Only way to have you

The only way to have you is to buy you my baby.....

As I walk over the hill I turn back and look if there are any footprints left behind. I see that there are many imprints in the sand, some young, some old, some quick, some tired, some hopeful and some lost, but they are only mine. Mine, alone. All those footprints were spent searching, waiting for a dream. A dream so distant and yet so near, so impossible and yet so true - a dream to hold you, but once, in my arms dear baby.

I should have known perhaps, while I was made to climb this hill, that this lustrous, scathing, forbidden dream should never have been held in my palm. Yet, I chose to clench it and now I nurse my scorching heart and sift through time, casting a longing eye - veiled in spent tears - hoping, praying that in the mire, I will see a pair of little anklets that will adorn your feet one day. My vision is so hazy, that I even see glimpses of your little feet chasing mine, as we run and frolic together, into the setting sun.

I cannot ask "Why" for that is a forbidden word in the land that I tread. What is sorrow? What is fear? What is it like to be totally disposessed? What is this longing? Who watches over me and still keeps us apart? I can ask many questions, but I can't ask why. No, I can't ask why.

Every day I am sold little trinkets of hope. These trinkets I have to buy to see a reflection of happiness, and to hear the distant songs of gurgle and laughter, of stories to be told, of dreams to be shared, of old eyes looking with pride at a life rightly spent. Every day I beg for pennies just so that before I die, I will hold your little palm in my beggared hands and nudge you into life. And one day I will hold you close and my gentle, caring bosom will swell with pride.

But now you are so far. Oh so far away! As I stretch my palm to beg, my face contorted to entreat, my self stripped of dignity and my mind bereft of emotions, I can see you in the haze. But you are only a muffled cry, that wells up in my chest, for the only way to have you is to buy you my baby.

I do not know what in your eyes
That caused my heart to glow,
And why my spirit longs and cries,
I vow, I do not know.
But when you first came in my sight,
My slumbering soul awoke in light,
And since the day I've known no night!




No no.. its not mine, found it on the net written by some irish poet. But cute right? Well, just pasting it here to keep you hooked to these pages, or at least till I can think of writing something.

Toby

I have been thinking of writing this for a long time. But isn't it already too late? Has it not been ten long years since I saw you the last? Ten years since you leapt at me, yanked at your leash and whined again and again, entreating me to take you away from there; to take you home. I did not listen then Toby, I just turned and walked away and left you behind - alone, chained, thirsty and helpless. What can I say? I really thought that was for your best. I thought I had done a good thing for you and that you will be happy where I left you. But today as your memory flashed through the wall of time, why do I feel sorry? Why do my eyes fill with tears and my mind with remorse? Why do I find myself at a place where I am not even able to cry for you?

When you came to me you were just a little puppy. Your eyes had not opened yet and you would waddle behind me from room to room, slipping on the marble floor of our house. One of the construction workers in my father's company had picked you up from your mother's side somewhere on the street. He had given you to me and had assured that your mother was a strong dog and you would make one good dog yourselves.

I loved you the moment I saw you. You were a tiny, light brown, fur ball with black spots on all four of your legs. Whenever I came near you, you would wag your little tail and rub your moist, black nose against my ankle. Your tiny, soft ears were still folded and your face had the incredibly adorable innocence of all young ones.

I had read "Roots" recently, and for some reason, I had loved the name Toby. I did not want you to have the usual dog names like Tommy and Moti so I named you 'Toby ne Bugelal', just 'Toby' for short. What does Bugelal mean? Well I don't know, but I loved it when I would call you Tyooooooooooby Niiii Bugelaal, and you would come running towards me as if that was the loveliest name for someone to be addressed by.

In the first couple of months after you came, I was trying to keep you away from Gappu the cat. She was larger at that time and also older than you and I was concerned she will hurt you. Gappu too seemed to think she was superior, so she was being cocky and walked around as if you were not important enough to acknowledge. But in a few days you showed her who was the boss. Once you got a grip on yourselves, your favorite pastime became chasing Gappu all over the house. The poor cat could not have a moment's rest! So now I had to protect her from you instead!

Ever since you were little, you hated being leashed. You allowed me to put a belt around your neck, but if I ever tried to tie you up, you would scream and whine at the top of your voice, until I was forced to let you go. You were always a free spirited animal.

As you grew up, only one of your ears straightened and your eyes got that naughty sparkle. Do you know how cute you looked? But unlike the prediction of the person who brought you to me, you never grew to be a big dog. You always remained a little dog with lots of attitude.

Your favorite food was sugarcane juice and peas. So unusual for a dog! My then boyfriend Nilesh, and I used to make it a point to bring you one of the two. We used to love watching you munching a bowl of peas or lapping up sugarcane juice.

What a prankster you were Toby, and so unruly! I could never leash you but I tried really hard to keep you from going out and mingling with stray dogs. However, you would not loose one opportunity of sneaking out of the house. When you came back you would either be extremely filthy or bruised in a scuffle. I would ask you as I washed you and nursed your wounds, "Did you really have to pick a fight with those bigger and stronger mongrels? At least look at your size", I would say, "Do you really have to be this stupid little dog?"

These outings of yours always got you into trouble. Remember one day you ate something you should not have and got sick? I had to keep you in the veterinary hospital on a drip for two days. Then for your own good I tried to stop you from going back outside. I made a nice bed for you at the patio entrance and left the patio door open for you to roam around. To keep you from going out, I put a little concrete screen on the other side so that you could not climb down the stairs and go down.

I still wonder what exactly you did to get the concrete screen down. And how did you get your leg trapped under it? Even a human would not be able to do that! You whined like never before and I rushed you again to the hospital, this time they had to put your leg in a cast. But that did keep you from going out, at least for a while.

Your one annoying habit made people hate you. I tried to potty train you so many times but you were just incorrigible! Much to the chagrin of my mother, you had to poop right in the doors of her arch rivals in the building. She would be seething with anger as they took particular pleasure in having her clean it. When I came home in the evening, I would have to hear all kinds of complaints about you. As you wagged your tail and danced around me, you did not even realize how many times I had to fight with my mother over you.

You, rather your poop, has even found a place in my brother's love story. When moonstruck Abhijit was taking his wife to be, Aparna, to the terrace for their first ever private chat, he was too distracted to watch where he was going until he stepped in your poop, which, by the way, was strategically placed on the terrace stairs. I can only imagine how mortified he must have been, for instead of looking into his beautiful wife's eyes, the first thing he had to do when he reached the terrace was to find a tap to wash his feet! Aparna still teases my brother over that incident.

Toby, in spite of your being naughty and incredibly unruly, you were a nice dog - very sharp and adorable. But I regret that I could not keep the promise I made to you. When you were a little puppy I had promised I would take care of you no matter what. But as I grew up and got sucked into the adult world, my responsibilities increased. I got caught in my college classes, my job, my extra curricular activities and my boyfriend. I could not give time to you.

Sometimes I would have to leave early, and could come back home only at night. You would be hungry if there was no one home to give you food or water. You would still leap at me and love me unconditionally even though I had wronged you. I cannot tell you Toby how guilty I would feel then. I would be in a frenzy to feed you, to take care of you. But the fact that you remained hungry because of me would make me extremely sad.

Toby, the adult world won me over and I had to finally decide to give you away. It was impossible for me to take care of you with all my responsibilities and my relations with mom were already strained. But, I could not just leave you somewhere on the road like so many people who left their unwanted dogs. I had to find you a nice home. I knew you were a free spirited dog, so I decided to give you away to a farmer. I envisioned you roaming freely on a farm and still being taken care of. The city, I thought, was filthy and full of hostile dogs fighting for their territory. They would have killed a small dog like you. In the village you would have lots of freedom and also a home, I had thought.

I could not stand to watch you taken away. So I called the farmer in the afternoon to take you when I would not be at home. The day he was to come to take you, do you remember that I hugged you for a long time and cried? You had no idea what was your fate and you just enjoyed the attention. That day when you watched me go, your eyes filled with unconditional trust of a dog, did you know that you would never see this house again?

Some time in the afternoon the farmer came and took you away. For days after that I would come home to an empty house. There was no one to call to, nobody who would come to greet me and leap at me and show me how happy they were to see me. The only two who were happy at your departure was my mother and Gappu the cat. Gappu finally got back her kingdom and did not have anything (except, occasionally, my mother) to fear anymore.

Then one day after a year since you were sent away I came to see you with Nilesh. You were tied at the door of the farmer's house, curled up on a rag. To my surprise you recognized us. You leapt to us as if you had been waiting all along. Overjoyed, you licked and scratched me. Were you trying to tell me something?

I looked at the house and I felt happy that you were in a good house. Then I met the farmer's family and inquired about you. They told me they loved you and that you were a smart dog. I felt so proud and happy. But when I asked them how they took care of you, I was shocked and sad. They did, what they thought was good for you. But it was not right. They fed you only twice a day they said, and gave you water only at the time of your food. They tied you all the time and would never let you off the leash.

I did tell them Toby that you should be given lots of water and should be unleashed for some time. I told them that you had a free spirit and how sad you must have been to be tied up. I told them what you loved to eat and what you enjoyed doing. But I am not sure if I could make them understand, to make them see what you really were. I can only imagine what they must have done to you to make you a "tough" dog, how much suffering you must have gone through because of their ignorance. I should have been stronger Toby; I should have insisted and made them understand. But I protested and warned only weakly. And after that I never even came back to check on you.

When I left that day, you leapt and cried and whined. You begged me to take you away. But I never heard your plea. I just sat behind Nilesh on his motorcycle and drove away. Your cries still haunt my ears Toby. I just wish I had the courage and independence to turn back and take you home. But I never really did. Many times after that, I did think about coming to see you again. But those thoughts remained just thoughts and as I got entangled in the world more and more, your memories were pushed to the back of my mind.

Today after more than ten years, thousands of miles away from where I left you, I think about you and miss you. I don't even know if you are alive and perhaps never will. But if there is a way these thoughts can reach you in this life or the next, I would just like to say Toby, that I am really and truly sorry. Only thing I can do for you, perhaps, is take an oath that I will never, abandon anybody who is vulnerable and dependant on me, ever again.

Marriage of Convenience

Towards the south of Mumbai on the western coast of India, the mighty Sahayadri Mountains look pensively at the sparkling Arabian Sea and the sea tries to leap towards the mountains in an eternal dance of an ancient longing. Nestled between the two eternal lovers is one of the most remarkable landscapes in India - the lush green Konkan that sparkles in the sun like a shining emerald.

While traveling along the winding roads of Konkan, one can see little thatched houses surrounded by coconut and mango trees overlooking tiny paddy fields. At night, the trees look as if they are ablaze for thousands of fireflies swarm on them and the night is punctuated by the song of crickets that wake up while the people sleep.

Except for the roads, perhaps, one would have seen this exact same sight even a couple of hundred years ago. Konkan is only now waking up to modernization as the Government is trying to industrialize the region. But most of the society still remains predominantly backward. Poverty and illiteracy is rampant and age old traditions, beliefs and dogmas about morality and immorality still have a firm grip on the minds of the people.

Bapu lived alone on his ancestral land in Chiplun, a town in Konkan region. The home he lived in, once housed a huge family of his six brothers and two sisters. As his siblings grew up, one by one they left to find better lives in big cities. Bapu, the youngest child, was left behind with his old parents. He devoted himself to taking care of his parents and after their deaths, Bapu continued to live in the old ancestral home maintaining the family property.

Day after day, his routine consisted of taking care of the couple of cows that he tied in the shade behind the house, making a stack of flat bread and feeding an army of some ten mongrels that he had adopted. In the evening he would gather his friends a game of cards and the group would drink and play late into the night.

A bachelor at 57, his life moved in a set pattern like the cogs on a wheel varying only during the summer visits of his brothers and their families when the old house would be engulfed in the sounds of laughing adults and little children running around from room to room, screaming and playing. The rest of the year Bapu would be surrounded by silence and loneliness. Bapu had come to a point that he did not expect his life to change and had settled like sediment - rigidified in time. Quirky and nasty at times, he lived his life as he pleased.

Even on day when the thin waiflike girl appeared at his doorstep and Bapu, did not realize that his life was never going to be same again.

It was the monsoon season and rains were pounding on earth with a vengeance. Bapu had finished feeding his dogs and was spreading the sheets on the floor, preparing to sleep.
He heard a knock and turned around to look at young girl of about eighteen standing in the doorway. Wet and bedraggled, she stood holding the door, shivering. For a second, Bapu was terrified and frozen, thinking she was a ghost. Then when he came back to his senses, he screamed, “Shoo you filthy beggar, I have nothing to give you! Go find someone else!”

The girl did not budge, in fact much to his amazement she actually came in. She was gaunt and pale. Her saree was clinging to her thin body making her look even thinner. Her lips and knuckles were white from staying for too long in the rain and her bindi had washed away leaving a faint red mark on her forehead. Her long hair, tied in a braid, was limp and wet and a stray strand or two stuck to her forehead.

“Bapu, please give me a place to stay”, she said to him in a trembling voice. “My name is Asha and I am from a small village nearby. My step mother kicked me out of the house and now I have nowhere to go. Nobody would give me shelter and even if they did, who knows what they would do to a lone girl like me. Bapu, I have heard so much about you. You are so kind at heart that you give shelter even to stray dogs. Bapu, I beg you, please, please let me stay.” She entreated. “I have even found a job. I swear I would not trouble you even a bit. I will just come here to stay at nights and leave in the morning. You won’t even know I was here.” She assured.

Bapu did not know what to say. This was quite a bizarre situation for him. On one hand he was feeling sorry for the girl, on the other he wanted to shoo her away. The girl stood there, looking down at the floor, waiting for him to say something.

After what seemed like an eternity, Bapu spoke. “Just for a few days!” he grunted and pointed her to a room and turned back to making his bed. Asha stood there for a while thinking he would say something more but Bapu did not even look at her again. He got busy with his task as if he had forgotten about her completely. Then, without a word, Asha went outside and brought her tattered old suitcase and went to her room.

In a few days Bapu got used to Asha’s presence in his house. She was certainly not the shy, timid waif like he had thought her to be. In fact she was quite sharp and very assertive. Once she settled down in the house, Bapu noticed that she was actually quite good looking and took good care of herself. She was clean, efficient and worked hard.

She would wake up early and make tea and breakfast for Bapu. Before going for work, she would cook and clean the house. Her clothes would be cheap but immaculate and her hair would be neatly tied in a long braid at her back.

Bapu had never seen his house so neat since is mother died. Despite himself, he was very grateful to have real food on his table and clean clothes to wear. He did not realize that day by day he was growing dependent on Asha.

Her clout on Bapu was increasing. Soon enough Asha took over the management of the house completely. The mongrels were driven away, the cow shade was cleaned, the closed rooms in the house were opened, and Asha rented them out to tenants. She had even taken over the negotiation while selling the coconuts and tamarind fruit from the farms. Bapu’s household was now Asha’s fiefdom - immaculately maintained.

Bapu grumbled at times about this encroachment, as was his nature, but somewhere inside he actually felt relieved. He had started counting on Asha to be his companion, his advisor. For the first time in his life, he was feeling what it was like not to be alone.

But, people in the town were talking, asking Bapu what was going on. Many warned him that this girl did not have a good background. They informed him that she was driven away from her village not by her step mother but by the villagers who found her to be of a loose character. What was his relation with her; they demanded and threatened to ostracize him.

“Call her my daughter, call her my companion, call her whatever you want but she is not moving from here!” Eccentric Bapu shouted at the neighbors who demanded that Asha be sent away.

Word was sent out to Bapu’s oldest brother, warning him about the developments back home. Bapu’s brother came down with his wife to find out what was going on. The couple tried to cajole and coax Bapu. They pleaded and demanded to him to send Asha away, but Bapu refused to listen. Frustrated, the couple stormed out of his house, threatening that they will never come back to this house until she was gone. Bapu said nothing and just watched his brother leave.

Bapu was shunned by people, but he did not care. He had his Asha. What was she to him? He did not care to analyze. He was definitely not sexually attracted to this girl who was less than half his age. He did not want to give this relation a name, for if he called her his daughter, she would have to be sent away one day. He felt responsible for her wellbeing, and worried for her. She would sometimes stay late in the evenings and Bapu would want to know where she had been.

“Oh, Bapu don’t worry, I was with a girl friend watching a movie.” Asha would inform.

Sometimes she would come well past midnight and Bapu would be awake, pacing up and down the hallway. When he asked her why she was late, she had a new excuse every time – that she had to work late, that she had to go see a sick friend, that she missed the bus. Sometimes she would just snap at him saying it was none of his business where she was and slam the door of her room. Bapu would get very upset at her audacity but would say nothing and retire to his room.

However, after a few months Bapu noticed that Asha had changed. She was still running the household but was not as feisty as before. She had become quiet and was visibly pale. She stopped going to work and spent most of her time in her room.

Bapu was worried that she was sick. When he asked her to go with him to the doctor, she refused. He implored her several times, but she would either snap at him or get up and go to her room and shut the door behind her. Bapu was frustrated and was finding it really difficult to communicate with her. Asha seemed to have withdrawn into her own shell.

Then one day Asha did not come out of her room at all. Bapu was frightened. He knocked several times but there was no answer. Finally he broke down the door and entered to room to find Asha on the floor writhing in pain. He picked her up and hurriedly took her to a hospital nearby.

The doctor admitted her and told Bapu that Asha was going into a premature labor. Bapu was speechless.

Shocked and confused beyond comprehension, he sat down slowly on a chair in the waiting lounge. All this time he had never noticed that Asha was pregnant. A lifelong bachelor, Bapu was completely ignorant about these things. Her coming late, her nightly visits, it all started making sense. He wished he had seen this before. He wished he had paid attention to what people were saying about her. He was furious and hurt, but found himself much too involved in her to abandon Asha.

A few hours later, the doctor came to Bapu and told him that Asha had given birth to a son. They would have to keep the two in the hospital for a few days and then he could take her home, the doctor informed. Bapu nodded and silently turned to go home.

Bapu would visit Asha in the hospital every day. He brought her food, clothes and medicines and took care of her needs. But they never talked. He never demanded and explanation from her, and she offered none. He would bring her supplies; arrange them by her bedside and leave, without a word.

When Asha and her baby were discharged from the hospital, Bapu brought them home and showed them to Asha’s room. Asha was pale, worn out and silent. What was going on in her mind? Bapu could not fathom but he considered it was his duty to take care of the mother and the baby.

But Asha was still withdrawn. Much to the chagrin of Bapu, she seemed to ignore the baby completely and did not take care of him at all. Bapu could not bear to see the child crying of hunger. He tried to make Asha take care of the child, but she was as if frozen. It was impossible to get through to her. Finally, he asked women living nearby how to take care of the baby and started looking after the child himself. He even gave a name to him, ‘Ashish’, meaning benediction. While Bapu would bathe and feed little Ashish, Asha would simply wander through the house silently like a specter.

Then one day, Bapu woke up to the sound of the screaming child. He got up and hurried to Asha’s room. Ashish was lying on the bed, but Asha was nowhere to be seen. Her belongings were strewn across the floor and her tattered suitcase was missing. Asha had simply abandoned her child and gone away.

Bapu was angry and devastated. He tried to look for her and went from house to house asking her whereabouts. He even went to the police. But Asha was nowhere to be found. After a long, futile search, as he came home dejected and heartbroken, the little child leapt to his arms, gurgling and laughing. Bapu’s heart cried for the child. Like him, little Ashish was lonely and so much more vulnerable. Bapu could not abandon this child and resolved to take care of him, no matter what.

Bapu devoted himself to taking care of his ward. He was alone, but Ashish gave him strength. In Ashish's eyes, Bapu had found purpose for his own life. He missed Asha sometimes, but she resided only in his memory. He would wonder sometimes where she was and despite himself, still wished for her happiness.

Then one day, without a warning, Asha reappeared in his life. One morning, Bapu saw her walking towards the house slowly and wearily, with a tattered suitcase in her hand. She looked sick and undernourished. Dressed in tattered old saree, her hair tied into an untidy bun, she looked much older for her age. Her youthful charm was gone and so had the sparkle in her eyes.
But looking at her coming back like this, Bapu was furious. All this time he had suppressed his anger and frustration. But now seeing her again, he could not contain himself. All his pent up anger burst like a dam. With an energy belying his age, Bapu rapidly came down the steps of his house and stood in Asha's tracks.

"Get out!" He Screamed "How dare you come here like this? Get out of here!" He said and grabbed Asha's hand and started dragging her towards the gate. Asha's suitcase fell open and her belongings scattered on the ground.

Asha resisted Bapu's assault and burst into tears. "Bapu, please, please at least listen to me!" She implored and got down on her knees.

"Please Bapu, don't drive me away. I beg you, have pity on me. I have nowhere else to go. I will die Bapu, I will die!" Asha clutched Bapu's feet and begged.

Bapu could not bear this sight. Although he was still furious, somewhere inside he had a soft spot for her. Seeing her contrite and vulnerable, Bapu felt pity and he stopped dragging her. However, he did not say anything and just turned away, leaving Asha on her knees, slouched and sobbing.

After her tears were spent, Asha got up slowly and gathered her belongings and went into the house. Bapu did not stop her. She went to what used to be her room, kept her suitcase and came out.

Bapu was sitting in the verandah in his armchair his eyes focused far away. Asha came out and quietly sat down on the floor at his feet. Bapu seemed lost in his own thoughts, and did not even turn to look at her.

"I know Bapu, that you are disgusted with me.” She said slowly after a while "Bapu, I really have no words to apologize and perhaps don't have a right to show you my face. I am a sinner, a selfish and a depraved person who deserves the worst punishment. You should loathe me, for I loathe myself”

"When I came here first I had lied to you. I told you my step mother had kicked me out of the house. In reality I had run away myself because I wanted to come to a big town to earn a lot of money and marry a rich man so that I could live a life of luxury."

"After coming here, I started working in a small grocery shop in this town. One of the customers there was this young man, extremely attractive and sweet talking. He would come there every day and try to talk to me. He would always be well dressed and ride a flashy motorcycle. He would tell me how beautiful I was and that any man would be willing die for me."

"Whenever he would come, he would bring me a present. Bapu, I resisted him at first, but could not help being hypnotized by his charm. He promised he would marry me and take me to big city. This dream had possessed me so much that I had become a puppet in his hands. Bapu, did
not even realize what I was doing until it was too late. "

"When I found out I was pregnant, it was already too late to abort the child. I tried to contact the child's father several times but he was nowhere to be seen. I lost my job in the shop and people started jeering and pointing at me wherever I went. It was like the whole town knew about my plight and no one but you had any sympathy for me. I was so mortified Bapu, and so frightened."

"After Ashish was born I was overwhelmed. I had no idea how to take care of a child. In fact I felt like he was a burden to me, a shackle in my feet. I could think of nothing else but getting away from him. I was so selfish Bapu, that I just packed my bags and walked away, without even looking back at my child."

"Soon after I left this house, I met my lover again. He asked me to run away with him to the city. I complied. But this person took me to a brothel and tried to sell me. I was so angry, so frustrated and so helpless. Bapu, I cannot describe what a nightmare it was! I was lucky that I could somehow run away from there."

"I wandered from city to city hungry and lonely for I did not have the courage to come here. I could not go back to my own village; my step mother would never let me in. However, my guilt was gnawing at me, burning me inside. Bapu you were an angel to me, but I never realized your worth. I was so wrong Bapu, I was so self-centered!"

"I have broken my life to pieces with my own hands. I had become wayward. But now I have learned Bapu, I have seen life. I have seen what character is, what integrity is and what it means to be responsible. "

"I don't know if there is anyway way for me to redeem my honor. But if you don't accept me, I will have no way but to take my own life." Asha said and slouched down, sobbing. She cried with all her heart, her pain flowed through her eyes as if she could never stop.

Bapu looked tenderly at the fragile, weak girl, shuddering in agony. Yes she had committed perhaps the gravest mistakes, but she was only a girl. She wasn't any different from so many young women who are lured into the whirlpool of the world by fragile dreams and empty promises. So many like her are used and mercilessly destroyed without ever getting a chance.

Yes they had done terrible things. But wasn't this as much a responsibility of the people who made them do these things? And do we just leave them to die, just because they lost their way? This was not right, not right.

Bapu sat besides Asha and stroked her hair gently, comforting her, supporting her. Slowly, Asha calmed down. She knew now that there was one place in the world she could call home.

But, Asha could not just live in Bapu's house. The backward society in which they lived would not accept them living like this. Getting her married to someone was out of question. She had already been bad mouthed so much that nobody would have wanted to marry her.

Bapu did not care for people while he was alive. But he worried that Asha and little Ashish would have to live in a nightmare after he died. He could not protect them forever unless there was a socially acceptable stamp on their relation. Asha understood all this too, so when Bapu asked her to marry him, she agreed.

Bapu and Asha got married soon after. For a while people laughed and gossiped about the odd couple, but in time their relation got accepted.

After a couple of years, Asha gave birth to Bapu's daughter who has turned out to be an incredibly bright child.

Asha redeemed her dignity and Bapu was no longer lonely. Bapu and Asha's marriage of convenience has turned into a stronger bond than any other relation could ever be.

Note: This is a true story, but names and places have been changed to protect the identity of people involved.

Seedling

Wonder what hurts more
An empty dream or an empty life
What is more of a lie?
You with me or you without me?

I would like to believe my love
That I meant nothing to you
I would like to go with the feeling
That you were not hurt and lost
But still somewhere I hope
That my footprints reside on your shore
And the memories are not washed away
Like the ephemeral moments of our love

Our love was a lie maybe
But was so much more beautiful
Than this dark and empty truth I live
The truth of the life without you

Does it matter my dear
Who drew the axe first?
Who killed that little plant?
And who had sowed the seed?

I never knew when it was that my life
Got intertwined with that of the seedling
And now while I pull it out of my heart
I know this death is my own

How far could I run….

How far could I run my love?
How much could I hide?
At last you had to catch up
And strike your mighty blow
And claim everything I had
Which was yours anyway
You had to squeeze my being
Until I was one with you
After losing myself forever

I fought so much to live my love
I cried, I despaired, I tried, and I ran
Until there was not single breath left
In this tiny being of mine

Now I stand here wounded and defeated
My sunshine darkened by tears
The starlets of hope are lost forever
And so is that tender innocence

I tried to hide from you my love
From that powerful haunting gaze
I cowered down to save myself from
That scathing love of yours

Is this how I was to meet you
Was I to walk through the fire to seek you?

Today as I stand here - numb and cruel
And gaze at you with empty heart
Was this to be your reward -
The result of the mindless persecution?
The infinite heartbreaks and dreams lost
Only to create this empty husk

I come to you but I am empty
I have nothing left to lay at your feet
Our love that was to be so pure
The meeting that was of beings divine
Is smeared with blood from my eyes
And questions unanswered
Litter like corpses on the way

Take what you can soon
For even this husk will wither away
And then you will be left alone
Powerful but lonely Divine

The Golden Maid

As morning approached, the nooks and corners of our building used to awaken to a cacophony - barking dogs, crying children, screaming moms and clangor of pots and pans. Since our building was surrounded by yet larger buildings we could hardly see the sun unless it was right above our heads. So morning was morning only when the alarm would ring and our surroundings filled with a steadily rising din of noises.

Our building was called Dhananjayshree Cooperative Housing Society, which was a complex (!) of about 12 apartments. Ah well, I know what you are going to say! There are more letters in that name than the number of apartments there. But, mind you, every family there, including ours, was a proud owner of an apartment of 500 sq feet each, except for, well, the Builder, who occupied a flat twice that size on the top floor.

This 'Builder', as she was referred to, was actually the owner of the construction company that had built our building. She had taken over its management after her husband's untimely death. Technically she was the member of our society as she owned one of the apartments, but actually was on the 'other' side since according to our contract she was the one who owned the coveted terrace for which we were in litigation. The contract she had was with us as individual apartment holders, and now that we were a society we felt that we hav to be treated differently and that we have a right to the terrace. For ten long years, in spite of our fighting, demanding, cajoling, coaxing, she had not agreed to our demand. In fact she had built a steel door at the entrance of her flat from where the stairs went up to the terrace and had effectively blocked the way up to the roof creating some sort of a fortress on the top floor. This door, I tell you, was quite an eyesore for all of us!

Before you think otherwise let me tell you this story is not about the litigation or about that fortress. This is the story of Sonabai, our very own golden maid, who's booming voice would reverberate through the corridors of the building, over and above the morning cacophony that had already built up to its peak by the time she arrived to perform her daily chores. Her chores included sweeping the stairs and washing clothes and utensils at the home of her 'clients' - the ladies in whose favor she currently was. (Probably because she was currently out of favor of the ladies with whom they had recently fought!)

Sonabai was a hot favorite amongst the women in our building because she always had a fresh stock of gossip from the entire colony. Besides this, she had another trump card. Sonabai had an access to that fortress as she was a maid in the Builder's house as well. So, she was a great source of tidbits of information like the Builder's new sari or that new fridge she had recently bought.

Sonabai relished her status amongst the women, firstly, because that made her feel important, and secondly, because she simply loved to talk. She could talk to anybody, at any time, without caring to stop and check if they were actually listening to her or not. One of her hapless victims was my brother who would scurry for cover if he heard her coming. If she did catch him, and if she had not had an audience for her gossip yet, she would actually unload it on him. If you were one of her victims, it was impossible for you to stop her or walk away because she would follow you and continue to talk until she was done! So, my brother would just sit there helplessly and pretend to listen, his mind wandering elsewhere, praying that Sonabai would be done soon.

Though she was painfully voluble, Sonabai was scrupulously clean and very good at her work. She would come to work every morning wearing one of the two saris she owned. Her sari would always be clean and she would drape it in the traditional Maharashtrian way, where one takes one end of the sari between her legs and tucks it near the waist at the back creating a sort of a trouser. She would take the other end of the sari over her head like a scarf and tuck it in the front near her waist. She was short and fair and looked much younger for her age. On her forehead she had a tattoo of a bindi. She did not wear a bindi since she had become a widow, but could not do anything about the tattoo so left it alone.

She was always full of almost childlike energy, and rarely would her voice drop below the highest decibel. She hardly missed work or took a sick day and always arrived on time.

Sonabai felt that she was superior to the other maids in the colony and did not like to talk to them of be treated like them. This was because, as she told me once, she had not started as a maid but as a farmer's wife. She came from a well to do family and her husband owned a farm in a small village near Pune. After her husband died, leaving behind Sonabai and her two little daughters, her mother in law took all her jewelry and kicked her out with her daughters and left them to fend for themselves.

Sonabai sat outside with her children all night, hoping her mother in law would take pity and open the door. In spite of a lot of pleading and crying her mother in law did not budge. Finally, Sonabai had to pick up her hungry children and move on. She had no choice but to take her children and go to her sister in Pune. Her sister herself was struggling to feed her own family with the meager salary of her husband who was a factory worker and found it impossible to feed three additional mouths. Sonabai could not stay with them for long and had to stand on her own feet. Slowly, with the help of her sister, she found work as a maid in our area, rented a tin shed to live in and settled down. However, she found that it was impossible to feed, protect and educate her daughters by herself. She had to keep them in an orphanage until they finished their high school.

Sonabai had precisely two dreams in life. One was to get her daughters married to men who had jobs, so that they would not have to work as maids like their mother and other was to own a house, no matter how small, which, she could call her own and would be able to die in peace with a roof over her head.

She had put aside tiny amounts from her meager earnings and made little jewelry for her daughters' weddings. Once they were out of the orphanage, Sonabai was tensed up about whether or not they will get suitable grooms and in those days that was the only thing she talked about all the time. She would ask everyone who crossed her path to look for grooms for her girls and list out her requirements until the whole building got tired of the story. Finally, one of our neighbors brought a proposal of a family with two brothers looking for a match. Both the girls liked the grooms and the grooms liked the girls and, finally, to the relief of the society, Sonabai's daughters were married. One of Sonabai's dreams was fulfilled!

Well, as you might have guessed, the matter was not over there. For quite a while after that, we had to hear stories about her daughter's weddings and their new life. Though we would get bored to death, it was nice to see her happy.

But, her other dream was hard to come by. The real estate prices were shooting and it was quite beyond reach for someone like her to own a house. So, she seemed to have resigned herself to her tin shed home.

Then one Monsoon it was raining really hard and we saw Sonabai walking down the road an oversized jute bag on her head and another in her hand. She was drenched to the bone and shivering. She went straight up to the Builder's house, ignoring the women in our society who all came out to see what was up with her (as they always did when something even slightly unusual happened) . This event was quite sensational and for long time after that there was a lot of discussion on what exactly Sonabai was up to.

We later learned that the rain had caused a flash flood in which her tin shed had swept away. She had nowhere else to go so she gathered whatever little belongings she could find in the mess and went to meet the Builder to request shelter. The Builder was a kind woman. She took Sonabai in and let her build a makeshift hut using one of the walls on the terrace where she could stay until she found another place.

Now this was quite a shocker for the society. Sonabai had not only become a denizen of our building but was actually staying on the precious terrace, 'our' precious terrace! This shocking news was conveyed to the men by the women as soon as they returned from work. The men talked to other men and decided that they needed to be furious about this episode and that night itself a meeting was convened to protest against Sonabai's encroachment.

After an hour or so of discussions they realized that they were just talking amongst themselves and the builder was happily sitting in her own fortress oblivious of this clamor. So, they wrote up a formal protest letter and the entire troupe went up to the Builder's home.

The Builder was in no mood for discussion about this. She listened to what the men had to say and announced that she is not going to kick Sonabai out. The terrace was her property and she would do what she pleases with it, she declared. Hearing this there was uproar and everyone got into heated arguments about the issue.

Sonabai was standing outside listening to 11 men and a woman fighting to decide her fate. And, to her surprise, a miracle happened. After the argument reached its peak, quite unexpectedly, the Builder declared that she was going to build another floor on the terrace. And, not only this, she was going to build a one room apartment there for Sonabai. This room was going to be right under the stairway that would go up to the terrace above that floor, she informed.

The whole conglomeration fell into a shocked silence. This new development was beyond comprehension of the men and none of them quite knew how to react. Shocked and seething, they got up one by one and left the Builder's house in silence. As the Builder beamed triumphantly, Sonabai could not believe her ears. She had never thought that her only remaining dream would be fulfilled, and that too so unexpectedly.

From that day Sonabai became the exclusively loyal to the Builder. No longer were we treated with gossips from the Builder's house. In fact, she left jobs from the houses staunchly against the Builder and found work at those either neutral or for the Builder. She was completely possessed by the thought of having her own house and refused talk about anything else.

Sonabai started going extra lengths to make the Builder happy - bought groceries and vegetables for her, cleaned her house and even watered the plants. She was dying to know the details about the Builder's plan for construction and asked her about it as many times as she could. Sometimes she would get an answer sometimes she would get rebuked for being nosy, but she would soak in as much information as she could obtain. At night by the little light bulb in her makeshift hut, she would pore over the greasy copy of the floor plan that she had obtained turning it this way and that again and again.

The Builder, however, had her own problems to deal with. Irate members of the society who left the meeting in silence earlier had gone back and regrouped their forces. They had intensified their attack against her by filing multiple suits for the access to the terrace, the construction she had threatened them about and also about the encroachment she had allowed. She was harried, running from courtroom to courtroom, juggling between the hearing dates. Angry, hurt, humiliated and alone the Builder fought on.

After many a courtroom battles the verdict came. The Builder won the case for construction. But, there was a clause that the ownership of the roof on top of the new construction would go to the society. Society members were happy and finally the construction began.

However, the case was closed on paper but not in the minds. The Builder could not forget what she had gone through all these years after her husband died and she was left alone to deal with vituperative neighbors. She resolved to get back at the society members and beat them at their own game.

She sat down with her architect and redrew the floor plan. Walls were pushed around a little and the rooms were reorganized. The roof was made slanting and, practically, useless as a recreation area. A tiny little hole was left for a little ladder to get on top. The court's decision was followed in principle so there was no chance of getting sued, but in practice, it was a slap in the face of the demanding society members. The Builder had her last laugh, finally!

But, since there was no stairway, the room beneath it was scrapped; erased even from the memory. The new floor plan boasted posh spacious apartments with no room for Sonabai's little home. As the new floor got built, little by little, Sonabai's dream was destroyed. Somewhere between the fight of the mighty ones, the tiny dream of little golden maid was forgotten as if it never existed.

Then one day, Sonabai gathered the few posessions she had, tore down her makeshift hut and just walked away, silently. She left her work at all the apartments of our building as if she had renounced us. After that, she never came back to our building.

She kept working in the colony as that was the only place she knew and often crossed our path. When I saw her I would feel guilty for no particular fault of my own. I wished there was a way to make it up to her. But if she saw any of us, she would turn her head and walk away.

Sonabai, when I think about you and tell your story, the pang of guilt returns. There is no way these words will ever reach you, but let me make them blow with the air, hoping they will - I am sorry for what happened to you, I really truly am!