My Two Mothers!

I believe that I am truly lucky! Why, you might ask! Because I have two mothers, which is one more than most people have, and this is when I need to knock on wood to keep the evil eye away! They hover over me like guardian angels, both diametrically different in their vocations, but amazingly similar in their principles and outlook towards life.

The mother I was born to fits into the mould of the multi tasker, whirling around like a dervish to fit in all that she does into the 24 hour day that seems to fall short always. Having lost her husband at a very young age, she was left alone to bring three daughters up, not the easiest of tasks even if you have an army of relatives and friends to lend a helping hand. Single-handedly she stood against the world, fighting demons, invisible and all too visible, as she not only brought up her girls, but started an enlightened school where she put in all those nuggets of wisdom that she had gathered and garnered from the schools she had taught in. And yet, she never once let her girls know about the hardships and the tribulations, preferring to reveal the beauty of life, blowing optimism into their ears even as they grew into confident young women. She was both father and mother, and made sure they lacked for nothing, which is perhaps, why they, in turn, have turned into her strongest champions!

When I was to be married, being the eldest, she had just been widowed and the parting was painful, like the severing of a limb. As I took the customary three circles around the fire with my bridegroom, her face mirrored mixed emotions.... joy that her beloved daughter was getting married to a wonderful man, uncertainty about how she herself would cope, and of course, sorrow that her fledgling had grown up enough to leave. Tears gushed down her face as she wished her husband had been around to witness the wedding of his eldest. And when it was all over, and I was getting into the car to leave for my new home, a feeling of panic came over me as I knew I was leaving my mother behind, and that life would change in some way! The tears in my mother’s eyes only strengthened this feeling!

But when I walked into my brand new home, in a bright silk sari and matching jewellery, where a whole host of relatives waited to welcome me in with the traditional lamp, it was my mother in law [whom I always refer to as my mother in love] who caught hold of my hand, and said in her matter of fact way, but with much love within her heart, “Take off that silk sari and get into something comfortable and sleep for a while!” It was amazing how warm those words made me feel, as she realized how utterly exhausted I was and two hours later, I was back to my normal self, rested in my new home with my brand new family!

And so it has been over the years! There has never been a moment when my second Mum has made me feel any different from her own daughter. She told me much later how she had decided that when her son got married, she would gain a daughter, not lose a son. She and I have long chats, discuss everything from politics [which both of us don’t care much for!] to recipes [which we both enjoy experimenting with!] She takes my side on most matters, a trait which her son looks upon with indulgence even if he does protest once in a while. My daughter smiles when she sees her grandma take her mother’s side, remarking wryly, “And so the defence rests, as usual!”

The other day, both my mothers were together for a short while and in the midst of all the fun they had [which included watching inane serials and eating chocolates surreptitiously], I heard my mother whisper, “Thank you so much for being such a wonderful mother to my daughter! I think she is very lucky to have you!”

Which takes me back to where I began! I believe I am truly lucky! How else could I put it, when on the one hand, I have a mother who listens to my grouses and tries to solve them in her own inimitable way, who calls herself the luckiest mum because I have written a book which she proudly presents to friends, family and every stranger who comes her way? What else can I say about a Mom who treasures every little scrap of poetry I have written over the years, and forgotten about, and who puts it together and publishes it so that she can give it to me on my birthday? A Mom who has a special place in her heart for me, her eldest born, because we have shared dark days and bright ones together?

And then again, what about my other Mum who makes sure I eat breakfast by churning out the tastiest of chutneys, even if she has to do it before I wake up, or who tells me to inform her of where I am if I am late [for otherwise she gets frantic!], or who forces me to go to the gym because she knows it is good for me? Who, when she is away, tells me that she misses hearing my voice, as much as I miss having her loved presence around?

Both my Mums hate seeing a cloud on my face, and both go out of their way to make sure that the sun is always shining and all’s right with the world, as far as I am concerned. Maybe, just maybe, this is where the beautiful saying came from, “God could not be everywhere so he created mothers!”

Mother's Day Post

11/5/2014 

Boys will be Boys!

Image from Pixabay

Boys will be boys, of course! This adage has taken on a whole new meaning today, as the chief of a major political party connected it with rape and capital punishment, averring that it was unfair to punish boys for their ‘mistakes’. This was after a Mumbai court had given the death penalty to three ‘repeat’ offenders in the Shakti Mills gang rape case.  “Boys make mistakes… if we come to power there will be changes in the tough anti-rape law!” After stirring up a hornet’s nest, the leader went on to say that boys and girls fall in love, and then part due to differences. “When their friendship ends, the girl complains she has been raped.”

The Delhi gang rape was also followed by callous statements by supposedly prominent people, who shot their mouths off, proving that common sense is, indeed, quite uncommon. And that ‘sensitivity’ is a word only found in the mouths of dentists recommending their favourite toothpaste. Women, of course, do not deserve to be looked upon with any kind of sensitivity. After all, according to the hordes of ignoramuses, steeped in patriarchal mindsets that should have been thrown out with the so-called burning of witches, and the prevalence of Sati, women invite rape, in the way they dress, the way they behave, and even in the way they breathe!

One self-proclaimed controversial God-man opined that the Delhi rape victim should have turned her rapists into her brothers, before they turned into her rapists! Other wise men prudently advise women to wear overcoats, eschew skirts, wear more clothes, and not walk around ‘highly dented-painted’! One gentleman spoke of ‘Sitaji’ , the Indian mythological Goddess, being abducted only after she crossed the Lakshman Rekha, something which women should not do as there are Ravans out there.

The ridiculous suggestions do not stop there! Ban cell phones that encourage girls to make futile small talk, abolish co-education, and stop consumption of fast food! A politician even blamed it on something that apparently had more of an  IQ than he did – ‘chowmein’! And under no circumstances should girls wear jeans, ‘the attire of American cowboys’!

Another gentleman sagely concluded that rapes occur in India, and not in villages that embody the spirit of Bharat, as he pointed an accusing finger against Western culture that has seeped into India.

However ‘the most unkindest cut of all’, as the Bard himself put it, is when women support the rapist. In one case, a prominent woman leader spoke of a rape case as “a misunderstanding between the two parties involved, between a lady and her client”.

Another unbelievably outrageous statement came from a woman scientist, when she remarked, “When a group of men intend to rape, they will do it! Had the girl simply surrendered when surrounded by six men, she would not have lost her intestine.” The barb came at the end, “Why was she out with her boyfriend at 10pm?”

So many self appointed guardians of public morality, patriarchal figures whose tongues do not quaver when they talk against women who are wronged, molested and stripped of their dignity. A Khap Panchayat spoke of bringing down the marriage age to prevent the rising incidents of rapes.

The modern Draupadi finds herself divested of her clothing, while Sita is still scorned for having crossed her Lakshman Rekha!

Ironic, isn’t it? That every person, and his neighbor, speaks of how to protect women from rape, instead of trying to solve the actual problem – that of engraining the ideals of respect and reverence in the minds of men towards women. As Wilhelm von Humboldt put it so aptly, “The morality of nations depends on their level of respect towards women.” Going by that, India would be somewhere at the bottom of the list, wouldn’t it?

Published by the Red Elephant Foundation

Deepti Menon has always believed in the power of the pen. Having done her post graduation in English Literature and her B.Ed. in English, she had the option of teaching and writing, and did both with great enjoyment. She started writing at the age of ten, long before she acquired a Diploma in Journalism. Deepti also had the advantage of being an Army kid, and later an Army wife, and loved the idea of travelling around India, meeting new people and acquiring new skills. She firmly believes that much of her personality was honed during those travels. For Deepti, writing needs to sparkle with simplicity and originality, and she strives to find that one word that conveys her ideas most meaningfully to her readers. She believes that Mark Twain had the right idea when he said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

21 Tales to tell - Book Launch

A two part interview by photo-jpurnalist, Mr. Murali, taken on the day of the book launch of our compilation of short stories - 21 Tales to Tell.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMkRbH-Hk8M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2HCC_7gIEQ

Videos of the launch

1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmhxglFZdog

2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLNXUv-_qmU

3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEFZ67AwdQ0

4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssGLFfHWrco

5. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXNOaxbphAE

6. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dydm1WtAOqc

Courtesy:

D. Murali

+91 9444907996

http://about.me/dmurali

 

No Capital Punishment! Capital, Indeed!

  Image from Olivia Chow

“‘Nirbhaya's’[1] death will not be in vain!” So proclaimed a VVIP after the horrendous gang rape in Delhi in December 2012. However, another gruesome case soon after turned into yet another sad statistic. And another, and another....

An innocent five year old girl was found cowering in terror and pain, after having been raped by two monsters. Doctors found a bottle and candles inside her, as a nation looked on in disbelief. So much of agony inflicted on a flower-like little child, who should have been enjoying her childhood! When she went missing, her parents went to the police station to register a case. They had to wait for hours before the sluggish authorities filed a complaint, resulting in precious hours lost. The police did not search the building in which the family lived. Consequently, the little girl was raped and brutalized over three days. Finally her cries attracted a neighbour’s attention, and she was recovered.

What were the policemen doing, meanwhile? One specimen had the audacity to offer Rs. 2000 (40$ approx) to the family to hush the matter up, without going to higher authorities. While there are dedicated policemen who do aid the helpless, these men in khaki were certainly not part of them. Unfortunately, most policemen are tarred with the same brush, as accusations of their insensitivity and callousness towards the weak are hurled around.

Aamir Khan’s latest version of ‘Satyameva Jayate’ highlights the apathy of the police, the medical fraternity and the judiciary against rape victims. Callousness and gross neglect, coupled with the urge to treat these poor victims as mere statistics is uppermost on their minds. When will this mindset ever change? Only when these offenders are held accountable, and made punishable for their actions, of course.

The youth have been coming out in droves to protest against rape cases, as well as atrocities against women and children. Unfortunately, there is no dart board towards which their darts can be directed; for this is as clichéd as closing the stable door after the horse has fled. The victims have undergone throes of suffering, as the perpetrators’ attitudes imply that the law will never move swiftly enough to harm a hair of their heads. Since their faces are covered, it is clear that no one else can do so either.

Thus, a young girl gets gang raped in a bus, three brutalized sisters are found dead in a well, acid wars scar girls for life and little children are targets of sexual crimes everywhere. Television anchors scream along with their honourable panellists about the inexorable wheels of justice in the country, the very tempting option of castration, and of course, hanging till death. Capital, one is tempted to say, except that capital punishment never quite adds up, given the number of advocates against it.

So, sex fiends and murderers, child molesters and acid throwers go on a rampage, secure with advocates (pun intended!) on their seamy side, clamouring for human rights options for their clients. What they conveniently forget is that human rights are for humans, not for beasts and monsters!

The Boston bombings were all over the news last year. President Obama spoke movingly of the people who had died and those injured in the blasts, the epitome of dignity, as he spoke of no mercy for the bombers. America listened in silence, as did the TV reporters, the media and the bereaved families, all willing to place responsibility in the hands of the authorities. There were no outbursts, no voices that spoke against the Government, as even the Opposition sent out a silent message of solace and solidarity.

Back home, the Government floundered in the mire, unwilling to take strong penal measures; the Opposition girded its loins and jumped into the fray, thrilled to have a juicy morsel to sink its teeth into. Next emerged the social activists, with their holier-than-thou attitudes, talking till blue in the face, about the death penalty not being the way to reformation. Media hounds had a field day as they cajoled, provoked and preached in turn, milking the situation for all it is worth. No wonder that certain news channels today have higher TRP ratings than even Ekta Kapoor's soaps.

The Criminal Law (Amendment) Ordinance, 2013, was brought in subsequently, expressly recognizing certain acts like acid attack, sexual harassment, voyeurism, stalking and attempts at any of the above, as major offences, to be dealt with under related laws. However, rapes and sexual assaults against women and children continue, unabated, even after this. Obviously the law is far above the common man, or woman, in this case!  

The present scenario mirrors the Tower of Babel - leaders speaking in different tongues! Certain MPs demand the death penalty for rapists, others want laws that work as a stringent deterrent. One Chief Minister seeks police reforms and time-bound action against criminals, and a seasoned politician, (probably with pepper and salt), blames the Government's ‘neo- economic liberalized policies’ for unleashing the 'animal spirit' in society. Other causes are taken out of the kitty - the decline of social values, western influences, provocative clothes, vulgarity in films and television - take your pick! A lady Chief Minister even made the horrendous claim that ‘so-called intellectuals and social workers’ who discuss rape on television are associated with pornography, and only discuss rape on talk shows for money. As a quote attributed recently to Madeline Albright went, “There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women.”        
           
The excuses are many, the complaints myriad! However, the fact remains that India, the country that begot non-violence, has turned into a hell hole for women and children, a fact that should make the Mahatma turn in his grave! Farhan Akhtar’s poignant poem after the Delhi rape case says it all:

“What is this country that I live in?

With no equality

And the quality of life

Differs from husband to wife

Boy to girl, brother to sister

Hey Mister, are you the same?

Contributing to the national shame

Replacing your mothers

With the bent ideology of another’s perception that women have a particular role in society

Fills my heart with anxiety

Where is all of this going?

What will emerge from these seeds that we’re sowing?

It makes my head spin

But I’m not giving in

Will keep asking the question

What is this country that I live in? What is this country that I live in?

That takes away her right to love

Brutalises her with an iron glove

Rapes her without fear of there being justice for her tear

We’ve demeaned our goddesses

Gone back on all our promises

Become a gender distorted nation

Given our conscience a permanent vacation what do I tell my daughter?

That she’s growing up to be lamb for the slaughter we’ve got to make a change

Reboot, reformat, rearrange, and never give in no matter how much your head may spin

Just keep asking the question

What is this country that I live in?”

---

[1] At REF, we do not believe in labelling or calling the 23-year-old girl in Delhi names like Nirbhaya or Amanat, however, this statement retains the name in order to reproduce a quotation verbatim. 

Published by the Red Elephant Foundation

Deepti Menon has always believed in the power of the pen. Having done her post graduation in English Literature and her B.Ed. in English, she had the option of teaching and writing, and did both with great enjoyment. She started writing at the age of ten, long before she acquired a Diploma in Journalism. Deepti also had the advantage of being an Army kid, and later an Army wife, and loved the idea of travelling around India, meeting new people and acquiring new skills. She firmly believes that much of her personality was honed during those travels. For Deepti, writing needs to sparkle with simplicity and originality, and she strives to find that one word that conveys her ideas most meaningfully to her readers. She believes that Mark Twain had the right idea when he said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

NO ORDINARY DAY!

It was going to be no ordinary day! She loved his cryptic little notes that never failed to make her smile! Today’s was no different.  “Megha, meet me at two, I want to say ‘I do!’” The little rhyme was written in a script that was unique, for his handwriting was filled with curls and loops, created with painstaking care. She touched the paper with her lips and put it away deep within her personal diary, which was filled with dozens of these little notes on little coloured squares of paper. Every colour stood for a different mood... when he was elated, he sent a purple message, the blue ones were for when he was dejected. When something touched him deeply, he responded with a sunshiny yellow message and a red one heralded his flaming temper.

Megha loved these quizzical missives. Rohit had always been a good friend, right from high school onwards. They had studied in the same class, acted in college plays together, hung out with common friends and all problems seemed to disappear when they were together. He beat up her enemies, she consoled his innumerable female fans who complained that he had no eyes for them. But that was because he had eyes only for her...

As the door bell rang, she shook away her thoughts. As she paid the newspaper bill, she wondered what she should wear. Of late, Rohit had turned from a good friend to something more romantic. She dreamt of his lopsided grin, his way of giving her a hug every time they met, the smell of his cologne, and the look in his eyes when he gazed at her. One day he had taken her home to meet his parents, and she was amazed at the way his Mom enveloped her in a bear hug, whispering, “I am so happy that Rohit has found a girl like you! I know you will be happy together!” And this was when they had no romantic feelings for each other. Even before she could respond, his father shook her hand and smiled. “Welcome home, Megha!”  The warmth was palpable and she suddenly found herself imagining how wonderful it would be to be part of such a family.

Maybe that is where it all began. She started looking at Rohit through different eyes, and many of his little notes began to make sense to her. They were declarations of love which were wrapped in a veneer of frivolity so that maybe, she would not be frightened away by the intensity of his feelings. They were never mushy and overly romantic, but fun notes that made her smile deep within, and made her think about him more than she would have otherwise liked.

Megha had made it a point to go over to Rohit’s house to meet his parents who had really grown fond of her. His mother would cook her favourite dishes for her while his Dad would sit down and discuss everything from current affairs to movie with her. She felt an amazing sense of comfort in their presence, and often she felt that she was closer to them than Rohit himself was. Rohit often evaded her questions on his relationship with them saying, “Megha, don’t worry your pretty head over this! I had issues with them when I was growing up! I was always a rebel and they were not happy about it. But they have to accept me as I am!” She had reassured him saying, “I think your parents are very proud of you and love you very much! Only they don’t know how to show their love!”

Rohit had smiled, and replied, “Well, they are definitely fonder of you than of me!” She tried to ignore the tinge of bitterness in his voice, and the hurt that revealed itself in his eyes! But when she tried to talk to him about it, he evaded the topic by joking about it. “You should have been born as their daughter!” “I could still turn into their daughter!” she couldn’t help thinking, but since he had never said anything of the sort to her, she hugged the thought to herself.

Valentine’s Day was round the corner. The shops overflowed with red hearts, stuffed toys and cards of every size and type. Boys and girls went wild, trying to pick that unique gift that would melt the hearts of their loved ones. Pastry shops made heart shaped cakes and love songs blared from every shop. The atmosphere was electric and love was in the air everywhere!

Megha had worn her prettiest salwar kurta, and there was a song in her heart. She had the strangest feeling that something momentous was going to happen today, something that would change her life forever. The sun was shining and the world seemed even more beautiful than it normally was. Rapt in her reverie, she suddenly heard her mobile phone ring. “Hi, Rohit!” she said, a smile in her voice. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Megha!” came Rohit’s response. “How many red roses have you got today?”

“Quite a few, Rohit! Where are you at the moment?”

“I am with friends right now. Why don’t you meet me for lunch? There is something I want to discuss with you!”

Megha’s heart leapt. This was the moment she had been waiting for all her life, the moment when Rohit would declare his love for her, when they would discuss their future together. “Of course, Rohit! I would love to!” Plans were made and Rohit hung up, as she thought of the gift she needed to pick up for him. It had to be extra special, the right gift for the occasion.

At the mall she wandered around, browsing for, she knew not what! She picked up a card that expressed her feelings for him, and finally chose a chunky watch for him. It was expensive, but this was the DAY, after all!

Rohit’s eyes lit up when she walked into the restaurant. He had made sure that their table was tucked away in a cosy corner, far from prying eyes. “Shall we order?” he asked with a smile that warmed her heart. There was a kind of suppressed excitement in his eyes and it was evident that he wanted to speak to her desperately. But that would come after they had eaten. The food was delicious, and they chatted on desultory topics while they ate. Finally when the last morsel was eaten, and Megha sat back with a feeling of contentment, Rohit said, “I guess it is time to tell you what is in my heart!” Megha sat up straighter, her eyes a-dance, all set to hear what Rohit had to say. She clasped her hands together to stop their trembling, but it was a wonderful feeling.

“Megha, I have always looked upon you as my best friend and companion. We have been there for each other for the last so many years. Today is the day when that changes!”

Megha looked at him, her heart in her eyes. Time itself seemed to have stopped and she waited almost breathlessly for his next words.

“Now I am in love, Megha, and it is the most wonderful feeling in the world! All these years I was incomplete, waiting for the right person to land up. And all this time the right person was in front of me, but I didn’t know it!” Tears flowed from Megha’s eyes as she saw a new side of Rohit’s, the romantic side that he had always masked with a laugh.

Suddenly a strapping young man strolled across, and sat down by Rohit’s side.  Megha looked on in utter shock, as Rohit smiled and said, “I would like you to meet Bhaskar, the love of my life!”  it was  then that the darkness enveloped her!

 deepti,menon.98

The Winner of the Readomania Short Story Contest

Not a Nice Place to be!

Published in The Red Elephant Foundation

                                                              http://www.redelephantfoundation.org/

Image from Pixabay (c) Lucida

The fiends are at it again! The dust hadn't settled after the rape of the 23-year-old in Delhi, (and may it never do so!), when the next gang rape was committed. The numbers of atrocities grew, as criminals, who should have quaked in their shoes, danced in abandon over the corpses of their hapless victims!

Just when one thought that human cruelty could not get worse, it did. A labourer from Bihar picked up an innocent five year old girl and raped her over three horrific days. When the poor mite was finally rescued, the doctors found bottles and candles inside her, a scenario too gruesome to even imagine. And yet, a monster of a man had done that, caused immense pain to an infant, confident that he lived in a country where he could get away with it. A country where in a gang rape, the most brutal rapist actually has knowledgeable lawyers and activists pleading for his acquittal because he is a juvenile. Underage he might have been, but in mental years, he was older that Methuselah himself, as he used modes of torture that even hardened criminals might have hesitated to use! And yet, shamefully, he actually had people on his side, as does almost every felon who has been sentenced to Death Row. 

Patently evident, and painfully so, is the fact that India has turned into a soft state, a state soft on criminals, corrupt politicians and the venal wealthy. However, the common man, the helpless and the poor have no means to evade justice, even for a petty theft. The police serve the ruling class, stomping heavily on those who cannot serve their purpose.  Every time there is a horrifying case of rape or brutality, determined protesters come on to the streets, trying to bolster public support and sympathy. But this ends in a one-way street, with no support from the politicians, who pay lip service with put-on accents as they lisp, “We will find the perpetrators, and let law take its own course!" 

Unfortunately, by the time law gets out of bed, puts on its socks and decides to take a stand, all the clues are lost, as in the Aarushi case, or the afflicted people have lost heart, as their loved ones have gone beyond the pale, leaving behind pain and anguish. The 23-year-old girl’s case shook not only the nation, but the whole world, but even today, seasoned lawyers argue about whether the main accused, Ram Singh, committed suicide or was murdered in jail. And shrill social activists argue about whether the death sentence will really deter people from committing crimes like rape and murder. This is just the point! The four ‘adult’ rapists in the 23-year-old’s case have been given the death sentence, maybe because the entire nation rose up in arms against them.

The “most unkindest cut of all” is when these same activists argue about the human rights of the criminals, who have got away with heinous crimes. What human rights are we talking about here? Don't victims who have suffered at the hands of these monsters have the right to be avenged?  

The ones who protest the loudest are those who, most often, have never undergone the agony of having their loved ones cut down in youth. They have never been parents who have lovingly nurtured their young ones to adulthood, only to lose them to crazed sex maniacs.  Or faced a living death when their innocent little babies are raped and brutalized by men whose wives have gone away for a vacation!  They have not seen their daughters turn into vegetables because ward boys have raped them in hospital, or witnessed their daughters' beautiful faces eaten away with acid, and left blind and helpless, because of rejected men with huge egos. 

Even as we debate endlessly, more rapes take place every day. An eighteen year old German teenager was recently raped on a train, and a fifty one year old Danish woman gang raped that very week. According to an official document, rape cases in Delhi have doubled in 2013 and molestation has gone up by almost four times. A new Chief Minister is at the helm in Delhi, with all the right motives behind him, but methinks he is getting a trifle swayed by the not-so-right motives at the moment. One gets a sense of the one-eyed man leading the blind! May he settle down soon and actually go after the corrupt and the cruel, the reason why he was voted into power.

Whom do we blame finally? The politicians who pull the strings, and turn a blind eye; the police who react to wires pulled by their masters; the silent bystander who allows crimes to be committed before his eyes, where lone girls are molested by gangs of men, and drives his vehicle away in haste when he sees a woman and her six month old baby dying on the road, despite the pleas of a hapless husband.    

Do we blame the law of the land that has no harsh deterrent that could stop these criminals in their tracks? Or the advocates who cry foul at every juncture, putting a spoke in the wheels of justice? 

Or do we just form strong silent groups and take tough measures to keep ourselves and the people round us safe and secure? After all, self help is the best help, and the day we stop being mere onlookers and dumb witnesses, and take action against those who break the law and harm others, criminals might think twice before they commit crimes. And that might just be the difference between life and death!       
 

Deepti Menon has always believed in the power of the pen. Having done her post graduation in English Literature and her B.Ed. in English, she had the option of teaching and writing, and did both with great enjoyment. She started writing at the age of ten, long before she acquired a Diploma in Journalism. Deepti also had the advantage of being an Army kid, and later an Army wife, and loved the idea of travelling around India, meeting new people and acquiring new skills. She firmly believes that much of her personality was honed during those travels. For Deepti, writing needs to sparkle with simplicity and originality, and she strives to find that one word that conveys her ideas most meaningfully to her readers. She believes that Mark Twain had the right idea when he said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.”

Mirror Image

He could not take his eyes off her exquisite profile. Her face reminded him of the moon, but minus all its flaws, radiant as it emerged from behind the clouds. She carried herself with unconscious grace, and he adored the ground she walked on. He recalled words from a classic Hindi movie, where the raspy voiced hero pleaded with his beautiful heroine, asking her not to place her dainty feet on the ground, lest they be soiled. He had laughed, with the rest of his generation, at the idea, but he could see himself adoring her blindly, willing to anything she asked him to.

Then one day, in the throes of twilight, when the breeze blew into his ear balmily, he could contain himself no more. In the shade of a tamarind tree, with all its little leaves twinkling and swaying, he went down on his knees. “Marry me, please! I cannot live without you!”

Her face paled, her lips trembled, as she shook her head gently, not wanting to tread upon his heart wantonly. “I cannot marry anyone at the moment. I have an older sister who is still unmarried and only after she marries...!” The words fell like a hammer on his ears. He did not think twice as he said desperately, “I will look for a boy for her! We can wait!”

She shook her head. “It is not that easy. She is in love with a man, who is also in love with her. But our family is against it as he is from a different caste.” She took out a crumpled photograph from within her bag. The same exquisite features and lustrous eyes stared out at him. As he stared at the aquiline nose and a complexion like dewdrops on a rose, he said impulsively, “She is beautiful! Anybody would fall in love with her! I didn’t know that you are a twin!”

She smiled ruefully as she said, “The man she loves is in hiding from his family as they are determined to get him married to a girl from an affluent family. Even we do not know where he is, as he does not want to put us in any danger.” She looked at him squarely. “I will marry you if you find him for us.  My sister’s happiness means everything to me!”

He agreed instantly! How difficult could this be? “In the meantime, I do not want you to meet me. This is a dangerous game and I do not want you to be hurt.” Much against his wishes he succumbed, confident that he would succeed in his task in a couple of months. He saw himself as a Knight from King Arthur’s table, riding in armour, to win his lady love. All those Literature classes which he had taken to impress his pretty young neighbour, came in handy now.

And so the hunt began, as he pretended to be the boy’s friend, and walked into the opulent house that took his breath away. The parents proved to be as close mouthed as clams, and he could get nothing out of any of the numerous cousins, aunts and servants, except suspicious sidelong glances. Then one day, he was ousted from the house unceremoniously, as the smiles had begun turning strained. He was dejected, but the thought of his beautiful bride to be, and the sorrow in her eyes as she spoke of her sister’s happiness being vital to her own well being, made him plod on.

One day he called her up. “Could I speak to your sister? Maybe she knows where I could find him! Some little clue... anything!”

“She is still in a state of shock. She will not be able to help you at all! She was always so full of life, but now she has forgotten to smile even!”

Months dragged on, with no news. He went everywhere, photo in hand, even though she had cautioned him to be careful. “They are rich, unscrupulous folks. They will not hesitate to kill you. Don’t let anyone know you are looking for him!”

She paused and went on. “The girl they want him to marry also comes from a family with a tendency to quarrel. So, pray, be very careful! I don’t want to lose you!”

At that moment, he could pluck stars from the sky, jump off the highest mountain for her [all those Literature classes again!]. And all she wanted was for him to find one measly man!

Every day he would scour around the town, even taking leave from his not-so-exciting job. His mother was livid. “Why are you doing all this for a girl you don’t even know that well, you besotted fool?”
Not know her? She is the love of my life, he wanted to proclaim to the world, stand below her balcony and spout classic lines to her. But it was all too premature. His parents would lift him up bodily and lock him in his room, to cure him of his ‘madness’. He had just got a job, and they did not want him to throw it away.

“Ma, give me just two weeks more? I promise to stop after that!”

The clock clicked on onerously, he began to lose weight, his heels became calloused and his hair grew frizzy, as he walked around the seamier side of the city, where the shadows shielded crime and criminals. He peeped into the red light areas where garishly made up women beckoned to him, and men with deep fathomless eyes stared at him. He had never been exposed to the underbelly of life and he had very little idea how to deal with it.

A knife rasped against his neck as his wallet was torn away, but he managed to escape. “All because of her prayers!” he breathed to himself.

Once, after a particularly exhausting day, he went to her room, even though he had promised not to see her. He lay down, his head on her lap, eyes red rimmed and watery. She stroked his forehead gently, almost maternally, as she said softly, “Maybe you should stop. You’ll kill yourself at this rate!” Her large eyes were filled with concern, and he could hear the regret in her tone.

“I will not rest till I hunt him down!” He sat up with a jerk. “You and I can rest after that!” She smiled at him, but there was a strange sorrow within her eyes that made him wonder. But he shrugged it off!

Then one day, he struck gold! He was getting off an auto rickshaw in front of a three star hotel, in a remote area of the city, when suddenly he saw him, walking down the lobby. It was him all right – the same lanky build, the grey eyes that looked around furtively, as though he was ready to duck at any sudden movement, almost like an animal that senses it is being preyed upon. He appeared to be a man in turmoil, a man on the run!

He recalled her words, “He will not come willingly because his father has sworn to break his legs if he is seen anywhere in public. He is petrified, and hence, you will have to bring him here under false pretences!”

He walked into the lobby, accidentally brushed against him, apologized profusely. The next day he went back, sat down in the mini restaurant and ordered coffee, and waited for him to come in. They smiled perfunctorily at each other. A week went by, before he made his first move. He introduced himself and offered him a drink, and another, and yet another. By the end of the evening they were best buddies.

This turned into a routine, and he sensed the other man had no suspicions about him. “Why don’t you come over home tomorrow and have a drink with me? This is getting a bit monotonous, isn’t it?”
“No!” came the spontaneous reply. “I cannot go anywhere! I am in deep trouble!”

“Can I help?” he asked with the right amount of concern.

But there was no getting anything out of him. His face turned into a blank wall and he clammed up completely. This was a wall that could not be breached. It was time for Plan B.

One balmy evening, as they sat drinking together, he managed to slip a drug into the other man’s glass. He watched as the liquid went down in deep draughts. They talked about life, love and longing. The evening grew darker till finally the drug took effect. He slumped over the table, with glazed eyes. It was now or never!

He hailed a taxi, hanging on to the drunken man, making inane excuses for him as they bumped into strangers. People looked at them, but not with suspicion. Just a couple of youngsters letting their hair down! As the taxi moved, he was filled with a strange sense of elation. He had done the seemingly impossible. She would be his finally! Maybe they could have a double wedding. She would look so lovely in her rich brocade sari, eyes a-lustre with adoration and hope. Sudden love filled his heart and he hugged the unconscious man, who was the key to their happiness.

She opened the door and her face paled as she looked at the two men, one holding up the other. As he made him sit on an armchair, she stared in disbelief as his head lolled against the cushion. There was a strange expression of triumph on her face, one that disconcerted him. Wasn’t it supposed to be relief and joy?

Suddenly she turned to him, arms outstretched, and burst out crying, “Thank you, thank you! You are wonderful!” and she collapsed into his arms. He smelt the fragrance of her hair as he clasped her closely, ecstatically.

The next moment, she turned business like, as she sat him down in a chair. “You need to hear the truth now!” Her eyes were deep pools of mystery and a sudden dread suffused his body. She appeared to be almost a stranger as the whole story tumbled out.

Later they wheeled the still unconscious man on a wheelchair, into a stark white building. She was pale as she looked at the young man who walked alongside her, still shell-shocked at the story she had told him.

Her sister had been the victim of a brutal attack by the very man who had claimed to love her. He had professed to love her, but had had no intention of marrying her. When his ambitious parents had found a rich girl for him to marry, he had readily fallen in with their plans, not wanting to forgo a life of wealth and comfort.

When he broke the news to her, she resisted violently. “You cannot leave me high and dry! I love you and cannot live without you!” She fell at his feet, tears adding more lustre to her beautiful eyes, but he shook her by her shoulders as he barked, “I am not going to marry you!”

“I am pregnant with your child!” She wept hysterically, clutching at the lapels of his shirt. He shoved her aside, but her next words transfixed him. “I will not let you dump me! I will tell your parents everything. Or go to the police!” Her voice had turned shrill, and she had turned into a virago, eyes distraught, hair all over her face. Never had she looked so beautiful, and never had he been more tempted. Her beauty haunted him, day and night, but he did not want to jeopardize his golden future. Cunningly he managed to quieten her down, as he promised to marry her.

“Give me time to tell my parents!” he said, as he left her.

Two days later, he went back to her house. In the dark of the night, as the stars hid their faces behind the clouds, he unlocked the door with his key and moved in quietly. He could see her sleeping on her bed, a silhouette that breathed delicately. He knew what he had to do!

And now they were going to see her at the hospital, where she had been ever since. The nurse opened the door for them, and waved them in. “Please do not excite her in any way! She has been through enough already!”

She lay in her bed, a slight form, her back towards them. She moved towards her sister softly, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He stood, not knowing what to expect, even as the man on the wheelchair groaned, maybe because the drug was finally wearing off.

The room was dimly lit, and the girl on the bed turned around, making a strange pleading sound. Her sister kept her hand on her shoulder, as she asked him to turn on the light. He did so, and as he looked at the prone figure in the bright light, his heart almost stopped, as he struggled to stay upright. For the face that looked up at him from the bed was nothing like the photo he had carried around. It had been marred beyond recognition.

“The louse threw acid on her beautiful face!” She burst out crying, as he stared at the shapeless mass that stared back at him blindly. The acid had eaten away at the flesh on her face, and what was left was a hideous travesty, a mutilated apology for a face. He felt as though he had been hit by a club on the pit of his stomach. How could any man be so bestial, so callous? He had half a mind of smashing his hand on the brute’s face, over and over again, till there were no bones left, no face left!

She sensed what he was going through, even as she crooned to the pitiful figure that lay on the bed. The man on the wheelchair opened his eyes blearily, trying to get his bearings. His eyes widened as he saw the figure on the bed, and his gaze changed as he looked around like a cornered rat. Two pairs of eyes stared back at him stonily, even as he realized that he was in real trouble.

“You have a last chance to apologize to her!” Her voice was steely, but there was a deep undercurrent of sorrow within it, as she faced him squarely. His eyes widened as he looked at her, and gasped, “How... how...?” She looked at him in loathing, and then turned her gaze towards her sister who lay so still.  “I will make it up to you, my dearest!”

They drugged him again, and took him back home. They sat in silence, as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. She glanced at him from time to time, but said nothing.

The air was still and oppressive, as she had shut all the windows in the room. He sat there on a chair, hands pinned behind him, terror in his eyes. What he had done was even worse than he had imagined, and he saw it in her eyes... the eyes he had once loved!

She took a vial from her pocket, as she said softly, “What you did was unforgivable! Who gave you the power to make such a decision?”  She held up the vial which held the deadly acid. The next moment, her voice broke down, as she added, “Did you even realize that you had attacked the wrong twin?”

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