and she will be loved

There only so many people we sift thoroughly to let deep down into our hearts. I too, have had my share of all kinds of friends, but today I will raise a toast to my soul-sister. The one girl who through time & distance will always be a huge part of my life.

My ninth- grade was a pretty rough year. There was this girl in my class K who sat right in front of me & she had the jolliest nature ever. K was perpetually sunshine and smiles & there’s no better way to describe her. Our first talk in class went like this.
Me: where are you from?
K: Tamil nadu
Me: oh a pandu
K: excuse me!
Me: yeah a pandu & an enemy
K: why? We don't even know each other enough to be enemies
Me: because you guys want to steal the kaveri water from us
And thus fake wars were waged as we fought for the kaveri we hadn't even seen.

 Since I was kind of alone & in no real intention to make any more close friends (due to a huge dramatic full - fledged Indian serial type break up with my ex-best friend) I took refuge in the library. Every recess & every free period I would run away to the library & bury myself in books. And every once in a while she would swing by & check on me, she didn't have to, no one else did, but she would and it pretty much made her almost top of my list of awesome people. She was a reader herself & we would have many talks about our heroes.

Skip a few years. We just got closer.

She got married & had a child. We didn't tell any of our other friends because when life tends to find out you are too happy it jinxes your happiness. I was leaving for vacation when she went into labor & I kept trying her cell but could not reach her. Finally she did call me & I was so happy for her that I thought I might just shoot out like a rocket with all the joy. And then she dropped the bomb. "Will you be godmother to my child?" If I had any doubts about rocketing away, I was fairly certain I would now. Needless to say I spent an entire vacation planning on stuff I’ll buy my godson, and what kind of a god mother I would be.

In a few months, she called me & said she had a big announcement and I still remember regretting being a happy go lucky loser who joked about everything because I teased her if it was a second pregnancy or something when she broke down on the phone & after moments of uncertain silence and panicking she told me she was getting a divorce. I was dumbstruck. I didn't know what to say so I cried & tried to convince her that it would be ok & I was there for her - always. I had known for a while that there was something going on between them but she hadn't spoken about it ever & I didn't ask because I knew if she wanted to tell she would have told me- I didn't want to intrude into her personal life. So I spoke to her more often & though I wanted to visit her more often than I could, I tried. Eventually she got the divorce but then there was the custody battle & we plotted & fought court - of course I only had a minimal role to play except for the daily prayers. But in the end we won. She got my godson & it wasn't all great & glorious but we got through. And I feel like hell even now because I wanted to do more for her & be there in more ways than I could but I tried & that is my saving grace. I visited her & we cried & sought solace in reminding each other of god's mercy & greatness & His grand plan.
And then she left. For good to India (family emergency). I was upset for a whole week before I could be normal again.

I cannot think of her without a smile creeping up on me because she made me a better person, and for the sister she has been she deserves nothing short of heaven.

 

For the womens web contest  If you dont check out their site -DO IT NOW

to cheer up my friend - prompt.

You wake up drowsy, still drunk on last night's ecstasy. You can feel the sunlight on your skin so you don't want to open your eyes, your hand reaches out of its own accord , searching the bed, longing for his touch. You find nothing. Panic rushes within as you sit up holding the duvet against your chest. Afterall dreams only last while you  are sleeping. The bed is still molded in his form and his warmth lingers on the side of the pillow near to you. You look around and release the breath you didn't know you were holding when you hear clanking from the overlooking balcony. Relief escapes your lips in a subtle curve and you find your inner self reprimanding you for being easily carried away. Dreams have a way of calming you, arousing you, and inspite of themselves weakening you. Making you vulnerable.

You let the duvet fall and climb out of the (very inviting) bed. As you make your way towards the adjoining balcony you sheild your eyes against the dim sunlight. You don't really want to wake up yet. You want to remain in last night forever if that's possible.

Before you enter you see him in all his morning glory - sex hair, loose shorts, bare chested and it's enough to take your breath away. You lean in the doorway under the pretense of watching him but really you are just a tiny bit weak in the knees at the very sight of him. He looks up at you and smiles and it's so enchanting that you are sure by the time he strides over to you, you will be a puddle of mess on the floor. Your heart has now forgotten the natural order and is beating to a dubstep - so loud you think the city will wake up. He stands millimeters away from you and you are hyper consciously aware of your flimsy nightdress and what it is doing to him. He leans in and asks 'I hope you didnt have too bad a time last night.' You blush and suddenly you are shy and flashes of last night make you speechless so you run a hand in your hair and purse your lips to hold that smile but actually you just want to buy time. He studies your face with a victorious sly smile that makes even the butterflies in your tummy quiver.

He pouts and says 'you have some damage to pay for' and you look up under your lashes knowing exactly what damage you caused - unaware you could be capable of it. You blush some more but now you have built up the courage to open your mouth and you really want to say something to make him blush because babe you can handle it. So you raise a hand and lay it upon his cheek because actions speak louder than words and he leans into your palm and the smirk on his face has given way to need and hell actions really do speak louder than words, you rise up to meet his lips and there's no where else you'd rather be. He asks you to join him for breakfast and you take a quick bathroom break and come back for some food because god knows you're famished. He brings out his guitar and having found out last night what a Zayn Malik fan you are he sings to you - what makes you beautiful. You notice for the first time the depth of his voice and the pain it masks and you are consumed by desire to hold him. You look around to distract yourself and a word escapes your lips- phantasmagoria. He stops mid tune and says' English is my language and even I don't know what that means.' You laugh and explain 'its a series of events real or imaginary that are dream like - and this, you gesture with your hand, - it's phantasmagorial for me'. 'Me too' he replies and you do believe him.

You go for a shower as the sun rises a little bit over the horizon. You take off the nightdress and step into the shower - unsated. And as is the case with bathrooms and long showers - clarity, divine clarity sets in. You stand for a while in front of the full length mirror in the washroom inspecting your body for any visible signs of last night's events. You remember coming out of the one direction concert, you remember lying to your parents about a supposed friends wedding in Delhi, you remember the flight and every hostess and steward on it because you were so excited to be here,  you remember all the lies you had to say to cover for that 'wedding ' you are supposedly attending, you remember the crazy crowd in the heat of the concert, you remember feeling exhilarated, you also remember meeting this disguised god on the way to your cheap hotel room and you remember taking your suitcase and joining him here. You look in the mirror and try hard but you cannot find the little crazy headed fangirl. Instead you find a woman altered beyond recognition - making a decision. When you are dressed you come out of the bathroom and he's sitting on the bed toying with his phone and looking at you - happy and maybe amused. '28 misscalls baby- you indulge me well. They're going to be mad. ' - he says.

You start rummaging for your stuff lying around and he looks confused. He asks if something's wrong and you remind him of your flight home in a couple of hours. He looks sad. He opens his mouth in protest but you beat him to it because babe you really can handle this and because you just might change your mind if you give him the chance to just because well you know how impractical this is. So even though you wanted to sugar coat it you decide against your better judgement to just speak the truth and let the pieces fall wherever and even though you had prepped yourself during your divine shower about what and how exactly to say to him you can never be enough prepped to break a heart so you just go with instinct - 'we belong to different worlds. We're like the moth drawn to the flame and maybe we can stay near each other for a while but it won't be long before one consumes and finishes the other. We may have given in to our desires but this is not as serious as we want to believe it is. It will not do you good to have let loose you slept with a random girl and I come from a normal middle class family and I'm the only daughter and my parents will always be the most important people in my life and this - I don't normally do this. It's against everything I've been raised to be and don't tell me it will be fine because it won't. And when and if my parents find out all hell will break loose. And I couldn't run away - I'm not that insensitive. So for the greater good it's best we never talk about this to anyone ever - please - to protect us. If you really cherished this - then let this be our secret.'

He asks if it wasn't real enough or important enough for you and you are taken aback by how desperately he's trying to keep you but you hold strong and say ' I am not saying it was unimportant or anything short of real and amazing and ethereal but it was just in that moment. It will always be special to me because in that time and space it was all I wanted - but look at the bigger picture here. It's a messed up situation and there's only one solution.'

 You're done stuffing everything into your suitcase and you head towards the door s he follows you and you are acutely aware of his presence. At the door you turn around and place one finger to his lips and he's taken by surprise - infact you've even surprised yourself by this sudden boldness. You reach up and whisper 'it was a dream - a beautifull dream.' His eyes beg you and it weakens every bit of your will - so you rise to give him a kiss and he leans in and looks so starved for you that your heart melts right there - you give him a chaste one compared to the few recent ones. But right now you are the very embodiment of practicality which is not usually you and you know this last night has changed you in ways you will not heal. He smiles with a certain pleasant kind of sadness and says thank you for a phantasmagoria and the word sounds so magnificently divine in his deep British accent. You step out of the room before your heart begins to take control and walk across the hallway, turn around and smile - you speak the final words though you kind of hoped he would be the first to say them goodbye zayn. He smiles back and you notice its not the same smile he usually has but it will do -for the greater good goodbye he says. You wink at him and turn away.  

Justified

She doesn't understand why her mom is becoming like this. She hopes its not her fault. She tries to think if she has done something wrong, but she can't recollect. After the baby was born mummy had been going through a very common cause of post partum depression and unknowingly let of all the steam on the helpless 4 year old. It scared her, kind of, every time mummy overreacted for something small. But it was ok since mummy always made up for it later with longer goodnight stories and butterfly kisses and even chocolates before bed. Sometimes she wonders if it's the baby's fault - she loves that baby brother of hers and its hard to imagine that bundle of tears and softies doing anything wrong. But it's ok because at the end of the day mummy still kisses her goodnight like always. 

She cries, not because mummy scolded her but because she doesn't understand which rule to follow. She only talked rudely to the uncle because he was teasing her brother. It was bad of him to do that - but mummy said that you must always respect elders. But mummy also said to always watch out for the baby brother , to never let others trouble him. And that she took more seriously than anything else. It was the most mature thing she could do at that age.  But it's ok because mummy explains the matter later to her in clear spelt words. 

She's not happy when mummy and daddy announce another baby coming in a few months. She remembers what had happened the last time there was a baby in the house. Not to mention the distribution of the already reduced minimal attention she craves from her parents. But her parents seem very happy so she thinks it will be ok just like last time.

The day the baby comes she is super depressed because mummy has already been in the hospital for 2 days now and she hates the friends house she and her brother have been staying, just because it's not home. She had also been praying fervently for a sister but daddy said it was another brother so she wasn't very happy about it either. Still she decides its ok because there is nothing she can do about it.

She's even more irritated when she finds out the baby is colicky and that the doctors had to cut and stich up her mum's entire tummy when the baby was born. She worries that mummy will not heal so she helps as much as a 9 year old can. When mummy shouts and over reacts and more than occasionally neglects she understands it's because mummy is in a lot of pain. She starts helping in the kitchen and vacuuming and she tires faster than before but it's ok because she over hears mummy telling her friends that her daughter is an angel. It makes her happy to know that she is useful and can help her mummy. She smiles because she thinks now she is all growed up. 

She can't sleep at night because the baby wakes up wailing. She names the baby Dino because the baby starts crying with the loudest vocals she has ever heard- just like a dinosaur. One day when mummy is really tired, Dino wakes up and starts roaring. She tiptoes into the hall where mummy has quite literally fallen asleep. She doesn't want to bother mummy so she goes and picks up Dino and he's soft and smells of baby powder and it touches a cord in her memory and just like that she starts rocking him and humming and walking around the room inspite of mummy's constant reminder that she must only sit with the baby in her lap. And when Dino stops crying and starts smiling she feels great and she knows he is never going to be Dino again because this moment has made her the big sister again - Just like the last time she had a baby brother. And all the work she does and the tired she feels is worth it because when she turns around with a rocking baby in her arms she expects mummy to shout at her for being reckless , but mummy has tears in her eyes as she kisses her and says your brothers are lucky you are their big sister.

She's upset when mummy is trying to teach her something in the kitchen and is getting restless. She can't learn the way mummy wants to teach and mummy can't teach the way she wants to learn. She is growing up and she and mummy have more than just a few strings out of place. She feels like mummy has become distant to her, she feels doubt and rebellion take root in her heart - but she knows it's not mummy's fault, its her own hormones so she shuts her mouth and doesn't answer back a word no matter what mummy says or does - even though in her head she enacts out a completely different scenario. She wonders if things will remain the same by the time her hormones are normal. There are times when she thinks that she will never grow up and be like her mummy - But it's ok - for now - because she has learnt to maneuver around her mummy - be invisible except when needed.

She sees her mummy through a series of health issues and is always by her side. And she is the one who has to face mummy's mood swings. Obviously it stings but she knows it's a psychological issue with most people who have health troubles. Sometimes she wonders if it really is the hormones or if it is just the fact that mummy needs to let out the frustration-you know like mind over matter, taking control of your actions instead of allowing the hormones to rule the head. She says it's ok because in her religion a mother is the one deserving the highest degree of respect regardless of how the mother behaves with you. And really she loves and adheres to that concept like her life depended on it.

Now that she has really 'growed' up and she and mummy have had the ultimate heart to heart girl talks and complete chic-flick moments and now that she knows the story she calls her mom's life, she understands - better than ever before - that she has all along been the punching bag, in essence, the rock in her mummy's life. It makes her feel humbly great, or greatly humbled or something like that. All those times, all the hurt, she thinks was ok because atleast it spared her brothers from the wrath she faced, because were they in her place they would not have been strong about it, they would never have been patient enough, it might have broken their family apart.

She understands her mom's words now - just like angels never doubt God's judgement or decision, regardless of how they feel, they follow orders, they do not question and above all they love their master relentlessly - she had been mummy's little angel - in every sense of the word. She thinks back and tears fill up her eyes because she thinks of how imperfectly perfect it was - it almost trips her by surprise - and because there is another secret she will never share. She had mummy all to herself before those brothers were ever born and mummy had never been as sweet as that or as loving as that to either of them - because she will always be the first child, the first joy in their lives, the first answer to their prayers. She was given attention and love and pampering for so many years more than her brothers and nothing - absolutely no amount of hurt she faced the rest off her life and none of that attention she desired but never received - will ever compare to those times when she had her parents all to herself. She remembers vividly the treats, the piggyback rides, the caressing, the kisses, the goodnight stories, the tickling fights, the fussy eating, the long drives to the places they wanted to show her,  the pride in their acknowledgement of her- she remembers her parent's laughter from those days, their touch, the way they smelled, the things they did - everything. Sometimes she thinks these memories she has of her parents from before life lifted its fairytale facade over her, memories her brothers will never have, the things she knows about them, the way she has seen them - they are a loaded diamond mine that she will never share not even with her brothers. Maybe it makes her selfish but her secrets with them - they are hers to keep, and try as she may she could never completely explain to her brothers  these memories - & they make up for everything she feels she missed out on later.

And now when she thinks back on her life - she realises her life wasn't just ok - it was justified.

woven image

When I was in second grade, we had a lesson in which a girl’s pen-friend from Russia visits her school and they talk about different cultures and have a good time.  I found it extremely amazing how two people who had never seen each other or been in the same environment could actually become friends, of course I was a kid and I didn’t know better. But it amazed me none the less. And I decided that day that I would have a pen friend. Time flew by faster than I remember and suddenly we were in the world of computers, of electronic mails and world wide web, pretty much grown up and childhood dreams long forgotten.  I was obviously warned by parents about not only not talking to strangers in person but to keep away from strangers online too.  Over time I found and lost many friends. And some remained special, some I am still in touch with, some I lost touch with, some broke my heart. But one particular day while surfing the vast ocean of the net I discovered a dream realised , my childhood dream of wanting a pen-friend. And I narrate (with names changed for obvious reasons).

*italics are Zara's though process.

 

Zara  was sprawled on her sofa, with the laptop in front of her, headphones plugged in, rocking her head to the beat of some new song that was obsessing her, going around a forum reading fanfics to curb her reading desire. She herself had written a few modest ones, nothing compared to the talent on the forum, and  there was so much talent in there that she felt trapped, unable to allow her reading-obsessed heart to escape.  That was when she noticed a new kid on the forum, new stories, new authors - she loved it – it was exciting to be reading a different persons work, new writing styles, new perspectives, new observations to make. She was naturally judgemental, although she hardly allowed it to rule her actions, she liked making observations and checking back on them.  Self – proclaimed psychologist. So she followed what was routine to her - check out the new kids personal info –gauge whether the info seems legit,  make ran-dumb judgements with the info given, check out the written material, make judgements about the authors mindset based on the write-up, check back with personal info to see if it fits, considering it does - feel like a boss, if not – still feel like a boss and wonder whether the write-up is will-full fantasy, or whether the kid is bluffing about personal info.

Any how she seemed to like the new kid’s work and there weren’t too many comments on her write-up. She decided to comment and please, it’s like trying to be friendly to the new kid at school.  You know make her feel at ease, Go easy on her work. Turned out the kid had a blog with a lot of other exceptionally written articles. So Zara decided to comment on her blog to give her a surprise – remember be friendly to the new chick at school. Normal human tendency, right? But technology had other plans in store, somehow her computer didn’t allow her to comment on the blog – she frowned and tried a couple of times. Nope still not working. So she sent a private message asking if there was some particular procedure to comment on her blog, since it wasn’t showing her comment.

And thus began a correspondence, beginning with where exactly do you live (because obviously knowing about a person’s surroundings gives you an insight to the person’s most probable mentality) and going on to more personal discussions about family, occupations, hobbies, likes, dislikes, governments, conspiracies, religions,  ‘deforestation’, boys,  proceeding ever so cautiously toward friendship - Until very subtle declarations of friendship were made in the most acute of words.  If they were together in flesh and blood, the words would have been whispers in the wind- barely heard. A gradual change of writing style took place in their letters (as termed by her brother due to the time she took in writing those replies) , from being cordial to jestfull  leg-pulling, to debating, to daily happenings- discussions of life. They even started their correspondences with discussions about the weather in their respective parts of the world. – something that seemed so sweet to her, it was like wishing the other  was with you in person.  A friendship was forged in two hearts, a sisterhood that was shadowed by blind faith which arises with the choice to trust another person without knowing them. Even when they couldn't keep in touch for a while when they caught up later it was like they had never lost contact - effortless to pick-up where they had left off.

Zara, the dramatic one & Diana, the good girl.

Zara, the hijabi & Diana, the modern.

Zara, the elder mature one and Diana, the kid sis.

So different and yet so same.

As the friendship grew stronger, Diana suggested they meet up. Of course given their ages and places, now was not a good time, and now was going to last for quite a while.  So they wove an image into the future when they would meet.   

Zara was sitting in the uptown café/restaurant.  As usual she was earlier than the given time. Out of habbit more than boredom, she was drinking water and waiting for a dear friend.  Looking around she spotted a young couple – they are not going to make it. He is clearly a player, he will dump her before she knows it. Maybe if she hits the ladies room , I could go in and warn her – but I’d look psycho.

A young girl and an elder woman , probably mother and daughter by the looks if it – obvious physical similarities, but the girl is hiding something from her mother, probably lying this very minute, her body is shifting too much and she seems to be very distracted by someone on her phone. Lying about where & with whom questions, maybe. Poor mother seems distressed.    

A bunch of scantily dressed loud girls – expensive dressing, too much make-up which means they have the time to do that much make up hence jobless, expensive accessories, expensive attitude meaning rich spoilt brats, daddy’s darlings. Backstabbing friends, not one of them looks genuinely interested in what the other is saying. Yet they are cooing Looking at photos on the phone, probably her boyfriend and her, she swells with show-off. Far too much drama in the club.

Another couple – she’s pregnant and terribly upset, he’s apologising , worried about what went wrong. Maybe he hurt her by some dumb thing he said and she’s upset about it , or maybe the hormones are ruling the institution – maybe he does not want the kid, her hand shifts much too protectively and a little too frequently to her swelled up belly. Fear of losing the child. He seems genuinely concerned – he will handle it well, whatever it is. The way he looks at her, shes a lucky girl.  

Zara’s eyes constantly shift to the door. There’s a saying in Arabic that comes to her mind.

Al intezar ashadd al maut – the wait is even more intense than death itself.

But she would rather be the one waiting than to have someone else waiting for her, a trait she inherited from her dad – to never let others wait for you.

A girl of about 20 comes in. Her eyes scan the room resting on the abaya clad Zara for just a fraction of a second before wandering around looking for a vacant seat. She walks in coolly and takes a seat at the table opposite Zara's pretending to be a regular. Dressed in a cute pair of shorts and a vintage t-shirt that showed her  well toned back she looked younger than her age and affordably chic. Zara smiled, Not that anyone could notice through her face cover - I'd wear Something revealing for fun and probably bring you Something quite revealing to wear under your abaya, Diana had joked once.

Has to be her, I am quite sure It's her. Yup she has the northern beauty, looks like a college chic. She looks so much younger in person. But why take another table - She's surely not expecting this place to fill up with abaya draped girls. Maybe she wants me to go ask her. I'll wait and see what she does.

Although Zara meet her gaze more that once, She didn't show any acknowledgement at all. Times up - she's already in town and I fly in the morning and still I'm early and she wants to play around.  Of course she would not waste an opportunity like this. I'll leave and see what she does.

Zara walked briskly past the table with the girl she thought was Diana, wondering what the girl's Reaction would be.

She walked out of the hotel and decided she would wait in the car for a while and see If the girl followed her out. Maybe She wasn't Diana at all. How come she didn't even look all That surprised when I asked for the bill. Either Diana is a very talented actress or she isn't Diana.

That was When Zara Saw her - A girl of about 20 Getting off the back of a bike, Running a quick hand through her Cascading hair, dressed in a denim Capri with a sleeveless hoodie - A very casually sporty Chic. She wore a necklace which made Zara smile. Of course smart move Diana - that's one sure fire way for me to recognise you. I should have guessed you would wear it. She glanced at her watch and was about to move towards the entrance, When the boy she had arrived with took her hand and turned her around, his face frowning and speaking rapidly while she seemed to be answering him in quite a rush. Hm good gene pool In the family - clearly her brother. Does he have a problem with his sister meeting someone she doesn't know by face. Looks protective - Very protective.

Zara got out of her car laughing at herself for the wrong girl she assumed was Diana, and walked across the parking lot, towards her and said excuse me. Diana? She turned around and Zara saw her own excitement mirrored in Diana's eyes as she almost squeaked Zara??

The girls squealed like fan girls as they hugged and Diana's brother looked relieved.  he was probably expecting that she was going to meet some guy& get into trouble, because there really is no reason to be so worried about a consenting adult.  "Don't worry sir, I'll bring your sister home safely " Zara said jestfully to the over concerned bro as Diana rolled her well defined eyes "Please I'm not exactly a child "  He smiled a smile that showed he was her brother as he ruffled his little sister's hair earning a playful frown and a soft punch in the arm and said "Of course not you are just a bundle of wild trouble - infact ma'am I must warn you " They laughed and he left. Shall we?  Asked Zara and Diana nodded. They walked back in to find the waiter surprised at the return of the girl who had been sitting at a table for about twenty minutes replenishing the Hotel's water supply and then unexpectedly leaving And now returning. 

They ordered little food and more of deserts - both deciding that inspite of being figure conscious this was a moment to celebrate. Zara was an expert at eating under the face veil, while Diana was amused beyond speech to know that someone could eat comfortably under layers of clothing.

After they talked about everything under the sun and finally finished their lunch, Zara suggested they go shopping cuz chics got to shop together - By default. They were the most unlikely two out there - one completely conservative clad in black the other a little too modern.  After 'some' absolutely unnecessary shopping they took a cab back to Zara's place. Diana informed her brother she would be staying over at Zara's for the weekend, since taking permission would not have been useful they had decided to let him know last minute. Of course it took a lot of convincing on Zara's part and hell loads of pleading on Diana's.

They stayed up long after the stars were out planning lunches and dinners and spas and malls and cafes and bookstores and parlours and boutiques and all the fun they could have in a span of two days. Bangalore was quite a large place and they had to spend more time together. They would not get a good chance to do this again - not in the near future.  Soon it would be back to I'm-sorry-for-the-late-reply-to-your-mails and trying to fix a Skype date and sharing virtual cups of tea.  While Diana had just gotten to Bangalore a week ago to join in for her masters and would be staying with her bro in his apartment with her sis-in-law, Zara had flown down the very morning from Mumbai where she actually lived with her hubby-boy and in-laws for just the weekend. So instead of staying at Diana's place they were staying at Zara's place. They ordered in pizza for dinner and watched chic flicks, cried together and talked 'some' more. The excitement was more than obvious by the fact that neither could actually feel fatigue or slumber. So they talked until the moon tired away and waited out the sunrise from Zara's balcony. Pasts were revealed, secrets were brought out from their sealed hearts, futures were travelled, wine was tried (first time for Diana),  & all in the matter of a few hours they had turned from friends to soul sisters- almost family. The element of mystery had finally been solved - the curtain raised,  after the many years of knowing a person virtually to meet them in reality, to receive and give the hugs, to actually lol, to witness the imagined smiles and laughter  - it was simply exciting. 

After a weekend well spent mostly going around in Zara's favourite rental - the Chevy impala 67, wheels hot, music loud, windows rolled down, singing along the radio, stopping only to check out different places  and coming home long after the moon was up, Zara returned to Mumbai to her hubby-boy with recent discovery of her pregnancy and Diana joined college with hopes higher than the clouds and better knowledge of the city's hotspots. As Diana was unpacking the 'small' bag she had packed for the stay over she found a small package well-wrapped alongside an origami lily - she smiled as she pulled the flower apart to find a message from the only non-fictional person she knew who did that. And loved to surprise others.

There's more than one kind of family you know and I think we just found it. May you find blessings and joy and hope and guidance and friendship and love in this journey of yours.

May angels watch over you.

Hasta manyana.

Zara.

The boy i loved to hate

His eyes blazed at the sight of me. My body melted in his burning gaze. Suddenly the air was sucked out of me , as he smiled ever so slightly,  my lips curving in response to his.

We had a very strong history. Born just six months apart , we have shared most of our lives. We cannot think of our childhood without remembering one another,  we have been friends, cousins,  enemies and each others interests.

As kids we were pretty close, him a little careless yet protective about me and me carelessly intricate with him. We ate out of the same plate after fighting over whose turn it was to eat in the special plate, we walked to school together - me almost running to catch up to him and him reducing his speed to slow down to my pace. We sat next to each other in kindergarten , had the same set of friends and came home together for lunch. He was a hyper kid and I was the smart ass for my age- naturally making me the brain and him the brawn of all our missions. We would fight with each other if either of us ate chocolates without the other , we stole ice and sweets for each other and shared them. If we were mad at each other our we would pronounce our punishment - I'm not sleeping with you tonight. A childhood innocent romance carried on until I left the country to join my dad.

I became the urban girl who couldn't dream of life without tissues and he remained the country boy that would stick to handkerchiefs. Yet our friendship remained strong now almost stepping up to sibling rivalry. We became competitors, comparing marks, sports abilities, extra curricular activities, talents in general. We even argued about who loved whom more. Inspite of our petty fights we needed each other to play with and we were complete with ourselves - we didn't need anyone else to play with. Being the country boy he had now mastered the art of climbing trees & dodging stray dogs, while I would just freeze at the sight of a stray dog and he would have to retrace his steps to come back for me. My hero. And I was quite the urban damsel in distress. Those were the days of skaktimaan - even though I loved the power puff girls,  I agreed to making skaktimaan my hero so that we both liked the same superhero. I would pretend fall of the bed and he would catch me and we giggled and laughed. Those were also the days we sat up in the night huddled under a blanket watching horror shows and getting scared and laughing at each others fear all the while pretending that we weren't afraid.

As time went by we grew up, hormones began ruling the institution and boys and marital activities became the topics of our hush discussions at school. I had proudly announced to my friends that since I was not going to leave my family to get married the best option would be to get married to a cousin and I had just the cousin in mind, but since that talk with my friends it bothered me what if he didn't want me for a wife. That vacation I told him of my plans and he laughed along and said why not,We could have a lot of fun together, it will be perfect. I blushed since he was clearly uneducated in matters of matrimony. But my heart was at ease. My life was well planned.  Or so I thought. I just forgot one key factor - that we might grow up and change.

We grew up even more, and these thoughts became distant memories. He looked forward to being cool - low waists, cigarettes, bikes, spikes, gels, and beauty products. Girls were on his mind for alI the reasons boys were not on my mind. I had morphed into a headstrong feminist - anti-marriage, women's rights, treat the girl child equally, say no to boys, fight them,  see them as the enemy. Now our meetings were no longer as playful or as cordial. I was always criticising his thoughts, he was always arguing back and we began spending more time giving each other the silent treatment. Having being brought up in the village his mentality was a complete 180 degrees to mine. Inspite off that we talked and argued but we could not stay away for long - eventually we would forgive the other and start over again the same routine of  talking then arguing then silent treatment then forgive and back to square one. Before we left I told him that I was not going to get married at all and that he would have to look for another girl - he shrugged  and said it won't be the same with any one else they won't understand our private jokes they won't know all the things we did as kids. It will just not be the same. But if you change your mind back to wanting to get married don't change your choice of the guy. I smiled sympathetically and said no I am sure that I will never want to marry. I left thinking that I would be lighter without the burden of my self proclaimed relationship but somehow I left with a heavy heart. I pacified myself with a million reasons as to why it was the right thing to do.

He never left my mind as I grew up, went through a series of crushes on different types of boys, began believing in the hijab, started covering myself  headscarf and all, defending my beliefs and started planning my career. That vacation was a trip down our memory lanes, we pulled out old photos and talked about the things we did as kids. We had grown distant but somewhere in the back of my mind he lingered - waiting for any opportunity to pounce back into my head - flushing me with memories of us. People would talk if we remained as we were before so we drifted apart physically. We talked less and it wasn't the same. I would catch him looking at me and he would look away. We would be in the same room but not look directly. We took care of each other discretely and more quietly. When I wasn't with him - he didn't rule my head. But every time I was on vacation he took over - messing my thoughts, making me wonder what it would be like if we were together. I couldn't bring myself to a decision so I slept on it.

The next time we met I was still the same demure feminist chic but he had changed - a lot. smoking like an addict,  he had become a self-centered emotionless jerk, nothing that hurt my feminist sentiments but everything wrong about it - on so many levels. That vacation he had a showdown with my father - my overprotective dad and my senseless carefree cousin - It was a hush showdown - Not many knew about it - Nonetheless it shook the very ground we stood on, And to some extend I share the burden of being a part of the show down. I cannot stand any kind of disrespect of any degree towards my parents and in that light I began to hate him. We never talked about it - but it became clear that we could not stand the sight of each other, he thought I was defending my father and I thought his tolerance level was extremely low, though I never got to telling him that. As if by some unknown understanding we kept out of each others way, stopped talking altogether unless absolutely necessary.

That didn't help change my deep rooted feelings for him. He was a troubled kid and had seen some harshness at a very young age, For that he had my sympathy and it was the reason I longed to love Him and care for him. I cannot tell whether my love for him arises out of sympathy or my Sympathies for him are due my love for him. But I do know that I Care about him enough to Defend him and hate him enough to never want to see Him again. The boy he had become was not the boy I had imagined he would grow up to be - He had changed far too much for my heart to say yes to him but my heart remained steady.

Now when we meet there is absolutely zero congeniality, we don't talk or even look at each other - there are moments of sudden arousals, but nothing concrete. The relationship in our own words is that of hatred, spite - an enemity that chains the other in our thoughts without reason. It sounds like a pathetic excuse to me - I freaking hate him so he's freaking on my mind all the freaking time - but I fail to understand why he creeps up in my head, why he shows concern for me at the most irrelevant of times. Why when I look at him sometimes I find myself breathless, Why I catch his sight grazing my form but don't feel violated, Why when our eyes meet the world slugs away into blindness, Why when ever I prepare to leave he starts to linger around me.

There are moments when I look into his eyes and see the loathing - feel the hatred burn within me and then there are moments when he does ridiculous things like offering me his hand while I get down a bus and the touch of our skins is electric - But we don't deny each other that  pleasure.

I could never admit not even to myself, that I care about him loads more than I want to. And perhaps hope for us to have a future together.

Specially when it came down to moments like this. Standing on the other side of the glass wall at the airport his eyes blazed at the sight of me and my body melted in his burning gaze. He smiled a sad smile like he was allowing me to leave, I smiled a reassuring smile back.

Next years vacation was quite some time away. Enough time for both of us to decide what or rather whom we wanted in our lives. For now I would rest my senseless heart.

and that is why he loves her

He tossed and turned again, the sound of the cat - helplessly meowing in the chilly night - it was hurting his ears. Then it grew quiet outside. Just as he almost reached the threshold of deep sleep it started again. It pained him to be able to hear the cat. He wished he could turn a deaf ear but the meowing kept haunting him. He opened the window and squinted as his ageing eyes tried to find a cat probably stuck under a car or something in the empty night.

He put on a woollen cap and went into the kitchen closing the bedroom door behind him & turned on the light in the kitchen. He turned around to check that the light was not by any chance lighting up his room, waking up his wife. She hated to be disturbed while sleeping. He took out a plastic bowl,  wide but shallow and a half full bottle of milk.

When he reached the door, she crept up behind him and said Pappa where are you going at this time. He smiled like a little boy off on an adventure and said come with me I'll show you. She ran into her room quickly and wrapped her blanket around herself and came out.

Together they left the house stealthily like thieves in the night. They went down three flights of stairs and came upon the main road just in front of the building. His eyes squinting again as she looked at him surprised beyond wonder. Pappa it's so cold - what are we doing out here- the excitement evident in her voice. Ssh he whispered can you hear a kitten?  She nodded no her brows almost colliding into each other as she strained her ears,  closing her eyes.

And then as if they had called out to the kitten it mewed. They followed the sound across the road to under the pile of cartons someone had thrown from their balcony. He handed the bowl and bottle over to her and quietly lifted the big cardboard boxes one by one and voila - there was the feline damsel in distress. She looked barely a week old. He cautiously moved his hands towards the kitten as his daughter held her breath in anticipation. The kitten had been separated from its mother too early to understand how to judge the people's actions - Just a scared little baby out alone in the big bad world. Her heart felt sorrow for the kitten as she tried to claw at her father's hands. But he picked up the kitten despite its fruitless struggling and motioned to his daughter to follow him. Can you carry a small carton with that bowl princess? He whispered to her. Why she questioned but didn't wait for an answer- her own excitement was rising high.  They crossed two more roads in the silence of the night and reached a little vegetable shop. He asked her to put down the cartoon and placed the kitten inside it along with the bowl. Why here Pappa? She asked in a whisper - because speaking out loud felt like invading the silence of the night (and because nobody speaks loudly on secret adventures - you have to be discreet). Life insurance for the cat he winked as he whispered back to her. The owner of that shop loved cats more than his own life - he would be incapable of letting go of a weak lonely kitten and he would certainly take good care of it.  She smiled as it all made sense to her tired little sleepy brain. He was still staring at the meek kitten - she shivered in the cold. He took off his woollen cap, picked up and placed the kitten inside it and then set it down again. They waited a couple of minutes until the kitten warmed up and instead of staring at them started drinking the milk. They had just walked a few steps away when the kitten mewed again - they turned around to see the kitten standing up staring knowingly in their direction - and like offering a solemn thanks she nodded and settled down again in the cap.

By now the drowsiness took over her and she almost dozed off while standing. Her father picked her up and wrapped the small blanket tighter around her petite form and carried her home. All the while she was contemplating how heroic her dad was - just like the valiant kind generous strong knights in the books - who gave compassion and humanity more value than their own comfort - the kind her second grade homeroom teacher had said didn't exist anymore - only she now knew they did.  It made her smile to imagine her dad like a knight - it would be funny in today's world. Nice dream I suppose - he teased her as he put her down carefully in her bed and she half opened her sleepy eyes and kissed him goodnight for the second time tonight, holding his rough hand in her two small ones and said Pappa this is why I love you.

His heart soared into the heavens as it did every time he heard those words, those sacred words spoken with innocent intensity. For moments like these-for those butterfly kisses, for that smile on her beautiful face - he would slave away at that dreadful office,  for his daughter to have all the happiness in the world - he would put up with his devil of a boss.

For every jolt of joy he receives when he sees his daughter rise up, for every time she shows her childlike maturity, for the tide of emotions that drowns him when her eyes light up with laughter, for every silly prank she plays, for every single time she reminds him of himself, for every time she becomes an image of her mother, for the pride that illuminates his heart when she comes first in her class, or when she takes a decision or even when she learns something new, for the grief that kills him when he sees tears in those big curious eyes, for the fear he had never known before but feels so strongly now when he sees or hears about the evil in the world, for the responsibility that overcomes him when she holds his hand while crossing the street, or climbing the bus or when her expectant ever-curious eyes search for answers in his,  for the moments between the minutes when he winks at her and she giggles, for these kind of secret adventures they have - for that feeling of contentment, for that peaceful beating of his heart in the knowledge that he has been the world's bestest father as she likes too put it, to always remain the bestest father in the eyes of his princess - he would do any thing,  he would move heaven and earth if he could for her. He would fight all the demons within, he would never slip into his past, for her he would be a better person ,for her he would give his all.

In that one second he is burdened by all that he feels, experiences - but like the weight of the wings - the burden lifts him - allows him to fly.

And that is why he loves her. But instead of telling her all that - he plants an affectionate kiss on her forehead and says may all your dreams come true. His every isolated heartbeat- a prayer for her.