Wednesday, August 25, 2010

When do you know you are ready?

When do you know you are ready to write a novel?
Is it during those empty hours when you can't reach out to socialize or to make time for the idiot box? Or perhaps sitting in the classroom, pretending to listen to the lectures and writing down whats in your mind?

Or do you want to wait to get married, have kids, see your grandchildern and THEN think about writing one?

I have heard it a lot, EVERYBODY HAS A STORY TO TELL and it makes sense. But it's hard to tell a story when there is noone to listen. Writing happens when you have a story to tell yourself first. You have to accept the fact that 'I do have something that needs to be said'.  Be it fiction or the truth, a story is what makes our lives interesting. We hanker after the local and the celebrity gossip, waiting for something juicy to turn up so that wwe could sit around the coffee table and discuss it. What if we add more to that? Aren't we creating stories already? Perhaps one cannot tell you what age or what time it is when you can write a full length novel but the time you have picked up your laptop and types a page or two and still want to carry on, you know its time. When you can't sleep in the night, thinking about the storyline, you know its time. When you spend your waking hours finishing the draft, you know its time.

Perhaps one thinks that you need the basic qualifications or a degree in literature to write. But so far apart from forming simple grammatical sentences, you just need focus and a lot of passion to write anything. You have to eat, breathe, drink, sleep novel. It does not happen overnight. The process itself will lead you to many mistakes and it might take months or years to perfect the art.

Mostly it's just committment to oneself.

S0 don't wait for the day to be ready. Today is the day :)

Saturday, June 26, 2010

How can you make yourself miserable

Most of the times we are not happy with what we have. And its true for everyone. Somehow we do find a flaw in our perfect lives and make ourselves miserable thinking about what more do we want or what more we could have had.
We channel our attention towards the 'possibilities' and run after it. Somehow we forget about what we have around us and take it for granted.  We worry about several things. What people think about us, what to wear, what not to wear, why he/she is not talking to me, When will i loose weight, when will i get to wear this, when will i get my own house, when will i own a car (if not a better model), Why can't i have clothes like theirs....
somehow the list goes on and on and i can't stop thinking about the times i was thinking the same thing. So shallow and naive were my thoughts. Somehow this makes me sad.

Friday, June 25, 2010

My experience at Amber Fort (jaipur)

The pink city Jaipur has everything in store for an avid traveller and someone who has an eye for history. Not because one wants to memorize the history I had studied during my college years but because it reminds me of the golden era, where there were palaces, queens, kings, horses, beautiful jewellery and glittery dresses known as ‘Poshak’.

Our first destination was Amber Fort.

The glorious view of the fort began before we reached the place. It had glimpses of the movie I had recently seen ‘Jodha Akbar’ and ‘Veer’. Thinking on those terms I did clarify by asking our guide where else did the shooting took place. By the way hiring a guide is a very good idea. Don’t try to save on the valuable information that you would get from him. And you could also keep asking him questions. An interesting way to reach the top is by hiring elephants. We opted for the rough path towards the fort, wanting to look around and perhaps stop at the little shops displaying the blue pottery, Rajasthani jewellery and souvenirs like key chains and more.

Palace of Rajah Man Singh that had taken 25 years to be built, Amber Fort had beautiful mirror works some made of Belgium glass intended to act as heaters during winters. This was something that caught my sight since it still looked so beautiful and untouched.

Another carving that caught our attention was the sculpture made of white and black marble. It hid nine images in them. Still intact and still so live.

The view from above is simply marvellous. It showed the little houses that inhabited Jaipur and you why Jaipur’s called the ‘Pink city’ with little pink buildings. Also another formidable attraction is the carpet garden designed to look like one when in bloom. Perhaps you remember Ashwairya Ria sitting on one with the pigeons and I could feel the resounding ‘Kehene ko Jashane bahara hai…”

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Handful responsibility

It was an ideal day for Gurmeet Chadda. He sat on his chair, the one with the red soft chusion crushed now after being used for the past twenty years. He had got it made especially for himself. The old Lallu still sat the shop making chusions, bedcovers, quilts and sofa covers for the high and the low. He fiddled with his white beard, itching to scratch it but fixed his eyes on the customer who held a pair of old sarees, wanting to turn it into a bedcover for her new home.
He smiled. A toothy grin, half of them he had lost it long back but he never forgot to smile. Never conscious of the fact that he was not the handsome man he was at the time when he opened this shop.
The woman looked modern for his standards. She wore a tight salwar kameez and a dupatta that didn't cover her basic assets. Her black googles were ridden up on her head acting more like a headband rather than a piece of necessity. Yes, he knew the kinds. They showed off their expensive houses, filled with expensive things and got their stuff from places like his, bargaining like her life was on stake.
Just when he thought he had enough of her rantings the phone rang.
"Hulluji", he cooed, softly, "Kulveer did not come back from college?"
Kulveer, his only son, doing his engineering from Gurunanak das college of technology, tall, broad and manly. Just like he was.
"No", his man servant, Papu answered, "He did not. Says not coming home tonight".
Being the only parents could be difficult. He just couldn't handle his son sometimes.
"Okay wait...", he saw his son coming into his shop, "He is here", he put the black phone down, the one he must have had for the decades now.
"I want twenty thousand papaji", a rough looking Kulveer, around twentish sat on the table, "And dont start asking me why i need it".
"You took five thousand yesterday", he sat up straight, feeling the tension in his body rising, "Why do you need so much money?"
"A bet", the young man didn't look in the eye, "I lost in cards..."
"Cards!" disgust and resignation showed in his eyes, "And i thought i did not raise you to behave like this. One day you will take care of this shop..."
"You kidding me, right!" Kulveer sneered, "This garbage must be a shop to you. I'm ashamed of it!"
Gurmeet heard it and felt his heart die.
"And please I need the money not a lecture".
"And what if i dont give it?"
Kulveer did not expect that. Taken aback he floundered with words, "I...I wont come back home".
Gurmeet gave his toothy grin, "And that is supposed to bother me?"
Both knew he had nowhere else to go.
"What do you want me to then? I need the money. They will kill me or else!"
Now his father would panic. He waited.
Gurmeet smiled again, "Fine. Then earn it and i'm ready to pay your debts off".
"Earn what? I'm studying papaji. I don't earn".
"Then you had no right to spend it", he learned back in his sqeaky chair, "Come to shop everyday for a month and I will give you your money".
This, Kulveer did not expect. His father always indulged him since the day his mother died. But his father sounded like he meant it and he did not want to sound like a loser.
"Fine! a month! thats it", then he turned to leave.
"Where are you going? I'm waiting for you to join me now".

"And bhaiya you have to make it soft. Didima cannot sleep on a hard bed".
Kulveer felt his smile coming on, "We provide you the best ma'm. You see this digital image? its exactly how you get your bed made".
The fifty-ish woman grinned, "Thank you, thank you".
Kulveer rushed and took a print out.
Yes, there was a change since he had joined papaji. He knew he could not work in a place like this and had made sure that he could use the technologies of today to provide a better service. Papaji had not stopped him. In fact he did not interfere once. That made his time here bearable.
"Kulveer, here", handing him twenty thousand, all crip and new, Gurmeet waited.
"But...but...", he didn't know what to do wth the money now.
"The shop has definitely earned more. But you said you wanted the twenty thousand and i'm giving it to you".
"Papaji, I want to work here after college".
Gurmeet felt his eyes burn with tears, "Of course you can son but now that you respect the job i do, i dont want to impose..."
"But I want to come here. I'm sorry papaji for all the things i have said".
Gurmeet knew this was going to be the best day of his life. Maybe being hard on his son was not bad after all.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Magic of Love

It was not a pretty sight.
Not to Lila Bakshi who had lived around luxury all her life and after marriage she had never even seen the face of an auto or rickshaw. And if that wasn’t bad enough her nineteen-year-old daughter was married to a pauper.
To make matters worse- a Muslim.
Her darling daughter who had been pampered all along her life had to live to see this day would be a life long regret to her.
Right now from where she was standing it looked as if Monica was trying to light the stove on. Sighing as loudly as she could she walked towards her and gave her light shove.
“Here…let me”.
Monica glowing from top to bottom gave her mother a blinding smile, “Thanks mom! I never seem to find where exactly this thing exactly lights fire”.
Rolling her eyes heavenwards Lila ignited the stove in less than a second. Completed with that task Lila stood backwards, “Now what are you trying to do?”
“Why, making coffee for you?”
Lila opened her mouth to say something when Monica hustled and bustled around the cupboards around her, “So how is everyone at home mom? Grandma and Dad? They seemed be very busy…”
Lila cleared her throat, “What are you trying to say?”
Monica turned and met her mother’s eyes. The light flutter of emotion in her eyes made Lila’s heart go sadder, “I haven’t seen them for such a long time that’s all”.
Lila leaned at the corner of the wooden counter then straightened at the sudden scared thought that the counter would loosen from its unfixed hinges. Monica didn’t seem to have such doubts at all. She seemed to be comfortable around the kitchen, only hopeless with making anything, which was a surprise for Lila Bakshi who had never wanted her daughter to learn anything about the kitchen. She was supposed to study and make big name for herself or at least get married to man who was at least rich if not of their community. But then when it came to love Monica always seem to take it as it came, placing it above everybody she has known all her life. Like her family. Last year when Monica turned eighteen, she had come home married. And what a birthday she had had that day. Raoul, her husband had come close to hitting her and she was just too shocked to see her daughter actually smiling and telling them all that she was married. Monica’s grandma had a literal heart attack…and all along Monica didn’t think she had done anything wrong!
“We all miss you Monica…”, Lila said gently, only because she felt too raw to hide anything. No matter how dumb their daughter was…they did miss her. The house just didn’t seem the same again without her.
“I miss them too mom”, Monica returned softly and if Lila wasn’t mistaken she heard a soft sniff in her voice.
Lila was torn between dragging her daughter out from here along with trying to maintain her dignity.
“Tell me about them. How are Ninad and Tanya? And their cute little sons?”
“They all are fine”, Lila answered distractedly as she noticed that her daughter had poured almost no water in the coffee.
But her attention turned more towards her daughter’s appearance. She was wearing an old worn out shirt, which was hanging out of the long skirt. The skirt was the one Monica had brought two years ago at ShoppersStop and being quiet expensive and excellent in quality it still looked quiet new. Only her long hair was coming loose but her face shone without makeup and all that youth in her glowed on her face. No wonder she got picked by that man, Lila thought bitterly. Even in that drab outfit she outshone any world-class beauty. Monica had inherited the Bakshi’s features and her mother’s beauty. Her eyes were light grayish blue while her complexion was milky white with permanent rose blush at the tip of her high cheekbones, which were slightly filled. Her lips were full and shone with permanent gloss while her chin had a slight cleft in between. She looked a lot similar to Ninad, her brother but while Ninad looked tall and rugged, Monica looked delicate and small.
Whatever their financial conditions were Lila thought, Monica sure didn’t look like she was starved to death any time in the past year.
The coffee was made and Lila grimaced when she saw her daughter fishing around for two decent cups that at least matched.
“Mother would you pass me…”
Lila interrupted her ruthlessly. Whatever Monica looked like she could never be happy here, “Come with me Monica”, Monica spinned whirled around at the suddenness of her mother’s voice, “Leave all this nonsense and come with me!”
“Leave?” came the blank question and Monica blinked in confusion, “Where mom? And I asked you to pass me…”
“I’m asking you to leave with me Monica. Come back to your home. We all miss you at home. I’m sure that they will be delighted…”
“Mom!” Monica shouted, “I can’t leave. I’m tired and…”
“That’s what I’m taking about”, Lila returned in a satisfied voice, “You look as if you have been on feet all day, your face is flushed with sweat, your dress is so old that I’m afraid to even touch it in fear of tearing it…and its too loose for you anyways!”
Looking down at herself Monica suddenly smiled, “Mom…its loose because I’ve a reason…”
“What stupid reason could you possibly have?” Lila asked in an exasperated voice, then turned around to look for the glasses.
“I’m pregnant”.
Monica nodded and grinned broadly.
“Pregnant? Oh. My. God”, Monica frowned, her grin slowly fading but she edged a step closer to her mother.
“Monica how could you for God’s sake!”
“Now what did I do?” Monica asked, her frown strengthening but she didn’t look angry only fed up.
“What did you do?” Lila face turned white with rage as she shrieked, “You are nineteen and pregnant, you fool and you have the gall to ask me what you did?” she was so full rage that the last word ended with a choking sound.
Monica pursed her lips, “I’m married mom!”
Youarealsobroke!” Lila returned with a shout. Her look indicated very closely to the woman possessed with wild spirits.
Monica took a step back but her anger was evident in her voice now, “You are making me angry now mom”, taking a deep breath to calm herself she tried again and said softly, “Just because you married into a rich family doesn’t mean I’m not happy here. Rumán may not be super ultra rich but we manage”.
“He is not even little rich. Don’t bother to add ‘super’ and ‘ultra’ for that worthless fellow!” Lila spat.
Rum­­án .
Just the sound of his name filled her with blinding rage. Until now she felt fine along with her daughter                                but she just couldn’t bear to hear his name. She had seen him many times and no matter how good he might look there was nothing else she liked in him. He looked down right arrogant not to forget rude and god knows what else along with that.
“Mom…”, Monica began with a warning to make her stop.
“You are managing because you manage now Mona. When a child comes what do you think you will do? Do you know how much it costs to take care of a baby? Probably both of you have to starve and sell this damn house just to keep your selves in good pair under clothes…”, seeing the increasing fear with each worry she voiced, Lila goaded further, “Think about it Mona. No food, no money…do you want your child to die!”
Monica’s face turned white and she lost the entire glow Lila had seen just a few minutes ago, “What do you want me to do?”
“Get rid of it”, came a flat voice.
What?” Monica’s eyes filled with water.
Abort it”, Lila’s sarcastic voice made Monica clutch her abdomen protectively.
Abor…! You want me to…!” she clutched herself even tighter, “No mom I will not do it! This is Rumán’s and my child…”
“Abort the child Monica. You can leave that so called husband of yours and I’ll take care of everything…”
 “You will have many children Monica”, Lila went on with a hard voice, “A child who will be brought up in a better place, a child who will be a Hindu…”
Monica gasped so loudly that it made Lila stop, “So that’s it! You don’t want me to bright my baby because it’s Rumán’s”.
“I didn’t say that…”, Lila tried to cover, frowning very hard.
Monica heaved against the counter lightly, her eyes glazing through Lila, “You’d better go mom. I think you have said enough”.
Lila looking at her daughter’s tried face on the top of that the strain she herself had put her through made her feel guilty, “Alright I won’t say anything else”, she walked closer towards her daughter and put her hands on her shoulder, shaking her a little, “But are you happy Mona…? Really happy I mean?”
Monica lost her glazed look, “Of course I’m!” she smiled so that Lila couldn’t possible miss the sparkle in her eyes, “Rumán is a wonderful man. I love him”, she added simply. 
Lila muttered something under her breath only because she didn’t want to hurt her daughter’s feelings. Monica tried to ignore that but the anger had again lighted on her mother’s face.
“Now what mom?”
“He doesn’t…forces anything on you, does…he?”
Monica’s eyes narrowed with laughter, “By…forcing I really hope you don’t mean…”
“I meant if does he imposes his religion you or not!” Lila Bakshi burst out, all red in her face now with embarrassment. Then tipping her nose in air, “I really don’t care about your personal affair Monica”.
“I gathered that with this visit of yours”, Monica’s reply came out sarcastic.
“What does that supposed to mean?”
Monica at last gave a helpless smile, “I know how much you care mom”. Then she became serious all of a sudden. Meeting Lila’s eyes frankly she answered, “No Rumán doesn’t imposes anything on me let alone his religion. But that doesn’t mean I parade Hinduism in front of him trying to convert him at every second. And you forget mom, we are half Sikh so I don’t let myself bother with the intricacies of any religion…”
“You don’t bother with anything”, Lila said and this time her anger was all dampened down.
“God is one mom. He doesn’t mind which religion He belongs to”.
Lila blinked back the tears, “My little girl talks like a woman”.
“I’m a woman”, Monica sighed and put her hand around her mother’s waist, “I’ve matured earlier than most girls do I guess”
“It seems like”, Lila pulled her hands back and stopped out, walking towards the door, “Your cousins asked about you. Ninad is coming next week…”
“I’ll try to meet them then”.
“Are you sure you want to?”
“Why not?” Monica asked with bravado she didn’t feel inside.
When Lila Bakshi opened the door Monica shouted, “Mom about the coffee…”
“Try to find the glasses as well. I don’t fancy drinking directly from the hot pot”.
Monica’s chuckle made Lila smile as well. But as soon as she closed to door behind her, her shoulders dropped with disappointment. She looked like she had aged ten years more.
Monica felt tired and exuberant all at once. Now that she had spoken to her mother after such a long time that she felt the air clearer enough for to breathe in properly than the last few months. Her family just over reacted for everything. After all a marriage between a Muslim and a Hindu was a common practice now days. She couldn’t name even one but she was a satisfied with the knowledge that she hadn’t done the ultimate weirdest thing in the entire world. And religion in marriage, does it matter? Doesn’t love count? And doesn’t the feeling that you belong to someone give that heady feeling of being on the top of the world…? And if the world interferes doesn’t love make you fight back?
Well, she was fighting back no matter what!
Sighing at people’s folly of letting go someone on the name of religion Monica walked inside their bedroom.
Straightening her shirt, which felt soft against her skin after so many washing she thought not so deeply about her mother’s words. The words ‘sweat’ on her face bothered her. She didn’t want Rumán to come home and find her turning into any other housewife after marriage. She smoothed her strands of hair that were falling in front of her face. One day she had experimented wit her hair and had cut several strands of hair in front of her forehead. It gave her a sexier look and she liked it. But they hindered with whatever she did. But the feeling of Rumán smoothing her hair almost an innumerable times a day had made her keep on cutting a bunch more. Her lashes were thick and long opposed to her lower lashes. Her mouth was swollen because of the regular kisses she got from her ever- loving husband and of course she liked that taste of the slightly bruised lips. Her eyes went to her shirt again. Maybe she should change into something more feminine, more eye- catching… or maybe into something clingy. She turned away feeling better to having to do something other than cleaning the house. Her mouth was already curving into a delicious smile, so that her face, which looked flushed with sweat, looked like a face that couldn’t wait for another day, which was definitely going to bring something good.
But as soon as she opened the cupboard of her clothes the doorbell rang. Shrugging lightly Monica walked towards the entrance door instead.

It was Rumán at the door.
At the sight of him her breathing automatically became irregular which wasn’t a surprise to her because her mind always ran through the incidents of spending herself in naked splendour in his arms, closing so protectively around her. And the magnetism of his dark eyes pulling her towards him made her throat dry. Monica always thought, who needed foreplay when you have got a husband like hers. 
“You are home!” she shrieked with delight while love and warmth dripped out from her eyes.
“I’m”, his velvety rough voice made her shiver with a feeling of being close to someone like him.
I love you , she wanted to say but instead of that she launched herself in his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could.
“Missed me?” he teased but because her head was under his chin she couldn’t see the pained smile in her eyes.   
The strain of her mother’s visit and the day’s tiredness left her with a magic whoosh…already she wanted to pull Rumán inside and kiss him senseless.
“Come”, she said pulling out of his arms with a happy gurgle, “I’ve made dinner for you”.
“You did?” he tried to sound delighted as well but Monica noticed the way he was forcing himself to smile.
They closed the door behind them and when Monica teasing smile became blatantly provocative Rumán growled low in his throat, “Come here you baggage”.
Monica giggled and shook her head, “Baggage?”
“A sexy little baggage”, he compensated but there was real need in his voice throbbing with emotion, “Now come here”.
“You must be tired”.
“Not as I’m going to be when I’ll make love to you”, he returned already moving towards her.
“I’ll take your bag first”, she said.
He shook his head but she was already tugging in from him hand, “Rumán…I’ll keep it inside…”
“I saw your mother”, he blurted out and this time there was no teasing sparkle in his eyes only a certain pained look.
Monica froze at the task of tugging it hard, “You…met her?” 
“Yes”  one word but it was enough to make her heart fall on the ground. She started tugging his briefcase again not wanting to talk about her mother at all, “Give me your bag Rumán…you must be tired…”
He pulled the briefcase back and growled, “I’m”.
The sudden change from a sexy predator to a angry husband made Monica cringe the words he continued to speak stopped her into silence, “But that doesn’t mean I’m an invalid!” he turned to go towards the bedroom indicating the close of topic.
She backed up several steps, all her fears suddenly surfing up with force, “You are bored with me, aren’t you? You want to leave me!”
He whirled around so fast that he lost the firm grip of his briefcase. It slipped from his fingers and the shock of her words made his face loose color, “What in the hell does that mean!”
Her eyes turned misty, “Why are you yelling at me?”
“Because you are making me mad, Monica!” he took a deep breath and tipped his head backwards muttering, “Aw, Hell!”
He straightened and tilted his head to one side. His stare unnerved Monica a little. He didn’t look this…different before. Almost as if he wanted to rip everything off and then start all over again. His “Come here” wasn’t reassuring either.
Shaking her head wildly Monica tried not to look away.
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t force her to comply. Instead he looked frustrated and contrite now, “I met your mother Monica and she…had few things to say…”
“What…things?” Monica managed to choke out.
“Bad things”, he growled and looked away as if to protect her from his anger now.             
Bad things?” Monica giggled suddenly especially at the way he had it. Her sweet sexy Rumán was actually angry and couldn’t even know how to be. She walked towards him without hesitation now and when he looked down at her without expression she leaned and wrapped her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek on his coarse shirt. She smelled clean scent of a man. She inhaled deeply. No matter what Rumán always smelled good.
Rumán himself seemed to relax suddenly when he felt his soft hands pressing the small of his back. He leaned down and placed his chin on the top of her head.
“Mother is bitter Rumán. She is very angry…”
“I know she is angry”, he agreed and his voice turned softer, almost husky when her hands crept to the back of neck, “But it’s been almost an year now…”
“She thinks we are too broke to have a child…”
He nudged her closer where he could feel the slight swell of her abdomen. God, he always felt good near her, “We are broke Monica”, the heaviness of his expression filled her with dread somehow and the lightness she had been feeling when she had thought everything would go well faded away, “Raising a baby is more expensive than getting married. The diapers…”
“Made easily by cloths”, she replied quickly suddenly feeling like laughing at the worry in his voice. Rumán was never serious, then why suddenly was he worrying?
“…The crib…”, he continued even though he had heard her.
“We can adjust a drawer and pull some comfy sheets inside…”
He pulled his head up and forced her to look up at him, “…The bottles, milk…?”
She raised her brow, mischief lightening her gray eyes then looking down at her already heavy breasts she said her voice filled with laughter, “Lot of that down here”.
Rumán gave up. He was glad to.
His urge to laugh became indeed a laugh. His laughter came out as a large clamour, which wasn’t unpleasant at all. His laughter was what Monica loved best. He never stifled it in fear of embarrassing himself thinking that he didn’t sound good. He knew that he looked good and sounded even better and that always filled her with pride. Her Rumán was a man in a million.
Her eyes must have indicated some sign of her feelings for he stopped laughing suddenly. Touching her forehead with him he groaned softly, “God Monica what am I going to do with you?”
“Make love to me…”
“Hmmm…now that’s something I’m willing to do happily…”
His hands reached down at her round derriere cupping it softly then she was suddenly in his arms walking towards their bedroom. Their room was large and airy and that was one thing that Monica had wanted to look like a bedroom. She loved the large soft bed on which Rumán now placed her gently. She loved the faint smell of sandalwood in it and the only light in their room was a bedside lamp. Wryly she thought her mother was right. They were broke.
But nothing mattered as long as they were together and Rumán made love to her…
Her breath caught in her throat and she forgot to think. His hands were cupping the swell of her breasts and squeezing them lightly. She realized he was talking, “Will you hate me if I tell you I don’t like your mother?”
She groaned softly, “Come here you stud!” her hands weren’t idle either. They crept lower from his chest to his waist relishing the power she had when she heard Rumán groan that way.
It wasn’t long before naked bodies moved aganist each other with sleek sweat and scent of sex took place of the scent of sandalwood. Rumán’s was still shuddering, his fingers contracting around his waist, jerking her closer and closer until it was difficult to tell who was who.
Oh. My. God”, he let out a huge gulping breath, his hot breath lifting the strands of hair on her forehead.
At last he gave up and slumped on her moving at a side to protect her abdomen. Monica turned, smiling but there were already tears running down her cheeks. She wanted Rumán to open his eyes and look at her but she knew he wouldn’t. Rumán always felt asleep after making love and that softness on his face took her breath away every time.
“I love you”, she said not bothering to think if she would disturb him. She wanted him to hear and hear he did.
He didn’t exactly open his eyes but he smiled suddenly, a dimple digging at his left chin, “Mmm…”, was all he said.

Everyday with the businessman

I call him a businessman instead of my husband because that’s what he is.
A complete businessman. I wait all day long for him to come home and I wait all night in bed for him to join me and all I do is watch him pace or sitting with his laptop or talking on the phone, It started with a pleasant arranged communion. He came to see me, smiled at me and I was definitely gone...his sweet smile captured my heart.
But some time in the later years my soul was lost.
I never found him with me with all his heart. It was either few a nods or a few grunts that followed and then slowly filled up my days and nights.
One day I sat all alone staring at space when he came back home. There was a frown on his handsome forehead and his lips were thinned with worry. I wanted to ask him what was wrong but nothing on his face showed a sign that he wanted to share anything at all. So I did what I always did…I ignored.
My married life was not going well…any fool with eyes and ears could see that. In the company of my family I was the gay one and my husband would sit staunch and uncomfortable. When we would reach home, there would no communication but there was always lovemaking. I don’t know if I should use the word ‘love’ because the kind of lovemaking we did was only on bed.
There came a point when the situation at home was becoming stifling. I wanted an outlet and I wanted it soon. It wasn’t intentional…this man I met up with.
I was alone at home, as usual loneliness eating me alive when I logged into this new area of ‘chatting’. It wasn’t that new to me because I did chat with my friends who lived out of India.
But I wanted someone else. I wanted to talk to another person who didn’t know me and didn’t expect me to be the dutiful wife. I met him just two days of this unhealthy affair of asking people about their sex lives and their partners. I didn’t know that it was effecting me in anyways. Many people did it, so why not me?
Two months later  I had a lover who loved me and a husband who didn’t even look at me. It was soon turning out that I no longer liked this part of my life.
All I wanted was a husband who would respond me the way I wanted him to.
“I know what you are doing”, he said quietly just after when I thought I would tell him about my affair,  his eyes were fixed on the screen and I heard the quite clicking of his keyboard with heart in my throat.
I stiffened on the bed beside him, “Hmm?”
“I want you to stop meeting him”.
Surprised I looked at him with  eyes wide open. His words may have sounded mellow but there was underlying tension rumbling and I shivered despite the heater in our room. He turned suddenly and his eyes burned through me, “What did I not give you?”
“Love”, I fired back and for a moment he looked astounded.
“We are married since three years!” there was no longer any mellowness, only anger, “What do you want me to do?”
Tears were steaming down my cheeks and I didn’t even realized that, “I’m deaf in this situation! Do you suppose I’m supposed to look into your eyes and know that you love me? Because even if you want me to do that…I see vacuum. I can’t see any feelings in you!”
His face had paled and I was afraid that he was going to hit me but all he did was get up and leave as quietly as he came in the evening.
I didn’t sleep that night. I lay all night in bed contemplating my life with my husband…but I couldn’t recollect anything at all. I got up in the morning tired and hurt knowing that he was not coming back…at least not now.
The knock on the door was sudden.
Frowning I wondered if it was my lover. Feeling disgusted with myself I went to open the door and when I saw my husband I stepped back in surprise…
“It isn’t going to happen”, he began and his voice was sounding so uncertain that my surprise and curiosity grew, “I can’t change overnight…and I can’t change what you had done. If you are asking me not to blame then I’m sorry I cant do that either..”
“Are you trying to say something?” I drove the point knowing that we had to discuss it now or never.
“Why did you marry me?”
That wasn’t a difficult question and I responded easily, “I love you”.
A frown was marring his brow, “I didn’t even talk to you”.
“I know”, my eyes grew solemn, “I fell in love with your smile”.
He opened his mouth to say something but he seemed to be stuck. Good, I thought relishing his uncertainty for once.
“Business has made you mechanical …you no longer smile, you no longer enjoy, you no longer give yourself freely…mostly because maybe you never trusted anyone at all in you field…”
“After that affair you are having, you are asking me to believe you, trust you?”
Wincing at the barb I nodded, “Even after all that…yes I ask you to believe me. Trust me. All I want is your love… is it too much to ask for?”
I looked at him…waited for several minutes…held my breath…
 “And all I ask you to do is acknowledge my presence! And realize that I’m not a living doll…that I have feelings too. That If I can’t show, I do feel them. I can get hurt, I can cry, I can…do everything. All I wanted you to do was to be faithful”
“You gave me no reason to”, I murmured, miserable to my crux.
That night, dread and horror filled up my heart. Somehow knowing that I was going to loose my husband, I realized that I never actually minded him being a businessman. After all I had never been a perfect wife either. Had I ever made him feel comfortable?
“Can we start again?” I said in the middle of the night, touching his shoulder.
The moon was still full and I could see his eyes flickering as if waiting for this moment all his life. One more thing I noticed was that the curve of his lips was turned upwards…my husband was smiling!
“What if I had an affair?”
My senses turned numb that moment and I didn’t answer.
“But my reasons are not strong enough, I guess”, he looked calmly furious that moment, “I’m letting you free…that’s what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“No I…”
“No more lonely nights anymore…you have the world to yourself. Instead of making our relationship strong, you choose the wrong way…”, the lights outside our bedroom were dimming and I could no longer see his face. All I knew that the dread carrying inside my heart had come to reality. I’m free but would living without the man I loved the most is worth the freedom?

Hello readers :)

I got a proof of my book today and still thinking "There is just so much more to do".
Hoping that the book be available to you all very soon.

Her Wedding Night

“Come away with me!”
His hands hurt and his mouth was tightened into a grim line of remorse and anger, “Please…!” he begged as he pulled her closer to him.
“No”, he heard her lifeless voice and there was no emotion in her voice.
There she sat, so young and beautiful on the bed, wearing the bright red glitters of bride and golden of the sunshine.   Her eyes glittered, her tears already dry and spent.
“No”, she repeated but there was no firmness in her voice. Raising her gray eyes she bit her lip. A habit that was endearing to Arnav for a very long time-almost three years  
He moved closer to his, cupping her face in his hands and forced her to look at him, “But why! You don’t want to marry this guy, do you?” his mouth slowly moved closer to her when she suddenly pushed hi \m away from her. Her gray eyes no longer dim “Damn you Arnav! Damn you! What do you want me to do? Leave all this”, she spread her hands and looked around, “You want me to go with you and disgrace my family…my husband!”
“You don’t even know him”, he snared, his no longer pleading, “That guy could have seen you hundreds of times in a wedding…is it my fault that I don’t belong to your community?”
“No”, she said morosely, “It was never your fault. And that guy you are referring to is now my husband”.
“I don’t care a damn about that! He hasn’t touched you. I have!” he pulled her closer again and plundered his mouth into hers, punishing her for the torture he was going through sitting here waiting for her relinquish her principles for once and do something that they both wanted. He moved her lips closer to her ears, “Can you tell me that after being with me you want to be with him? I can hear your heart beating Shriya. Its telling me that I’m the only one whom you will ever love!”
“Y-yes”, she answered, her voice no longer steady. It shook with the force of love she felt for him.
“Then come away with me…you know you want to…”
“No”, she repeated again.
His whole body stiffened and he suddenly let go of her. She fell on her back and stared at him with helpless eyes. Pulling his T-shirt down to his jeans he ran his fingers roughly on his thick long hair. It almost reached his shoulder.
“You are too young!” he protested, “Why in the hell they got you married?”
“We, Arnav”, she repeated, “We are too young. You forget that we are of the same age”
“So what!” he barked then closed his eyes swallowing the pain because he knew that no matter how much he protested now Shriya had made up her mind. He looked at her drinking in the beauty, the innocence of youth…only eighteen waiting for her husband to come and ravish her. Just the thought burned his blood. He felt like killing…he felt like dying!
“You have to leave now”, she said, her voice marvelously calm again, “I hear footsteps”.
He narrowed his eyes, “You want me to go”, repeating her words as if he was hearing that he was about to be given a death sentence, “And what then? Where do I go from here?”
“I know where I go from here Arnav. Where you go, you have to decide”.
“I want you. Only you!”  He shouted again.
She closed her eyes and looked away, breathing unsteadying while silent tears ran on his cheeks.
“So I should go?”
She nodded and pursed her lips, an unwanted sob passing through her lips.
“God! Don’t cry! Why are you crying”, he almost sneered, “It should be me who should be crying. Should I?”
“No!” she yelled this time and then glared at him showing the old sprit that had attracted Arnav to her at the first place, “I want you to leave. My husband is going to be here any minute now. Do you want him to find out that I was having an affair before our marriage?”
“I don’t want to shame you”, Arnav drew a sharp breath, “Or do you think that is why I came here. Climbing that window?”
“I just want you to leave”.
“I’m asking you again”, he slowly walked towards her, “I’ll earn Shriya…I can make money. We don’t have to live on love only…”
“So that’s it, is it?” he paused on his steps and looked at the because he knew that this would be the one last time he would.
Their eyes met and a strong current seemed to pass, Arnav turned away before it destroyed him. He slowly walked towards the open French window. Though he didn’t look back he could hear her soft sobs and she didn’t even call his name. The door of the room suddenly clicked and he quickly climbed back. The last thing he heard was a man talking and Shriya’s soft answer to him.
His Shriya was married.
His beautiful young Shriya was married and he couldn’t do a damn about anything. He walked slowly on the road his eyes blind to the fast paced traffic coming along on the road.  Miraculously he walked straight without getting hit, his thoughts only about the wedding night of Shriya ahead. She was not his any longer…
His eyes hardened at the thought. She could have come with him. If she loved him, she would have come with him…
Maybe she didn’t love him enough. Maybe…just maybe their love not strong enough to protect them.
A tortured cry left right from his heart to his mouth and the only thing he didn’t do was to cry.


The gray in the sky dipped above leaving streaks of sunrays flowing through the clouds that touched the green mountains and further. On them walked a solitary lad; his hands tucked in his pockets while he had his head bowed not looking at anything in particular. His young face twisted into knots of worry while his eye black and thunderous contemplated the previous evening. Nicholas Harrison still couldn’t stomach the idea of being left alone at home while everyone left for the fair in the city. London was a place that he wanted to see again and again but he lost the chance just as he lost many other things all along. He willed himself not to cry; though tears filled his eyes making him even angrier than he was back earlier. If only he hadn’t fought with Paul, then he would have been with his family but now as ever he would go home alone. A home, which he couldn’t even call his home. He found a stone standing as solitary as him just a few steps away and walked hurriedly towards it so that he could ease that pain in his calves because of walking so far. He didn’t have to shade his eyes to look at the town house that stood proudly so far away from him. The twinkling lights seemed to mock him, as did the knowledge that he had no right to think about Avrolo’s house as his own.
A sob escaped his throat.
No he was and will be alone for all his life and no…but no one would cry over his grave.
“Nic’lous!” a voice, tiny noise that made him brush the single tears off his cold cheeks.
The fierce expression was still there when he saw the little creature climbing over the stones and stumbling over to come to meet him.
“Cristina!” he shrieked at her.
Damn it but the little girl who wasn’t even eleven yet was making his life hell.
“Nic’lous! Whatcha do’ng ‘ere?”
Her voice was still very faint to his ears and to his irritation he found himself looking at her and waiting for her to join him. He checked himself in time and this time yelled properly at her.
“This is bloody nuisance Cristina!” he bit out savagely and heard a short scream.
Damn It! He muttered to himself. One day she was going to kill herself before he even blinked his eye once.
“Nic’lous! I’m falling!”
“No you are not!” he told her in the same fierce voice when he saw that she held on to a tiny stone while he legs were tangled up in a twisted way that seemed reluctant to come out.
“Help Nick!” she cried.
“That’s Nicholas for you”, he muttered.
“Ahhhhhrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried out loud enough to burst his eardrums.
Damn Americans! He cursed and bodily jerked her for the stone and heard her cry out again. His whole body was already filled with rage that he didn’t pay heed to her pain. He just wanted to remove her from there and tell her to get the hell out of here.
“It hurts Nic’lous”, she wailed softly.
In the dark he couldn’t see her face properly but he knew how she looked like. His hands unconsciously went to her soft skinny cheeks where he found were wet with tears.
“Don’t cry now”, he cooed softly, all his rage and energy that filled with it seem to drift away so quickly that he wondered a second about it.
 Slowly, as if it was his heart that was on risk he untangled her legs and pulled her. At the same time Cristina put her arms around him and clutched his body like a vice, crying softly. He patted her back softly not trying to pull her way. It wouldn’t do anyways. Cristina did what she wanted and right now she wanted to cry. He understood. After all she was another who was left behind.
He almost felt stupid now, feeling pity towards himself while he should be thinking about this little girl whom he had to take care while everyone were away.
“Now why are you crying?” he asked, his mouth almost touching her dainty ear. She stopped crying at that time and gave a huge hiccup and pulled herself to face him.
“I saw ghosts”, she confided to him.
She nodded vigorously and then again buried her face under his chin.
“You ‘eft me”, she said.
He groaned suddenly. Slumping on the ground with her clutching him to tightly. Wondering why he always would be a part of Cristina he placed his hands on her shoulders and removed her away from him.
“You were supposed to be sleeping”, he chided.
“But the ghosts came”, she answered on another hiccup.
“There, there now”, he said softly, “You are not to cry princess”, he said on a smile that came right through his heart and lighted his eyes.
“But the…”
“Come on I’ll take you home. You should be sleeping right now. Not climbing mountains”.
“Yo’ were climbing’”, she pouted her pretty lip at him.
He gave her a slight innocuous pull towards him and made her look at him, eye to eye.
“You are not to climb again. Do you understand Cristina?”
Her mouth trembled again and she looked like she was going to cry again.
“Why did mama go away?” she asked suddenly.
“Your mama is coming back tomorrow”; he told her in a colorless voice and then took her hand in his walking almost without her permission, dragging her out of here.
But her feet took her where he took here, “Why didn’t they take me?”
He grunted something and kept walking.
They climbed downwards, slowly because of her and then because Nicholas was so tensed and angry himself because of the subject he wanted to be alone again.
“Arvolo don’t like ye”, she kept on talking unaware of the stiffening of his body, “Is It ‘cause Paul fought with yo’? He told me…”
“I know what he told you”, he said gruffly, hauling her body against him and walked faster than ever.
Right now he didn’t want to discuss this topic with anyone especially with Cristina who was the main root cause of the fight.
“But ‘e tried to kiss me. Yuck!” she shuddered and because of the darkness didn’t see Nicholas pale visibly.  
“He is just a boy”, he said, trying to reason out with himself.
“A boy! Why Nic’lous ‘e is sixteen!”
“And you little miss Muppet are ten”, he reminded her. 
They were close to the town house now and Nicholas felt relived that they wouldn’t be discussing this any further.
“Why didn’t you let me tell mama this?” she asked. The porch light focusing on her brazen red hair
“You are not telling this to anyone Cristina. Never”.
Her eye that shone in green emerald stared hard at him, “Yo’ will get beaten agai’, won’t yo’?”
“Damn it girl! Get inside and go to bed”.
He pushed her inside and was going to close the door when she caught his hand almost convulsively, “Are yo’ goin’ agai’ Nick?”
He nodded, “Now go to sleep and…”
“Don’t go! The ghosts, yo’ see? They will eat me”.
“Cristina…”, he began, weary of taking care of her for the whole day. He had been listening about these ghosts since the day she came to live here and it bothered him too much to care for her.
Oh yes he had come to care for her and what would that lead to? As far as he knew all the people he cared about left him one by one. First his mama and now his papa, whom he couldn’t even call his papa.
“Are you goi’ back t’ mountains?”
“The gh…”
Bitting back a really ferocious oath, he slammed the door behind him and swept the little girl in his arms, carrying her to her room upstairs. For a boy of eighteen he was mighty strong and though his face and body already showed the signs of a little boy, there were certain lines and creases on his face that somehow made up for that face that he was already a gown up man.
At last when he reached her room, he pushed the door open with one big foot that was bounded by heavy leather boots. The noise was enough to make the whole house echo with it. He stared right at the huge white bed and without looking at her, he laid her gently on it. The light was still on in her room and the way her small bonny body looked made his heart awash with tenderness.
He smiled, unable to help himself, “Now sleep, will you?”
She shook her head, “The ghosts will come and…”
“There are no ghosts princess”, he said, this time in a voice that was filled with a certain emotion that he rarely did with anyone else.
He turned to leave when she caught his hand. He sighed and turned, “Yes?”
“I’m cold”.
“Oh yes”, he said and pulled the heavy blanket up to her chin while she blinked her huge green eyes at him, “How forgetful of me not to think about It, no?”
He touched her nose fleetingly and smiled again when she giggled and closed her eyes, snuggling into the sheets, her hair tumbled across the pillow framing her face. He found himself looking at her little smile playing around her pouting pink lips and the nose that had a significance of its own. It was long and beaky and just right for her heart shaped face. Simultaneously his eyes went to the little body that was under the thick blanket and he frowned when he thought how little she was. She needed the love that he always hungered for. But somehow,  his own little princess should get the love that she deserved.
Just the thought of her being engaged to Paul at such a tender age made him so angry that he could almost taste his rage again.
He bent to her innocent face and found a drop of a tear fell on her shinny white cheek. He let his finger clean it away from her while he whispered almost secretly in her ear, “No ghosts will plague you my princess. Count on me”.

A sharp slap across his face and Nicholas fell outside, on the porch. His eyes never flinching from the sixteen-year old boy neither did he raise his hand to touch the sting on his right cheek.
“You bastard! You can’t even clean a simple boots of mine and you yourself wear that expensive boots. Why have you stolen them my lad?”
Fisting his hands, Nicholas tried to get up, still gazing in his eyes with open hatred, “Neither am I a thief nor am I a lad, Paul”.
“Paul! Don’t call me Paul with that filthy mouth of yours. You may as well call me Mister Bennington. Yes”, the boy said, his handsome face looking ugly because of that nasty smile, his cold blue eyes darting proudly at him, “Get up you Bastard or have you no guts to fight?”
“I’m not a bas…”, he began when he saw Avrolo behind him, his face itched with lines of worry when he looked at what was going on.
Looking at the old man with the same equal hatred, Nicholas admitted, his tongue rolling with disgust, “Aye Paul I’m a son of a bastard”.
“Nicholas!” Avrolo choked on his name calling him back with desperation.
But Nicolas didn’t stop, he walked on and on without looking back. for a while he wanted nothing to do with Avrolo, Paul and the new mistress.
Blinking his eyes, Avrolo raised his inquiring eyes at Paul. Knowing Paul for the past year he knew that this was one spoiled brat that he cease all happiness in his house. At sixteen, Paul had blond wavy hair that attracted everyone towards him and his eyes so blue that one might never want to look away. But when one did look at him, there were traces of such malice that one might even shudder. Just as Avrolo did just now.
“Cris was singing his praise this morn dad and I didn’t like a bit. She is mine”.
“And that’s It?”
Paul glared at him, his blue eyes narrowing, “That It! It will be years till I convince her that she would a Bennington and that bastard will spoil it all for me”.
Even though Paul wasn’t his son, but the son of his new wife Avrolo did want to mind the title but each time he looked at the hurt in Nick’s eyes, his own heart and eyes filled with guilt. He could never give what Nick wanted.
“Perhaps you could go riding this morn, Paul”, Avrolo suggested, shading his eyes from the sun, “Take the brown one”, he warned,
“Why not the black one?”
Because It’s Nicholas! He wanted to shout. And just then he heard the sound of clip and clop of a horse racing through the woods. He wished it wasn’t what he was thinking. Paul heard it too…and saw too.
Midnight, the beautiful black horse passed through them and on It sat Nicholas, his own back hair flying as if a part of the horse.
“That…that…”, Paul spluttered in anger and ran towards the ground shouting all types of  curses that shocked Avrolo to his core.
Just then Cristina came out running, “Avrolo! Is that Th’ ‘orse?” she asked, her freshly cleaned face shinning in the sunlight and full of joy. But the joy faded when she heard the angry spluttering at the horse rider.
“Why that’s Nic’lous!” she exclaimed in delight running towards the ground and screamed when Paul shouted at her too.
“What are you doing here? Get inside!” Paul shouted at her.
“Let go!” she cried, “Let go!”   
The horse stopped right in front of them. Avrolo saw the face of Nicholas becoming thunderous as he saw how Paul was almost dragging Cristina inside the house, holding her by her hair. He could have shouted and put stop to It at once but he didn’t. he found himself looking forward to what Nick would do. Already his little niece, Cristina was crying pathetically and her voice called ‘Nic’lous’ so many times that he could almost see the pained expression on Nick’s face.
“Unhand her Paul!” his voice boomed and suddenly he sounded and looked very much a boy of eighteen years.
Paul’s hand froze as he looked at him and Avrolo felt like shouting ‘hooray’ at that fearful expression on Paul’s face.
“Leave her or else you are going very, very sorry”, Nick slowly drawled.
Paul jerked her and Cristina almost fell on her feet but just in time Nicholas bent and with single hand pulled her in front of him. But his eyes never left Paul’s.
“Touch her again and I’ll make you cry so hard that tears will dry up in those cold blue eyes of yours”.
Paul became indignant at once , “We are engaged”.
The cries of Cristina became more pronounced when she heard that and she wept against Nicholas chest that almost drenched his shirt with tears.
“Not until she is eighteen Paul. And not until you have a seizeable amount to feed her mouth. Till then mister Bennington she isn’t yours”.
Raising his finger as a salute, Nicholas raised his horse, shouted his command over him and rode away into the woods again.
By that time Paul ran into the house, almost murderous to any eye if one would see him and Avrolo got the proof of It when he heard precious vases and mirrors being smashed in the house back. but Avrolo couldn’t help the feeling of pride when he saw the faint image of Nicholas and Cristina on midnight. He was perfect and he wished…
Suddenly he couldn’t bear it. A thoughtful smile played across his lips while he went inside his house and repeat the command to Paul not o destroy the house that would be his once he was of age. Oh, he would get the house right…but not before he made something out of Nick.

“Now listen up princess”, Nicholas said in the most commanding voice, “You will not show me tears again regarding Paul, Okay?”
Nodding vigorously, Cristina smiled at him with almost blinding hero-ship eyes.
“And you will not be alone with him. If I’m not around”.
Again she nodded vigorously.
“That’s settled then”, Nicholas said and leaned back on the stone. He yelped when he realized that the stone was still hot due to the sun.
“Are yo’ hurt Nick?” Cristina asked, her hand cupping her chin while her eyes looked at him with strangely matured eyes.
“Hurt? Aw no! the stone is damn hot”, he said.
“Paul beat yo’ hard, did ‘e?”
Nicholas silently regarded the girl sitting opposite to him and then looked away. Moments passed way, he didn’t feel like talking nor did she talk. Nicholas was almost awed by the understanding that Cristina showed by not pursuing the matter further. He found himself almost content sitting with her and looking far above, across the moors surrounding the town house. Greenery! There was everywhere and flowers of all colors surrounded them.
He was just beginning to smile when he found Cristina was staring at him, rather than looking elsewhere.
“I won’t marry ‘im, Nick”, she told him and from the way her eyes glittered with determination Nicholas didn’t think she was kidding.
To his surprise he found himself agreeing, “I don’t want you to either”.
“Then why…?”
“But then you are going to”.
She asked again and there was desperation in her eyes, in her voice that made his heart ache.
He got up abruptly facing the moors, his back to her, “It’s what your parents wanted. And after some time, you will find that you want the same”.
He waited for an argument.
He got none.
Instead he found Cristina’s small hands encircling his waist and resting her head on his back. He stiffened in response of her innocent act.
“Mama didn’t come back today”.
“She will in the evening”, he assured her and found his voice going hoarse.
Midnight snorted and raised two if his front legs gracefully.
“It’s time to go Cristina”.
She didn’t budge an inch, “He is cruel and jealous”.
“Jealous?” he chuckled, wanting to lighten her mood, “What do you know about it?”
“I know a lot abou’ It”, she assured him back, her voice full of melancholy,  “If only I could make everything the way it was before”.
“Lets not talk about it”, and even though in his heart he knew he should talk about It to her, he didn’t. Somehow the thought that Paul was going to claim her when she would be eighteen made him feel almost numb with pain.
And then it hit him and he groaned.
He turned suddenly, making her jerk back in surprise. His hands steadying her automatically. She shook her hair, unconsciously leaving that red hair flowing on her shoulders while her green eyes lifted to meet his black ones.
God she is beautiful!
A real princess.
On impulse he picked her up again but this time his heart was drumming seeming loudly even to his ears. He placed her on midnight and climbed on him himself.
She leaned behind him and closed her eyes, “I wish we could always be like this”.
He wished the same and was going to tell her when he saw Paul riding up at them, a whip in his hand and before he knew what happened he it hit him and heard Cristina scream again and shielding her in his arms almost joining her body to his, he galloped midnight and then towards the town house.