to turn me into one, that is!

I stroll on the road with my sister, Bhanu, who is not even size zero. At sixty plus, she weighs 35 kilos! By sheer dint of comparison, I would look like a truck beside her. But it does not help to be told so. As the stroll continues, I see two familiar faces looming in the horizon and I tell Bhanu, “Watch out! The salvos are on their way!” And not once am I disappointed.

The elder lady adjusts her glasses, and looks me up and down. “Put on weight, have we?” Not that she ever means herself, even if it were true. “Really?” I croak, and strive to ask about her children, not actually recalling if she has any. But the second lady, younger and robust, puts a meaty arm on my shoulder and says, “Don’t you exercise? Or go for a walk?” A rather vague question, coming from one who is easily the size of a barn! The retorts stay on the tip of my tongue, maybe because of my upbringing, but I wish desperately at such moments that I were not so well bred!

I go home and ruminate moodily. Friends back in Chennai and their mothers and friends’ mothers do not ever call me overweight? Do people in Kerala eat special diets that make them a trifle more acerbic! And then, Eureka, it strikes me like a flash of lightning! I assume that people who have seen me as a child and a teenager still see me in that avatar. And when oft, on their couch they lie “in vacant or in pensive mood”, I flash upon their “inward eye”.  The image remains the same, and it probably jars them to see me change with the years. However, it would be rather unrealistic to imagine me as what I was when I was eighteen, especially after a delivery, a hysterectomy, a daughter’s wedding and half a century of good living!  I mean, it would be humanly impossible, unless you were Peter Pan! Or Rekha!

So I brace up, with a pretended nonchalance, and let the comments roll off me. I look at the mirror and see in myself what the others do not – a human face that tends to smile more than frown, an attitude that prods me on to feel that I am the best, and above all, a sense of humour that has come down in my genes and allows me to laugh most things off! Then I sit down at my laptop and hunt for an apt quote on the subject, till I come across one that “shines like a good deed in a naughty world”.
"It's an uncommonly dangerous thing to be left without any padding against the shafts of disease." So said George Eliot in Middlemarch, very conveniently, as it seems.
My mood lightens, "And then my heart with pleasure fills/ And dances with the daffodils."

17th December 2014

Uber Safety - Under Fire!

Yet another young woman is raped, and all the hype is back again! A Uber cab driver beat up and raped a 27 year old woman after she dozed off in his cab. He threatened to assault her with an iron rod, if she tried to scream, bringing back gruesome memories of the Delhi gang rape case. After which, he slunk away like the coward he is. Later, he told his wife that they would have to leave their home in Mathura.

This is a man who has two daughters and a stepson, supposedly a family man, but in reality, a monster who has raped earlier as well. Shiv Kumar Yadav is a repeat offender, who was arrested in 2011 for seven months in connection with a rape case. He was acquitted due to lack of evidence, which is what happens in more cases than not. Does lack of evidence mean that the man is innocent, or that the woman is the one to be blamed? Seven months in jail for a crime that should have ensured he was locked away forever?

What is this country we live in? Where laws are so toothless that they fail to protect the innocent? If only this man had been convicted in 2011, he would not have been around to rape again. If only, the court had taken into consideration the fact that a person accused of rape could actually be a rapist, despite lack of evidence, an innocent woman’s life would not have been ruined! If only the laws of the land were stronger against heinous criminals, monsters would think twice before taking the law into their own hands! If only… the saddest words ever in the English language.

In Kerala, some years ago, the train rapist who was left off leniently because he was disabled, ended up repeating his crime, as he threw a woman off a train and raped her.

The Delhi rape case killed not just the brave victim, but the hopes of millions of women in the country. Rapes have continued, unabated, even as the laws have been amended.  However, in the absence of strong deterrent action against the perpetrator, these laws are toothless, and often, he is awarded a light punishment that makes him feel that he can get away with murder, and often does. No wonder we tend to agree with Dickens’ Mr.Bumble, who said famously, “The law is an ass - an idiot.”

Why can’t we stand up as a strong society and condone the atrocities that are taking place? Why can’t the laws be strengthened in a way that the perpetrators are punished and not the victims? Is non violence being carried to such an extent that criminals are let loose to perform their monstrous acts over and over again? A man who rapes should be punished so strongly, and made an example of, in society, that he will never dare to look at a woman in such a light again.

Unfortunately, a rapist is brought out, handcuffed, but with his face covered, so that no one knows who he is. Why this leniency towards a man who has murdered all decency? On the other hand, he should be led out openly, his face splashed over the media, so that people know who he is, and protect themselves from him. Why should any mercy be shown to a man who has proved that he has not an iota of mercy within him?

If the argument forwarded is that his family should be spared the ignominy, that is sheer bunkum! What about the family he has wronged, the family he has torn apart in one fell swoop? What right does he, or any human being have, to touch even a hair on his victim’s head? Would he condone it if someone else did the same to his loved ones?

What is this country we live in, where we do not feel safe, where menacing strangers dog our footsteps, whether in trains, buses, apartments or within our own homes? Why is it we watch helplessly when loved ones are trampled on, even as the police, the authorities and the law, take their own sweet time to pass judgments? And once the judgments are passed, why do they leave us with a feeling of dissatisfaction, a feeling that not enough has been done, a feeling that our whole world is going to cave in on us? For the criminal gets back onto the streets in no time, and then, he seeks revenge, not because he is wronged, but because the person he has wronged has dared to fight back! Where is the sense in all this, how do we protect our own?

The ironic part is that Shiv Kumar Yadav confessed to his crime, saying, “Galti ho gayi, kya karoon ab?” (I committed a mistake. What do I do now?” There is no trace of remorse, only a feeling of discomfort because he has been caught. One gets the feeling that if he is let off again, he will not hesitate to go back and commit the same crime all over again, because if he is let off, he goes out with the feeling that the crime he committed was not a grave one!

Is that the impression that we should be left with? That rape is not an offence serious enough to be taken seriously? Is it because women are considered as the weaker sex? Then it is time that women also take up arms for their own rights. Schools should impart self defence classes right from the primary classes. Girls should be able to defend themselves strongly, and come out from the medieval mindset that proclaims them the weaker sex. Pepper spray, safety pins, and chilli powder will work better, if allied with the confidence that they can take care of themselves.

However, above all, we should stop being a passive society that looks on in silence when atrocities are being committed. Often, when a woman is being molested, there are whole crowds of people, men and women, who look on in total passivity. Where are all the good Samaritans? Too busy looking away because they do not want to get involved! What they tend to forget is that tomorrow, they could be in the same helpless state, watching their loved ones being molested, as a whole society looks on with apathy.

As James Clemens put it in Hinterland, “But often life asks much of you, and you either honor life by answering with all your heart, or you cower your way into the grave.”

Could we honor life by answering with all our hearts?

The Miracle of Love

The waves crashed on the rocks, a sound that Sudesh loved, as he sat feeling the freshness of the spray on his face. Voices echoed around him, and he could feel the vibration as people jogged along the beach, and his sightless eyes turned towards the movement. He had been coming to this spot for many months now, ever since he had shifted to Mumbai, after his mother had passed away.

The sound of the sea evoked a vision that he could only feel, not see. He could smell the delicious puris that Ram Prasad was frying, very near to where he sat. Every day the cheerful proprietor would look for a moment when there were few customers, and hand over a plate of piping hot puris and delicious potato curry to the gentle blind man who sat there, so young and so uncomplaining!

Sudesh heard the tinkling of anklets near him. “Who is it?” he asked curiously. “May I sit here?” asked a soft voice, and he had a sudden mental vision of a lovely young girl, delicate and lively.
“Do sit down!” he invited, “That is if you have nothing else to do!” He heard the thud as she sat down beside him, and sensed the smile in her voice. “I am a regular customer of Ram Prasad’s, and a great fan of his puris. He told me about you the last time I was here!”

They were interrupted by Ram Prasad who brought two plates of hot puris, and they sat in silence, munching away contentedly, not wanting to break the silence.

"You haven’t told me your name!” Sudesh asked suddenly. “Kavita!” she replied, and the ice was broken. They began to talk about all kinds of subjects, and Sudesh tried to conjure up her face. Was she short or tall, fair or dark? He sensed that she had long hair and sparkling black eyes, judging by the easy way she laughed. Her heart shaped face would have an expression of mischief, and there would be a round red bindi in the centre of her forehead. He wished he could have a glimpse of her. What did she feel when she looked at him? Pity? He hoped not because he hated being pitied.

The hours flew by as though they had wings. They had already drunk two cups of masala chai and the breeze had grown stronger, as the sun prepared to set in the horizon. Ram Prasad was closing up shop and it was time for Sudesh to go home as well. “Goodnight, Sudesh ji!” Kavita’s voice tinkled in his ear.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, rather ironically, and she laughed as she replied, “Why not! You couldn’t keep me away from Ram Prasad’s puris!”  Sudesh heard her go with a strange pang in his heart. He had never felt this way before.For a change he kept sitting, immersed in his own thoughts. He felt a warm glow at the thought of his new friend. But how could he, a blind man, harbour such thoughts about any girl? He tried to imagine Kavita’s face again. Maybe she was like a poem herself, judging by her name! He imagined her large lustrous eyes smiling at him, giving him hope.

Suddenly his shoulders slumped. How could he expect a beautiful young girl to marry a blind man like himself? When Ram Prasad came by to guide him back home, he found him sitting listlessly, a picture of dejection.

“Sudesh Babu, I thought meeting Kavita would have cheered you up! Instead you are sitting like a monument of despair!” Sudesh got up with difficulty, and groped around for his cane. “Ram Prasad, don’t introduce me to any more girls!” he groaned. “I liked Kavita, even though I have no hope that she will ever reciprocate!”

Ram Prasad whooped in joy. “Congratulations, Sudesh Babu! She is a lovely girl!” He went on happily. “I have been trying to bring you two together for some time now!” as Sudesh heard him out in disbelief, he said, “She is a beautiful person. When she was young, she was involved in an accident in which she lost her eye sight! Never once has she complained or thought of it as a disability!”

Sudesh listened, lost for words. He was elated because now he could ask Kavita to marry him. He was strangely happy that he himself was blind because he could always imagine her large lustrous eyes looking at him with hope and love!

By Deepti Menon

yourstoryclub.com

Jan 26, 2012

“THE MIRACLE OF LOVE – SHORT STORY LOVE”