Mistress of Magic!

"Sooo, you are a Mediator?" Riddhima asked her, the middle aged woman, who looked 20 and was wearing grey yoga pants and a long purple jacket.

She gave me a sidelong look and said to her in a non-indulgent tone, "Depends on what you understand by that word. For terms and purposes, I am a Healer, Yog guru or Spiritual Guru to you."

"Okay, but I thought your profile said you were a Wiccan?" Riddhima said, as I felt the annoyance creep on to Tara, the Guru's face, but she kept her calm. I thought I should tell Riddhima about Tara and also may be something about Wicca, which is a benign religion that concerns worshiping of Mother Nature and her elements.

"Yes. You must read up on it. Now concentrate  on your limb movements or you might get a pull". She chided Riddhima slightly and looked at me again. I felt uncomfortable. Riddhima kept quiet after that and muttered, "Yogic Spiritual Guru bullshit. With a temper like that, she should be going to Anger Management Classes!"

I sniggered but noticed Tara's stern gaze on me once again. I had a feeling she would snap at me too! I "shushed" Riddhima and resumed my meditation. The session was over in another thirty minutes and while we were gathering things, Riddhima made a motion to leave. I realized that Tara was looking at me and had asked me to wait. I nodded and looked at Riddhima for help but she had already ran off on her toes.

"You wanted to speak to me, Tara?" I speak, without trying to amplify the shiver in my voice. This woman gave me goosebumps and not in a nice way. "Is it about Riddhima? I am sorry about her. She is really nice, I mean, not that intrusive!" I try defending my friend while Tara motioned me to sit across her on a high chair, the wide white table spangled with Crystals, a flower vase with white lilies and a simple pen and a diary. Nothing else. I liked the cleanliness. I waited for her to answer as she poured two glasses of water and offered one to me.

"I usually don't do this Mudita, but I can make an exception for you, so you can stop pretending." Tara speaks in a hushed whisper.

"I don't understand what you are talking about." I stammer, because of the sudden chill that has settled in the room.

"Hahaha! Don't mess with me! Do you think I am a fool?! I mean, look at you! You are practically glowing Golden! Right? You are a witch yourself!" Tara mocked me, but I still could not understand the madness that had suddenly taken her over. But she was trying to court her fate and it is not a joke to assume you are all knowing and all powerful.

"Such things are not funny Tara and no human can read Auras. Especially not someone as closed minded as you are." I say. I was well read, even though I wouldn't venture into an unknown territory unprepared.

"Oh, so you are telling me that I can't read you? Well, let's see what your cards say!" She picks up a Celtic deck of 11 cards and shuffles them, looking at me and smiling slyly to herself. I breathe in and calm myself down. She was a wonderful psychic, but she was doing it all wrong. She had swelled in power and seemed to have forgotten the nobility of the powers that were bestowed upon her.  She stared at the cards and then looked up at me in horror.

"This is not possible! How can this be?!" She stammered as I looked into her eyes and smiled. Yes, the knowledge must be revealed. 

"You have left me with no choice, Tara." I get up from the chair and go across the table and put my hands on her shoulder. Her smugness disappears as I look into her eyes. I knew she would sense a shift in the air.

"You are a vessel for knowledge and you should tell them when they ask you, But I think it's too late now!" I bend my forehead to touch hers as tears spill from her eyes and she starts stammering, "You are a ghost! You are a spirit! You are not human! You are a demon! You are not human!" She tries to scream. I keep looking into her eyes till she leaves her shell and dissolves into me.

I stretch and turn to leave the room, chuckling. Tara had got something right! The four Death cards spread on the table, lying untouched.

                        ____________________________________________________

PS: Contrary, to popular belief, A death card does not literally represent death. It means the end of decaying and stagnant things - which in Tarot means a mark of beginning of a new life as well.

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYYY MAITHS!!!!!

Oh Dear Lord Darlings!!

How could we forget to wish our beloved Maithili?!! Tch! 

And NOOOO, we didn't!! 

Maiths, you thought of this lovely space The Darlings of Venus and brought all of us together. No one had thought we would last, but we are still around! And I love your persistence, your honesty and everything about the way you think!

So, as a part of your circle, we wish you a SUPERRRRRRRRR DUPERRRRRRRRRRRR MASTI WAALAAAA HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Love you loads!! BLESSED BE!!

Fairytale

Dear Bauji,

Yes, I still call you that Papa, haven't you noticed? I remember I was 6 when you'd said you hated the word "Papa" and wanted me to call you Bauji. And so I did, to make you happy. Now I am grown up, but there were times, when I used to get scared if I called you Papa.

How are you? I know you are stressed but I also know you wouldn't share why? Do you know how old I am? No? Umm, do you know I want to become a writer?

You asked me to jump off the building, cause I wasted my time.

It’s been so long that we have spoken like civilized human beings that I don’t remember what it felt like listening to you speak softly. Do you know how it felt when you said I was mentally unfit and I must be thrown out? I remember that was the first time I screamed at you, because you put me through emotional stress, so much so that my teachers begged you to let me off. I am still struggling to think whether I am normal. 

Image Source:  luckymonsters.piczo.com

It’s been a week that you’ve spoken to me. Why? Because I answered back to you? Because I keep doing that quite often? Because I’ve had to take up the responsibility of speaking for everyone and now I’ve no control on what I say? Was it my mistake that I am fat? I know you are concerned, but you see me work hard towards losing it, does it make no difference to you?

Was it my mistake that I blacked out? I was hungry for more than 24 hours! Did you see that? You were concerned? That’s not how I have heard anyone else’s father talk when their daughters are unwell. I’ve come to accept that you are not expressive, but is it an excuse enough to stop talking to me?

You know, it hurts real bad to be in an abusive relationship. Yes, emotionally abusive. You hurl insults at me without bothering what they do to me. Have you wondered why I don’t make friends or don’t stick together? Because I let them control me. I let them bully me, just for approval. Because I am deprived of love – love which only a father could give. Why do you think, I let guys fall for me?? Because, somewhere deep down in my heart, I expect them to respect and love me, the way you should. Which father treats his daughter the way you do? Why when everyone has faith in me, you don’t? Why have I never heard you say – I am so proud of you! Why do I always see that underlying suspicion in your eyes – You wasted my money. Why, why don’t you listen to me when I say I am scared of people, of situations and my insecurities? Why don’t you believe in me, that I will get a job which will keep your nose in the society? Why is it so hard for you to bear me around you, when it’s not been even a month?

Image Source:  guardian.co.uk

Papa, I’ve always done what you’ve asked me to. I gave up on my dream to be a designer for something you approved of. You didn’t talk to me for three days then. Remember? I never went out to meet my friends because you didn’t like it. Because you wanted them to come to our place, every time. Friendship is reciprocating – but how will you understand? You say you cannot be my friend – I don’t ask you to be – but dad, sometimes, there are things, which I cannot discuss with Maa, like my job or career and I would need confidence to take a step. You say, I will only be planning. But do you realize you don’t let me make mistakes. You make it hell for me for a single slip up. I know I didn’t score well, but you forgot how this year had been? You forgot how I battled with college, detentions, maa’s health and house work and yet, managed to write an exam which would decide my fate? Are you not a bit happy that at least I cleared?

You say things which people say you don’t mean. I have believed that for past 24 years. That someday, someday, I will get your approval. What do you have in mind, dad? That I earn 50,000/- bucks so that you can tell everyone? But dad, are you not happy with the way I am?Dad, did you know I write? Do you know I sketch really well? Have you noticed the things I write? I remember you read my poem once without asking. You didn't notice it was for you, but you said I was dark and a loner. Ever thought why? You never fail to remind me how my friends are better looking than I am or how they are already earning. Have you not noticed the appreciation or prizes I win for sketching? Or may be, they are as useless as you say they are.

Image Source:  secret.extrarisk.com

Remember, when I had to take counseling? For emotional sustenance? My counselor said I was mature and had seen things throughout childhood and hence, it is all right to be insecure. But do you realize, how worthless I feel when you say - Oh, whatever. You don't understand what an insecurity is, do you? Ever after I told you, it made no difference. I gave you a letter, a card appreciating you – I was delusional that things between us, after 13 years, were all right. How wrong you’ve proved me! You scold me for things which I don’t do and you know that. It’s painful to be at home where you don’t feel at home at all. Mom has asked me to leave for my own good – and I hope I do that. Do you notice my lack of sleep in the nights or that I keep trying to make peace? Do you notice how much I struggle to see you smile? You say you cannot change the way you are. But are you really this way? Do you really don't like what I say or do?

You know how I wish to die every day, because I cannot bear to see you like this? How did I become so Love-Deprived Papa? Why am I not satisfied even though there are people who love me? Why do I seek to be an Adrenaline Junkie, when I could just talk to you and let out my frustration? Why am I reminded of how much you spent on me when I was born? I would have died if you wouldn't have. And if you wouldn't have, how would that make you my father? Once okay, twice I ignored and thrice? Is it really such a set back? You know I spoke to Maa and cried. She said I was strong and shouldn't cry. Now, where should I go Dad? I am "strong", "mature" I talk too much, I am arrogant, I am useless, I am fat and I am nothing that you want me to be - yet, are you not my father? Are you not someone, who is so much like me and yet, nothing like me. I yearn for a life Papa, which would be happy. 

Image Source:  drkarendunn.wordpress.com 

Ask people who know me, how sad I am - loner and desperate for attention. Why Papa? Why am I like this? And if you can't bear me, so much, why would anyone else take the pain to understand and listen to me everyday? People tell me I am wayyy too serious in life - because I didn't learn to be not serious. You never let me make a mistake. You expect me to be perfect. My teachers knew me better than you did and you - you never cared to ask why I was so timid in school. 

I hear you speak when your lips don't move, but you don't even listen to me when I speak out loud.

I don't want to say it, but I am depressed. I told you I was but you rubbished it. Your lack of confidence in me is heart breaking. You don't see how it hurts when you mention bro's stellar academic record and skill fully skip mine. I embarrass you dad, don't I? Yet, I hope that someday, someday soon - you will find a way to accept me the way I am. But you know Papa, sometimes, this hope fades away. Like now... Yet, I write this, in hope to put across what I feel.

Do you love me Papa? Do you hate me? Am I anything you wanted?

Someday, I will be.

I still love you,

The Most Imperfect Daughter

PS: I don't intend to make anyone sad through this post. If I might have, please bear with me.
PPS: I had come across emotional abuse mostly between partners and this is an attempt to understand how a child in parent-child relationship gets affected when subject to emotional abuse.

Kitten Shower! - Birthday Wishes!!!!!!!

Hello Hello to ALL the Darlings of our DOV!

Life gives us millions of chances, some are missed, others are ignored, but WHY on earth should we ever forget a chance to CELEBRATE?!! 

Yes Yes!!!! As that YUMMY chocolate Rocher cake shows, it's my MEOWW'S Birthdayyyyyy!!! :D Meoww - I met her exactly 10 months before and if I was born on time, she and I could've even celebrated our birthdays together! :D

Our love has been tagged by some imbecile creatures as lesbian, too sugary, too show-off and stuff like that, but do we care? Nope! :D Meoww is someone I look forward to every single day and miss her like crazy if I don't get to hear from her even once... I know that every time I mess up bad, real bad (And that's quite often I tell you) She is there, to tell me what is as is, but doesn't judge me...and that knowledge has kept me going! She is like the light to my darkness! *Touchwood*

:D :D Sooooo my dearest dearest Meoww, here's from All the darlings of DOV to you!

A Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry Happy Birthday!!!!!

And my dearest Witch - an Ode to you!

Fresh and Beautiful, like the life ahead, Air I pray to thee,

Bright and savior from the demons we fear, Fire I pray to thee,

Pure and flowing, you vanish the darkness with in us, Water I pray to thee,

Strength and Calmness, to help us endure, Earth I pray to thee,

Spirit of woman, undying and sacred, I pray to thee,

Goddess of the Night and World, I pray,

Shower your best blessing on my Sister, I pray

Blessed Be! So I mote it be!

I  hope you get the best of things you've always wanted. Love you. Always have. Always will.

It must have been love...

It's getting colder by the minute as I wait next to my punctured/now repaired car. I have changed the tyres but am so tired, that I have no energy to drive back right now. But the sky looks downcast and I am sure it will start snowing anytime. I tighten my overcoat and muffler and sit inside the car. What was the point of going back anyway? I have lost the love that I'd been waiting for.

I sit inside the car and turn on the ignition, thinking of the warmth and comfort of my apartment. Turing on the radio, I drift away into my thoughts. Andrew. His face formed behind my eyelids - piece by piece. That square jawline, that flyaway dark hair tumbling on his forehead, his voice - like a soft rumble from his heart, his eyes - those eyes - magnificently dark - inviting. I had never known that dark could be beautiful too. But Andrew...his...his face was strong, yet soft. Words simply don't have the ability of explaining his appearance.

Image Source: autos.aol.com

I shake my head in a futile attempt to disperse his image like dandelion seeds in the wind. I press the gas and steer the car out of this highway. My flower shop needs attending. My flower shop...that's where Andy and I had started to talk. We were in the same University and shared some classes as well, but we never moved beyond the casual hellos and his. I remember, this was 5 years back... I had just started the flower shop with my Mother, after class hours, to get extra income and to sell the beautiful flowers my mother grew in our backyard. Soon we had enough money to import cut flowers from other states and my tiny flower shop became a hit among the locals. But we didn't enlarge the size and turn it into a boutique. 

Image Source: mostphotos.com

It was still the small, front display shop - but we had a tiny coffee shop attached to it now, which my mother took care of. Andrew, on one such day, dropped by. He was surprised to see me at the flower shop. I had never mentioned about it to anyone. It was mostly my mother on the forefront. He wanted to buy assortment of flowers for his then girlfriend Pauline. He was hopelessly in love. We started talking, when he asked me, which flower bouquet would be best for Pauline. I suggested Lilac and Roses would be good. He asked me to make one for him. I happily complied. 

Image Source: thefrenchbouquettulsa

He was easy to talk to - unlike the cool demeanor he maintained at the University. Every alternate week, he would come to my shop for a bouquet, otherwise on every Friday, for some coffee. It was a comforting pattern that developed. I came to know of him as an only child of his parents - he wanted to take up Medicine professionally while I was happy with my Coffee and Bouquet Shop. My mother doted on him, offering him for free her special blueberry muffins with his coffee. She was very sure he liked me. I always ignored her. Pauline had left Andrew 8 months after they had started dating, for another man. He was shattered. Mother and I were by his side, for he wouldn't tell his parents. We became best friends by the time University ended and he enrolled into a hospital as trainee. I took over the Cafe and the shop completely, letting my mother rest. Two years back, he asked me out on a date and I agreed. We were falling in love slowly.

Image Source: mywedding.com

Then he had to leave for his new job as a doctor to another city. He was trying hard to get back here, where I was. But I asked to him to work without worry, for when he was established, he could come back to me. That day and today - so much happened. My friend Rodney had come for a visit for a week. And today, during our evening coffee, with Mother and me, he sat down on his knees and opened a beautiful ring case. He was proposing to me. Oh God. Andrew! He was standing at the door, with a Large bouquet of roses, staring. I didn't know he would come today. And he had gotten it all wrong! 

"May be I should come later." He turned on his heels and walked out. I looked at Rodney angrily and made it clear that I had no intentions of being married to him. And I looked at my mother, she had a worried expression on her face - I took my car keys and ran after Andrew. I was just a mile away from his apartment when my tyres fell flat. And now...I have no idea where he would be. His phone is switched off. I drive up to his apartment anyway. Warily, I accept that he isn't here. It was 8 PM now. I have to go back now. There was no other way. I reverse my car, call up my mother and before she can say anything, I hang up. I am in no mood to talk. I reach my home at 9:30 driving on an Auto Plot mode. 

"Grace?" I stop dead. Andy is here. Sitting with my Mother, with a cup of coffee and a hot blueberry muffin.

"Andrew, look! I am sorry..." I rush up to him, my heart hammering in my chest. I notice my Mother get up and leave, muttering Kids these days. Though we were far from being one.

"Grace! Calm down. I am sorry! I should have stayed. It..it was just a misunderstanding from my side. I was being stupid." Andrew gets up and holds my shoulders. I haven't realized that I've been crying.

"Rodney...I didn't know he would...You know...I...Oh God! When did you come here? I mean..." Okay. I have lost the ability to talk coherently.

I simply stare at him. So many unspoken emotions - but the most potent was the love I could see in his eyes for me. This is one moment, I never thought, I believed in, but it is true. You can feel love. I start to open my mouth to speak again when Andy quietens me.

Or are we Ashes and Wine

"Shhhh...." Andrew hugs me tightly. And I stop talking and breathing.

"I know Grace...you don't have to say anything. I spoke to your mother. She scolded me dearly at my haughty exit. She told me that I should've walked in and whisked you away." Andrew says, a smile in his voice teasing me.

"She said that??! Oh God, she is so embarrassing!" I groan.

"Well, she is right." Andrew says and holds me at an arms length. Then he sits on his knees and holds out a rose which I hadn't noticed before, and says,

"Miss Grace Lawson, will you marry this Doctor, who cannot be cured without you?" I laugh at his funny-cheesy proposal and say,

"I shall cure you just fine. I will...marry you." Tears stream down my face as he hugs me.

PS: Story inspired by this BEAUTIFUL song called Ashes by Andy Brown. Please listen to it. You may thank me later :D :D :D

More than Friendship, Less than Love?

Disclaimer: This work of story is pure fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, circumstances and situations is co-incidental and not intentional. The purpose is discussion and not hurting/offending feelings of anyone. It is requested from the readers to keep an open mind and not take the events, mentioned herewith, personally. Thank you.


"....So, I love him." I say. 

"You mean, you love him too." Hanna tells me, with a poker face.

"...Unfortunately, yes." I give her a sad look and go back to my writing.

"Do you even realize what you are doing?" She says, accusation and judgment making her words seem harsher than I expected them to be. 

"Yes. I know. I love two people. At the same time. Equally." I say, flat out.

"You are cheating on him! Your boyfriend, Ira...you have been with him for 2 years now!" Hanna yells, raising her arms in exasperation.

"I am not cheating on Karan. I know Anish for 4 years now and I have not even touched him. I just love him. I cannot explain." I say, knowing that it's a lost cause. There's no point in trying to break the stereotypical shackles she is trying to bind me with. Actually, she is just saying what this society has taught us. Morality. Monogamy. One Partner and all that Jazz.

"Wow. And what if Karan comes to know of this?" She is seething. I am wracking inside with conflict. Anish is with a girl for past 8 years. I like his girl. But neither of us knew this would happen.

"He will leave me. Or, may be he will understand..." I look at Hanna. Perfect. Happily committed to a man for past 7 years, with plans of marriage in pipeline. I am a lost cause.

 "Ira, you must tell Karan." Hanna's voice shatters my reverie as my pen dents the page.

"Why? Is there even a need? Anish is my friend. Very Good friend. I love him! He makes me happy! What is SO wrong in that?" I snap. I have no right to do so. But I am tired of judgment. So tired. I am not breaking up with Karan. Both Anish and I are clear of our positions. We eventually will have to choose. And we both know what our choices will be...then where is the problem??

"Ira! He loves you. And this. This is cheating. You are TWO-TIMING!" There. She says it. I flinch as she continues. 

"I love Karan too! Come on Hannah! Please. Don't make this seem like a problem...please." I try to make her understand with my eyes.

"The problem lies with you. Right here. Do you understand?" She points at her head. "It's women like you who tarnish the image of relationships. You appear to be Miss Goody-Two-Shoes and then men want to protect you, keep you happy and Voila! Another one caught dead in your snares." Ouch. Hannah has now called me a whore, a slut.

"Hannah...I did not make Anish fall in love with me. You also know very well, I stand up for myself. I have never - never asked a man to help me." How do I make her understand?

"That' s what they fall for, don't they? Independent yet vulnerable. Beautiful yet unaware. Flirts but oh-so-innocent." She glares.

"I want you to leave, right now Hannah. Please. I thought you would not judge me. But, well, I guess I am alone now." I had always maintained that men were better friends sometimes, because they were simple and everything was literal for them. No hidden meanings or grudges. Bro-fist would take care of that.

"F**k you. YOU deserve to be alone. Ruining three lives because of your selfishness." Hannah stalks out of my house.

Image Source: cosmopolitan.com

That's when I cannot stop crying. I am not selfish. How am I? Have I done such a big sin? How do I change my feelings? Who's at mistake here? Is this even a mistake. We write books on love. We say it's beautiful. Then why am I not allowed to love? 

I am two-timing - because I am in love with two men. Because Anish makes me happy. There's something which holds me back when I am with Karan. I mean, I can tell him things - I love him. More than I can imagine - I am comfortable with him. Everything - everything is good with him. Physical and Emotional factor - both. He even thinks I am beautiful when I have a running nose. You get the idea.

But with Anish, I had instantly hit it off. Chemistry was there. Always was. We were more like a bunch of morons - talking, laughing, coffees, fun things like that. With Anish - before we realized we were in love - it was like a wait of the day. To hear each other's voice, teasing, flirting, discussing. When we had met, I was single then. And it was good - I was never the complicated one. And then one day, Karan came. I was swept off by him. Anish knew this - that I was not a keeper for long. He just wanted my friendship, my presence in his life. The same was what I wanted. After an year and a half of togetherness, we both had realized that this was more than friendship and less than love. Or may be, there was no word for it. Every time I speak to Anish now, it's like the World rights itself. He says we both are lousy boyfriend and girlfriend - because we both are so flawed in loving one another. 

Image Source: depositphotos.com

Am I the only one who has harbored feelings for another man, while being with a man? Okay, the society depends on my monogamy - but - if I can not help myself, if I need the person, if I feel happy with him - is my choice so wrong? No, don't. Don't say anything. You would ask me to choose. You would say, get psychiatric help, because humans cannot be in love with two people. It is lust or something fucked up like that. But lust and love cannot be kept separate for a long time. Where's there's a spark, there's ought to be a fire.

I cannot bear to hurt Karan, I love him. I cannot imagine leaving him for something, which is not even there in form. I also know that leaving Anish would break me. Same is with him. He is in a relationship for 8 years. That would make me the other woman. And I cannot bear that. I love his girl. She is wonderful - cheerful, happy and so so so loving. No one like this deserves to be hurt. So, where does this leave us? Anish respects Karan. So much so, that when we fight - Karan and I - he tells me, where I am wrong and why I should understand Karan's point. Things are so easy with Anish. So simple. I don't even want him to be with me...nor is he contemplating to leave her. We just want to be. Unspoken. Unbridled.

Image Source: n3verhaveiever.tumblr.com

There is no choice. Anish and I will never be together - but we need each other's presence in each other's life - as a fall back cushion. I remember him saying, "Ira. If there comes a time, when you have to make a choice, which I know, will come. You know who to choose." Of course we know. We are grown ups. So why? Why do we become hypocrites when it comes to something different? Why do we judge people, when we have our own lives to live? Why, why we don't let someone be?

Because we, at the end of the day, are molded by society. We are spineless gits. We love to ride on a high horse when someone tries to take a stand. We think - Thank God, I am not in her place. We ourselves would have thought so many times of someone, while we are with someone. Then why am I called a slut? Why does loving two men make me a whore? Isn't love pure? Shouldn't I be given time to sort it out? Shouldn't I just  let it be, when it is not affecting our current relationships? 

I sigh and get back to writing. I do not feel guilty anymore. Should I?

PS: I know, a bold attempt. :D But well, life is all about bold and beautiful. Isn't it? Lemme know what your take is, darlings? Blessed Be!

Stolen...

Oh Goddamnit! Stop it now! I yell mentally, at my incessantly ringing desk phone, cell phone, PC Pings and door bell in general. Outwardly I say, “Come in!” in a serious, yet-cheerful tone. By the world’s standards, I have turned 45 today. Vibrant and Successful. That’s what the Magazine Cover reads – Special Edition, for my Birthday. A headache is creeping in slowly to wish me as well.

“Good evening Sir. Mr. B has arrived…erm…with special birthday wishes.” My secretary Rhea announces with a grimace. She is a young lady and keeps to herself most of the time, except for when I have assignments for her. She is good. Respects my space and my privacy.

“Send him in. And no more calls for the day. Cancel all my meetings and appointments. You can leave once that is arranged. Good evening.” I tell her and start packing my materials on the desk. I need a break from this extra-shiny, extra-metallic, extra-organized and prim life. I need to be myself. I need to really celebrate my birthday with a tiny cake and just my family. Family. That word – for which I had dreamt this BIG, is no longer with me. My parents passed away old. And my wife – she would still be waiting at home for me, I know. May be, one day she would leave as well. Who wants to be with a man who has no time for his wife or family? I exhale, rubbing my temples and rolling up my sleeves. There is a huge pile of gift boxes in the corner of my chamber, few cheques, a car key and other such temptations. The Bigger the Gifts – The Bigger the Favors. Why is this man taking so much time?

Image Source: philanthropy.com

“Hello Hello Mr. Aryan! See what I've got for you!” B. enters without any announcement. He has a plastered fake grin and holds a paper which has an exotic looking palatial hotel’s face printed on it. A Presidential Suite – for one day and one night. Very thoughtful. I extend my hand and take the offered present.

“Thank you Mr. B. I must leave now, my family waits for me.” I get up, wearing my laptop bag’s strap across my shoulder, pick up my coat and start walking towards the flush doors of my cabin. What am I doing here anyway?

“Mr. Aryan….that construction project site…heh heh.” Damn the idiot. Bloody bloodsucker.

“Of course, Mr. B. Can we talk about this on Monday?” I give him a stern no-nonsense look, with a smile and walk out. I pass Rhea on the way, signaling her to leave and let B go. She nods and wishes a Happy Birthday. I give her a smile and leave. Now that I am out of my building, I desperately need to see Naina. My wife, my girlfriend, my lover. Now, she has remained a mere presence as I have ignored her for so long because of my work and other responsibilities. I sigh. What should I do? I hope she hasn’t planned a surprise with a million guests. I hate surprises. And today I need rest.

I park my car in our garage and walk slowly towards my home. The night has turned cold. It is already 10. No time to celebrate, huh? I shake my head and knock the door. Feeling irritated at Naina, I am ready to burst, when the door opens. I flinch, involuntarily, dreading people. But, there is no one. No one except Naina. My breath catches in my throat. She looks beautiful. She has done make up today – not the gaudy whattheycallit parlor stuff – just a kohl and lip gloss – strawberry, if I am right.

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“Happy Birthday, Aryan.” There she is - my Girlfriend. I am angry at her, ain't I? Where is my headache? But why is she dressed up. No, I am not going out.

“Thank you. Umm, why are you…?” I leave my sentence trailing. Red looks beautiful on her.

“Oh this. Umm, why don’t you change? I have a little gift for you.” She gives me a smile and after so many years, I feel my heart thumping.

“Naina…look…I don’t want to go out anywhere…please. I am tired. Really.” I go for the sterner tone, but she looks at me – her beautiful eyes – they look a little hurt but also, shining with humor and I die.

“I know. Lazy Bum. I am not taking you out anywhere. Just go and change.” Wow. She almost sounds like the old times. I can find myself agreeing. What is happening?

“Fine.” I mumble and go to our room. Meanwhile, I can hear her singing to herself, opening and closing refrigerator, the sound of her bangles – I think I am in love. I change into my night robe, welcoming the peace and quiet of our home. I am early, today. For my standards. I find B’s gift, crumple it and throw it in the dustbin.

“You ready Aryan?” Naina asks, peeping into our room and grins at me. She looks impish and I suddenly feel like running after her.

“What? Why are you laughing at me?” I ask her.

“Happy Birthday Old man. Here’s your gift.” Naina is giving me her full smile and I feel like proposing to her once again. She is beautiful – fine lines feathering her eyes. Her lips – still soft, still beautiful. It has been so long, that I have loved her or even showed that I care. I feel a lump in my throat and move towards her.  She stops me and raises her left hand. From her index finger, dangles a key. I look at her puzzled.

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“Ohho, take it! And come with me.” She gives up trying to read me and leads me ahead – to…the staircase. Which room are we headed to? Yes, it has been that long. Usually I come home, eat and sleep.

“Naina?”

“Shhh…now open this.”

“Terrace?” I look at her, wondering what she has been doing.

“Yep. Now open the door. I cannot wait anymore. It’s almost 11:45.” She squeals. I laugh. Something is wrong with her too. I open the door to our terrace. And there is the most beautiful gift I have received today. A table is set for two – with a small pineapple cake in the centre. There is – I laugh out loud – Orange juice? Naina drank occasionally but this was our favorite in olden times – thele waala juice. I grin at her, while she motions for me to wait. She points at one corner – there is a sofa swing. Aaah. Beautiful. And then – as I am suddenly aware of the night and the silence around us – Naina hugs me.

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“It’s been so long and you seemed to drift away… I had no idea what to give to you. So I am giving you a little peace – I am borrowing from this night. Will you watch the stars with me? It’s Sunday tomorrow…” Naina has tears in her eyes. She had missed me. I remember of her love for the stars and night sky. I used to love that about her. I reminisce of the phone calls, when I would listen to her for hours talking about this star, that mythology, this belief. I loved her knowledge. She knew every constellation – and also, when the moon would rise. My girlfriend is a pseudo-astronomer. Did I say Girlfriend?

“I would love to. Thank you for this time, Naina...” I say, holding her close to my heart. In the serene silence of the night, I celebrate for the first time, in so many years a beautiful birthday with my wife, my family.

Who says size matters? Only the Size of your heart does and I had the biggest heart in my arms tonight.

Mistress of the Universe?

Blessed Be My Darlings! 

Remember Me? Not wondering where I've been? I have no idea where I am and what I am doing. I am not even lazing around, but I not even climbing mountains or parting rivers. My vanity has been now addressed publicly as an issue of grave human behavioral threat and I am trying my best to get over myself. Not getting what I am sayin'?

Self`-con`ceit´ed 

Adj. 1. self-conceited - characteristic of false pride; having an exaggerated sense of self-importance; (From http://www.thefreedictionary.com )

a.1. Having an overweening opinion of one's own powers, attainments; vain; conceited. (Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary)

Exactly my point. I have a disease now, that this word suggests. I am vain and I give myself wayyyyy too much importance, than is necessary. So, help me please. I am not afraid to go to the root of this issue, and if I can get some suggestions here, I am more than happy to oblige.

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1. I am big - in size. So are many people. But God has gifted me with a pretty face. I hide my loathing for my own body by enhancing what I have. My face. I know, I look good. If I talk about how my new hair cut suits me, does that make me, vain?
2. I am the oldest child, like many others here - I've always tried to learn quickly, be the responsible one...unconsciously may be, I don't know. Therefore, there are some things, I do better than the others I stay with, who are younger than I am. If I need a bit of appreciation, is that wrong?
3. I was ignored and intimidated as a kid. Not intentionally of course. I was bullied in school when I was younger, rather I was a timid child. I had no friends. Now that I do, I tend to talk about myself, so that the attention doesn't disappear. Do I have an ADD*?
4. I am ready to change. So when you are talking and I am not listening, you can ask me, with love of course, to stop. Tell me, that I am doing that thing again. Believe me, I will stop. Make me feel like you are there for me, even when I am not talking, show me that you are interested in me and not what I've achieved. Be patient with me. If you are my friend, you will understand.
5. I crave for attention. I never got it before. I never had balls to go out there and stand up for myself. I have always been too self - conscious. I talk about myself and I talk a lot, just to make myself feel better. It's that simple. Be patient with me. I am learning to love myself and not depend on you.
6.What or who you were as a child, doesn't define you anymore. Something I am learning. Just be with me. Help me believe in myself. And tomorrow, you may feel proud of me, that you made me become a better person.
7. Don't get mad at me if I don't listen to you. Realize, I am dealing with an issue - about myself. Once again, I may happen to not listen to you. Ask me to stop, patiently or ask me to listen to you. I will make an effort, I promise.

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I am writing this, because off late, a lot of people have told me that I only talk about myself and what is happening in my life. I also sometimes, interrupt ongoing conversations to make my point. Since the time I've been told this, I find myself doing it more. Or may be, I am just becoming conscious of the fact that I am indeed doing it. I have been feeling quite awful and feel confused about how I must talk without sounding like I am vain. Help?

Don't Love Me Anymore

I was standing before my School Church alone. The First bell had gone and I should have been running towards my class, but I was scared...I didn't want to go back. They would be there. My entire so-called group of friends. They had shunned me and abandoned me, for no reason. I had stooped low, begged for friendship, company and an explanation. None was given to me. But like always, I didn't utter a word, not a single tear...I was too timid to counteract, to question. I was used to acting without questioning anyway.  I turned back to the closed doors of the Church, closing my eyes tightly and asking God to give me some self-esteem, but He was busy listening to the smarter people next to me. I sighed and turned to walk away. 

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"Hey, chal main tere saath chalti hoon." [Here, I'll walk with you] Sreeja said. She was in my class...and we had struck a silent friendship. She offered her hand and I took it like the proverbial straw. Things changed then. I completely left my group and started hanging out with Sreeja and her friends. My other friends commented, "Jaa na be tu, usi ke saath reh poorey din. Why do you even come near us?" [Eh, Go away no, you. Stay with her whole day]. I as usual had been trying to amend whatever unknown things I had done and was shooed away like a stray dog. At home I was lonely, now at school I had no one. But then I saw Sreeja waving at me...and I got up and walked up to her. Her friends loved me. 12th Grade had brought me closer to her. But at home, my mother saw how terribly lonely I was. I broke down before her, on my knees I cried. My mother couldn't do anything except look at me crumbling. Loneliness, Depression, my mother didn't know the terms...but she could see, how terribly wronged I was. 

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She let me close to Sreeja. Sreeja had saved me from the most disastrous social death. 

This was almost 7 years back. We stood by each other through severe tests of time. I was her strength, she was my weakness. We passed always. Never, ever, I had thought, that the time would change something in me, that would question my belief in the word *Best Friend*.

She met her guy. Every time I came down to Bhopal, if she was there, I used to meet her....and I met her guy then. She was smitten. In love with him. He obviously loved her too...I was proud of him. No, this isn't about Him or Her or even me. This is about just Sreeja and me. I started to drift away. I was so caught up in my college life, I couldn't talk to her everyday. I felt guilty. I told her so. She never thought otherwise, though on one occasion she did mention that I had changed, had become colder. I justified my actions (of not texting or calling her daily) as  being occupied too much. However, whenever she called me or if I did, when I felt guilty or when I had balance, it never felt like there was something amiss. Honestly though, sometimes I felt, I wasn't giving my 100%. I used to have this feeling that anyone who comes to our lives comes for a short time, to show us a way and when that purpose is over, they leave. I had a feeling that Sreeja will also drift away, but I knew I wanted it to happen. Because...I wasn't feeling happy. Earlier the things I used to feel for her, I worked towards them genuinely. Now, when I call her, I force myself so that she isn't hurt or doesn't feel that I am ignoring her.

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I do love her, but I don't feel it anymore. I would jump before a train if it touches her, but that would be more like I...I would do it out of habit, out of the need to protect her, but...I am confused. I usually sort out my feelings on my own...but this has been bothering me for a while. I have two choices - either I keep the way things are going, occasionally texting and calling her, letting things be OR let myself drift away. I don't know and I need something, anything to assure me that with time, I will accept this too as a part of life. Am I being too analytical or practical? What should I do?

Of Snow and Bells

The heavy Church Bell rang thrice as I stared out of my window across the snow filled, cold street. I was lucky to hear the sound floating to me from St. Margaret's Church. It made me feel alive. Blessed. May be I should take a walk. I thought. London was Cold. Cold and Wet. I didn't know what I hated more. Festivities were heavy in the air but I missed the warmth I used to feel at home. I knew I was going to be late for University again. The Gray sky warned that soon there could be a heavy snow fall. Good Riddance. I turned away from the window and pulled my muffler tight around my neck. It had been a month since I was here. And peace had evaded me since then. I felt lonely. And My Birthday was just a week away. Sigh. This was going to suck. I sighed once again and grabbed my coffee and cold toast. 

St. Margaret's, Westminster

I brushed my hair too roughly not caring how it stood up stubbornly. I had apparently straight hair. But now it was frizzy! Gah!! Bad Bad Bad. I dressed in a Black overcoat, put my gloves and shoes and lip balm and stepped out. The Old Land Lady was adjusting the pots on her window. She waved at me as I gave her a courteous smile. "Merry Christmas My Dear!" She said. I thanked and turned swiftly on my heels. The walk to the Church would usually take me some 15 minutes but I stretched it to 25 today. I walked slowly, staring at the festoons and hollies and mistletoes. In day light, they seemed somber to me, just like my mood. 

Sigh. (Image Source)

I sighed for the nth time and quickened my steps towards the Church. I reached into the lane that was parallel to the abbey. I entered, rubbing my palms together and watching my breath freeze before me. The Church was empty at this time of the day. I gave a relieved and content sigh. The Pastor looked at me and called me forward. He was intrigued by the Indian who never failed to visit the Church, even if there was a blizzard. I lit a candle at the altar closed my eyes and thanked whoever was listening to me. I got up slowly, peace descending on me like a warm shroud. I turned to take my usual seat at the end of the gallery when I noticed her again. She was a fellow woman who too never missed coming to Church. Her eyes caught mine and she surprisingly gave me a warm smile, which sent warm tingles in me. She was a familiar. But I couldn't recall. I gave her a smile of my own and withdrew my thoughts to myself. I stared at the high ceiling, the wide arcs and the brilliance of the people who created it. My thoughts didn't go to what I missed or my miseries but suddenly loneliness grabbed me as I cried a solitary tear. Here, no one saw me. 

I controlled my ragged breath as I felt a movement next to me. She was sitting next to me. I gave her a quizzical, lopsided smile. 

"I'm sorry I must be intruding. But I felt a company would make you feel better." She smiled at me again. I nodded in approval for words were failing me.

"I see you here everyday but you don't seem Christian. I mean no offence when I say that. Are you a believer?" I could feel her hesitation as she tried to make conversation. Not trying to be the mean bitch I felt like, I answered as politely I could, for Britishers were known for upper stiff lip. I wouldn't take that risk.

She intrigued me. (Image Source)

''I am from India. I come here...because it soothes me. The calmness here. No, I'm not Christian and no offence taken." I smiled at her feeling better. She nodded but I saw some hesitation. I didn't know what to ask or how to. So, I blurted the first thing without thinking.

"Would you mind some coffee? Ofcourse unless you have family engagements." I knew I had committed a faux pas. It was Christmas for crying out loud! And just because I was alone, didn't mean I would invite strangers. To my relief she said, "As I said, a company is never bad. I would love coffee." This time she grinned and I noticed a sadness in her eyes but didn't dwell on it too much.We got up together. 

I chose a table near the windows of the cafe so that some light could come in. All the while we spoke of lighter things like weather, festivities, coffee, what we liked and disliked. She was full of light. And Happiness. And warmth. And being with her made me feel light. Like a sun beam was focused at my heart. I was getting cheery by the moment, my University Lecture long forgotten. We were laughing and enjoying ourselves. Suddenly I asked her~

"I come to seek peace but why do you visit Church every day without fail?" Again that same sadness I had noticed before flickered on her face. I regretted my question instantly. I tried to cover up "Hey, it's all right. I didn't mean to be intruding!" I squeezed her hand sympathetically. 

Her eyes were sad... (Image Source)

"I visit Church everyday, for I love to believe that my loved ones are happy. Few moments of Life, I live with them in there." She said with a sad smile. "My family died in an accident last month. I am alone. And Christmas doesn't seem the same anymore. I used to watch you and wonder what struck you. Your determination, even though you were new here, gave me strength." 

I felt ashamed of myself. This woman was made of iron. And she thought I was strong? I gave her a tight smile as she looked away, her eyes filling up. I paid, while she resisted. We decided to part ways. She hugged me and gave me a tiny golden bell from her wallet. "You gave me something to look forward to. A friend. This bell will remind you of me...when you go back to India." She said. That tiny bell and her words were a gift I didn't rightfully deserve. Before she could disappear, I ran after her. She stopped as I called out to her.

The tiny golden bell... (Image Source)

"Will you spend the Christmas with me?" I asked, aware how lonely I was sounding, still.

"I would love to..." She smiled and walked away.