Trials and Tribulations by Fire

“Hurry up, we are already late.” “Yeah, coming, why don’t you take the car out and wait for me near the gate?”  “Ok.” Sandhya aka Sandy locked the front door of the flat and checked the door. It held. She then locked the grill door and checked the huge padlock. She did that out of habit. A habit steeped in her middle class upbringing. That was then, before, she had tasted stupendous success and became the face of the largest cosmetics company. Sandy took the lift and hurried out into the front porch of the building with her small hand luggage. Louis Vuitton. Always. She was going away to participate in a fashion show in Paris. Sandhya Roy D’Costa, a Bengali by birth, world citizen by choice, had married Sam D’Costa when she was nineteen. Sam was a racer. He had now retired from the sport and managed an Audi showroom. He was a car enthusiast and had powerful friends in the city. Due to his celebrity status, he also had a lot of clout. Sandy was going to Paris for a fashion show. A

“Moti bhains!” A shrill voice pierced the evening stillness making Navneet jump out of her skin and reverie. A dull ache started from behind her left ear and threatened to spread throughout her head.   She turned her head sharply to locate the source of the shrill tone and found a fast receding thin frame clad in track pants and t-shirt running in the opposite direction. It was Shruti Yadav, her neighbor, her classmate and a constant source of irritation. Navneet continued walking towards her house. She also decided not to take the shortcut through the park anymore from college to reach home. Shaking her head to clear the jarring echo, Navneet aka Navi, started walking faster. When she reached the wrought iron gate of her house, she opened it and let it bang against the wall till it rattled, making, Koyla Ram, the dog, jump and hide behind the rose bush. Navi looked up at the sky and said, “I just wish one day she grows so fat that she can’t get inside her house. Then sh

The rains lashed the city and there was hardly any visibility. She drove the car carefully through muddy and deep waters and made it to her street. As soon as she was about to turn into her driveway she realized that there was a small obstacle in her path. A scooty was parked in the middle of the road in such a way that neither could she get inside the gate without toppling it over nor could she get down to remove the irritating piece of metal from her path. She honked lightly and the sparse crowd dispersed and a man jumped out of the way of the menacing looking black metal piece. He also hurled a choicest piece of abuse he could think of at the woman and clutching his umbrella, walked away towards the bus. She now looked out for the old watchman who was expected to cater to such emergencies. In this case, the watchman was happily guzzling some brownish or was it light brownish liquid out of an equally brown bottle. She thought for a second and then waved madly to get his at

The flight landed at 23:50 IST, Indian Standard Time. The tires screeched to a halt and we tumbled out of the jet, ready to be jet-lagged. The actual jet lag thing didn't hit me till I reached home and dozed off. The next few days were hazy, I could not understand what was happening to me. My friends were in the same boat, I believed. Or atleast I thought so, 'coz I did not turn back and check. I went to office, said the right things, returned and life continued. But the drowsiness remained. It slowly became a part of me. I was seriously jet lagged! Wow. Is this how people lag behind jets. Aah. I am now sleeping intermittently, between naps. Sleeping has become an integral part of my routine. Previously I would sleep when my routine allowed me. Now I have changed my routine to accomodate more zzzz time. Life has certainly changed, for me.  

A close girl friend and I were having this conversation last evening. We usually end up talking about such issues, passionately, such as behaviour of young women vis a vis their mothers in law (MILs). She said, when we retort back to our MILs, we are actually behaving the way they want us to behave, like daughters in law (DILs). If we keep our sanity intact, curb the urge to murder them, and behave in a rational way, the MILs wont know how to react. This, is easier said than done. She continued, MILs as a group are a very insecure lot. They are scared that the young hot woman in their son's life is out to rob them of the unbridled freedom and hold they had on the men's lives. The young women take away the most important possession from the MILs, their darling sons! They show no remorse, no pity to the older women. The DILs take away the sons physically away sometimes as well. The MILs find themselves completely cloistered with their husbands, again! This causes a lot

Recently, I was reading a friend's blog and thinking about what could probably affect her so much. She has been always a fiery woman, lashing out at unruly bums and treat them like poo. Poo, these bums are worth, surely, but I sometimes wonder what moves me. What is that one thing that makes me cry or ponder? Now, that would certainly be human intelligence. Be it humor or a witty conversation. Intelligence makes me take note of people. Warm and dumb people also make an impact. I forget them very easily and quickly. Of late, I have behaved in an abysmal manner and ridiculed a person a lot. Of course, I am feeling bad about it. I think I have reached a stage where  I do not make fun of anybody. But baser instincts do kick in sometimes and take hold of, rather possess me, to go ahead and ridicule. I love churning out words, I like the feel of the words on my tongue. To be able to speak correctly and well means a lot to me. Hence, I ridicule, people who care less or are less car

Navratri had no significance to me till I got married. For that matter, none of the Hindu festivals did. Of late, I have begun to appreciate and learn the customs and rituals followed by my ancestors for hundreds of years. Though I was a sceptic at first, I began my journey of belief to rekindle the Hindu in me. Be it lighting the diya or drawing a kolam in front of the house, I try to follow whatever my elders expect a married Hindu woman to do.

Is ridicule a step-sister of jealosy? When we ridicule people about anything, we tend to face our deepest fears ourselves. Its a given that people who find flaws in others tend to be weak in those areas.

This is the story of Sita, a 20-something woman who badly wants to get married. She works in a software company as some bla bla designer. Her occupation actually adds nothing to the story. The main idea is the fact that she is willing to be married and is waiting for the guy who would actually get down to it. Sita could not remember since when she wanted to get married. Actually, the very idea of leading a married life had nothing to do with her wish to get married. She simply wanted to go through the motions of getting married. Thats all.

Manju woke up to the shrill ring of the alarm and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She was not sleep-deprived today. It was a new day and she was excited about it. The Flower Manju literally ran into the kitchen and opened the window. The pot was still there. A single flower peered back at her with a startling intensity as if daring her to pluck it. Manju let the flower be and turned away, as if to respect the flower's destiny. It would dry out and fall. She was not in a mood to wear a flower on her plait that day, anyway. New Soap Manju had a streak of perfection and wanted everything in her kitchen to sparkle, always. Her husband of 20 years, Ashok, called her sick. she bothered not, because, seeing a clean sparkling shelf gave her a thrill, no other could give. She was very excited about the new washing soap she had bought from the new corner shop.  After taking bath and doing the regular activities, Manju, took out the soap from the shelf and carefully, oh so very carefully,