Saturday, July 21, 2012

On Marriages


The new smart-phones in the market seldom gets bought in a moments decision, men read the reviews online or checks with a friend, who already has got a model by a specific company. The pro's and cons gets arrayed and then the tracker is possessed in exchange for a lot of green bills. Most acts by men from selecting a restaurant for a special dinner to planning retirement, 'caution' or rather 'diligent thought' precedes the act. The scenes that gets unfolded in the Court-rooms post marriage makes me wonder do we humans, puts forth diligent thought, when we get to the time of choosing a partner to share life with. The difference that it would bring forth to the space you always had for yourself, the aura around you, which seldom gave away for anyone.

Speaking with my aunt, living separated from her spouse, about the pending litigation  between them, I asked her, "Did you ever think about marriage, like one of the most important decisions in life, with the pros and cons arrayed? and then went ahead and got married?" She tells me, "No. I don't think so. Everyone was getting married and I could also do with a companion of my own and start a family like everyone else" She then wanted to know, what would be the pros and cons in a marriage?

Like the way you and I think before buying a laptop or a mobile phone, whether we should get an apple or a sony wio or a dell. Like the way we compare the features on blackberry with the i phone and then together compare both with the samsung note, on naaptol.

In the silence of my room, I try form a list of things that would be altered within the individual after the holy vows. In the normal circumstances, man gains companionship, safe and easy sex and  a chance to start a new family of his own. In healthy circumstances, the companionship grows over a period of time reaching heights, which could not be scaled by any other relation. The honey-moon never lasts for ever, and  days gets turned to weeks and months and almost nil by old age, the number of times you indulged in the act called sex, or rather 'love-making' since it is within the permissible chain of matrimony and we are thinking of a scenario when 'him' and 'her' wants it. The sense of belonging to a family, a close knit group of individuals, who loves each other almost like themselves, is another thing a man gets by taking the vows.

The cons too are not left far behind! I would say in a marriage between the smart phone users (i meant more evolved humans and has nothing against smartphone), there is a 80 - 20 ratio between the marriage being "the bliss" and it being "not exactly a blissful experience". Marriage is more or less like a voyage, exploring the blue and loving it, but then the waters are not always calm. The first question into my mind is, do I want to take a chance? The odds are in favor, but still is companionship and sex favored by me more than solitude. Not loneliness, but solitude, when the man is at peace with himself. Most humans loves solitude, some identifies it, some do not. The love of solitude can easily be traced to the love for 'thyself'. One can deny it, but none could hide it from themselves that humans love himself almost always the most in the world.

Do I want to take up responsibility for other beings? My partner, the kids that gets born, the extended family which becomes mine, do I have it in me to be responsible towards the others on the voyage? The person will have to adjust, make accommodations, blend and evolve, to keep the harmony uninterrupted. While a single driftwood can always think about his floating and his interest over and above everyone else and be honest about it.

I have heard some married friends of mine swear when the watch gets to a particular hour, because it is the time for them to get home. Not because they don't love their wives or have a troublesome married life, but because they were enjoying what they were doing and for some time more would love continue doing that like us, the bachelors. But the responsibility towards a good wife waiting for him, makes him leave and he swears just cause of that. There is no ill will against her, but a grief about the bygone solitude!

If only people thought of what changes would marriage bring to the person he is and the space around him. Take the decision for or against getting married, willingly taking the risks on the personal front. It would have been so better a voyage for them who walk the corridors of courthouses, stuck in litigation, fighting shamelessly before other prying eyes, with the person you on someday shared the bed and shared yourself.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Kamasutra by Vatsyayana - in the curriculam !!



The book with old yellow pages looked appealing from a distance, the brown leather gave the feel of class from an era all together different. It was on the shelve written "erotica", with a few flashier cousins around, in a crowded book store. "Kamasutra" written in black with golden emboss over the brown leather and giving the viewer a sense of excitement behind its knotted leather. A book describing in graphic language, about the idealist's three quest, artha, dharma and kaama and teaching the reader, some ways to indulge in the act with a difference, making the matrimonial relation stronger. It talks a little about everything, from whom to indulge with, to different modes to do it. Surprisingly, the book talks about the physical relation with ones own wife, the virtue-st and the best.

If books in school are about, imparting knowledge to the next generation, making them wise from the stage of being naive, then, the knowledge about sex, is as much important as any other act. If physics and maths, history and politics, language and art, all find place in the pages of textbooks, then sex too shouldn't be left behind. Sexual education in schools shouldn't be about the virtue of not doing the act or the rough outlines like, wife and husband copulate, men leaves his sperm inside the woman. The sperm fuses with the ovum and a kid gets born. It could be best said to a child entering into teenage, while explaining the differences that is going to happen in his/her body, not to a teenager midway through the teenage.

He should be taught how it is done and to be considerate; he should be taught, that ones climax is no climax unless his partner reaches there as well. He ought to know the act, at least as a paper of theory and decide what to do for himself, to wait for matrimony or enjoy the ride at the pre-marital stage itself. Kamasutra as part of the syllabus in the eleventh standard would teach a midway teenager, a lot about the act, its charm and its curse from a social perspective.

The title evokes a feeling of hypocritical repulsion in most middle aged folks, who has a kid about teenage or ripening into adulthood. They are hypocrites, because their faces contract with the title, but they themselves indulged in the act once up on a time or maybe even the last night and being the hypocrite wouldn't want their children capable of reproducing, read a book on it. But in this age, with every teenager with means, having access to hardware and internet, wouldn't the parents like them to know about the act from a book than what strangers have left in the web.

Getting to know how it is done, is inevitable and I seriously doubt there been one woman or man who got married in the last one year, without knowing how it is done. Maybe some might have watched porn, maybe asked a friend or the mother gave a lecture, but inevitably, almost everyone knew and the knowledge is so very little and incomplete. The pattern usually is for the lady to stare at the fan, and then the male shares the honor in staring the fan, repeating the scenes with the fan over and over again, year after year.

None could blame me if I say, the reason behind infidelity among married couples is the lack of charm in sex. The average statistics of women who had an orgasm in real with the husband, keeps hovering about a 50 percent all the time in those weird surveys that magazines like Cosmopolitan keeps publishing. Surprisingly men have not been lacking in this regard to the best of everyone's knowledge. Considering the fact that men are usually more quicker to have an orgasm than women, there actually lies no surprise that men do catch a share of fun, even if the wife doesn't. The act is so sensuous to be dealt callously, it sure is the reason behind creation from nothing, of a life. It should be cherished by both the members and not considered insignificant, for the act with the right person is one of the most beautiful feelings a man / woman could ever feel.

Kamasutra is no erotic literature, it tells one how to make love or rather widen the options in doing it and gives a forth of morality in the goodness of making love to ones wife. People have so wrong a misconception about the book and its goodness, and should either read the pdf version linked in the beginning or check this from the flipkart. Maybe a few pages about kissing or about pleasing the other, could rekindle ones relation with his/her wife / husband and bring forth a new season of spring.


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The row about syllabus, about including 'whom' and excluding 'whom else' from the textbooks which gets distributed to tomorrows citizens, or rather nation builders, speaking in the spirit of a nation. There been many a debate about Marx and Engels losing their place, from the text books from Calcutta. Then one gets to wonder, even if they are removed from the history texts, wouldn't Marx and Engels find appearance in the political science and economics text books? Or will they get removed from all the places they have marked, the places they have left a dent and made a difference, in a good way or bad.


Monday, May 28, 2012

Class Photograph and thoughts on friendship !!



A class mate posted this photograph, taken on the last day of school and tagged us all on face book. The expected jubilant comments about how sweet it was of her to have posted the class photograph, after 10 years, soon surfaced one after the other below the picture and like everyone, I too hit on the 'like' button next to the picture and added a comment as well, as expected in the accepted social etiquette related with posting in social networking sites.

The memories of school is filled with loads of sweat and white shirts turned dusty brown, after the game. The memoirs have sweet innocent looking girls in their teens with the double pleated pig tails and a lot more. Lying content after a hearty meal on a Sunday Sabbath,  these thoughts makes a vivid platform to drift to sleep. The sweetness and the innocence of age in the thoughts of school, would make one forget the hard lines of toil on his hands and the aging wrinkles on forehead.

I was friends with them once, but I cant't say that all are still my friends. I spend 12 years sitting with them in the same classroom and shared many a meal, sweat, gossip and event together, but despite the 12 years, apart from a very few, I don't think none are my friends today. Acquaintances, that is the best I can label them. But, ask me truly and I would suggest even that is a generous label, a Gucci spread on a street urchin.

A handful from the picture still remains my closest friends, and the others the distant familiar faces, whom I have no longing to know any more. Meeting a school mate, couple of years back, surprisingly on train, I had my pulses rising, an excitement which I couldn't name. But after 5 minutes, where we tried know what the other been up to, I was in search of ideas to change my seats to a different compartment. The expression my companion had, flashed his heart, which beat to the same rhythm that mine beat, of being 'STUCK'.

I talked about this excitement and the stuck feeling to my closest friends and everyone had a similar story of being excited to meet an old friend from school and in a matter of moments, feel stuck, and with the toes, searched for a way into the heart of the earth to escape. Conversation dries up, much faster than the traffic that rushes out when the signal turns green, leaving the constable the lonely one standing. Some tales of accomplishments becomes so painful to hear, that you end up drinking a pint of vodka bottoms up, as if searching for the sticker on the bottle bottom that announces you as the winner of this years vodka sweepstakes.

School and its people stays the best as memories, for the corrupt heart, knows the sweet ones to cherish and the bad ones to fade. If I hadn't ever met that guy on train, he would have been always remembered as the guy who bowled fast while playing cricket. His dreams must have been the same, way back in school and conversations with him, must have appealed dull to me back then as well, but the great healer time made sure those tiny cracks of dislike never appeared on my thoughts about him, if I had ever remembered him before bumping into him by accident. The bump ensured, I would try hide in the train's loo the nest time I meet him and if my guess is not false he might dive beneath the seat, the moment he sees my face get into the same compartment as him.

Maybe growing more old, I might like the prospect of meeting friends from school, but for now, I can't fathom to stand a day with all of them around and having to be nice to all, though I spend 12 years of mine just doing that and it has been 10 years since they all stopped being a part of my life. Maybe, it is just me and the anti social in me, who hates these social unions or maybe there are many like me, who wouldn't want to meet anybody, just because they studied in the same school or attended the same college or had some history, which designated them as friends. Maybe there are people who would rather be with just 2 or 3 friends instead of the fifty and the history, and stand up and speak honest and say, "your celebrations and griefs are not going to make me smile nor shed a tear, just like mine is not going to make you feel" !!

Sunday, May 27, 2012

broken dreams

She drove ahead, glued to the white lines on tarmac,
no sweeping glances filled her eyes with his lanky frame.
His heart was laden, heavy with the weight of loss,
the loss of innocence, which made him feel alive.

Dreams woven in thinnest silk, of being together as man and woman,
dreams of a future untold , with kids playing in the backyard pool.

First the pool gave way and later the backyard,
the kids and wife followed soon after.
He was a driftwood again, forsaking his love, searching the mighty blue,
to fill the emptiness he felt every morning he opened his eyes.

Clutching the dreams to her cold bosom, to be the woman and not just one,
in search of her own reasons to live, rather than be a wave in the driftwood's sail.








Saturday, April 21, 2012

in the name of GOD



A friend the other day commented, "Jesus was a bastard. If you believe the Bible, then he is born outside wedlock." He knew, I was a Christian, and I might feel offended, but then the big mouth didn't shut up. I didn't feel, I had to defend Jesus's stature and he could easily do without me, as much as with me, on that issue about parentage and and no-one else did feel the need to defend, far less even pursue, the conversation was stubbed by silence.

Driving back home, I felt that the comment my friend made, topped among the worst I heard in a long time, inconsiderate and ill-informed. I could have easily rallied back or the other Christian in the group and name a dozen Hindu Gods or God's generally, who are just as much as a bastard, that Christ is. And it could have made the others more uncomfortable, phew !

They are called God's for no-reason, they have a different world than ours and things happen differently there. If all they did, was live like you and me, the average screw, then they would not be the GODS. God's have the heaven and all God's could do wonders (correct me if, I am wrong), from raising the dead to transforming ones shape, to the tiniest weeniest magic. Now when it is about them that we are speaking the immaculate conception doesn't seem much a wonder considering the prowess they have with creating from void.

People never realizes the thin borders surrounding religion, which shouldn't be crossed, lines beyond which, if the topic is not intellectual in nature with a proper argument, could be outright offensive to even silent indifferent folks believing in a certain God. I hope I wouldn't be wrong in saying every religion talks about the state of affairs after the breath ceases, and prescribes a way of life, to get there to the state and it is popularly based on how you spend your time while in the skin of man. And it is not nuclear science that the prescribed "way of life" can easily be led by each individual without burdening the other's way of life. But, then that is seldom practiced.

But then, for the masses, religion is not just a way of life, to lead on to the other world, if there ever be one. Religion is the show of strength in numbers and the devotees fighting the war for the Gods. If ever there be, a question as to , the most popular, or the supreme; I feel Gods for sure are better equipped than us, with all the powers and divine conceptions. Starting from the ancient times, from the time the concept of God existed in human minds and it varied, the fight for the spread of religion was also on. The fighters were promised the happiest 'state of affairs' after death; but then wouldn't the great one be contradicting himself if that is true.

Every religious book would for sure have a line about loving one another and then how could the same one, give an exception clause like the laws of the land, which starts with "Notwithstanding anything contained in any other....." The same God, talks about peace and its virtues and then with fingers pointed at the words in the fine print, bending them to suit their desires, they justify all the acts done in the progress of religion. If this be true, then that God is the biggest fallacy, for he was never a God ever, he wasn't the creator and he isn't the one who governs you after you are dead.

But being true, the religious riots of late is not even about the supremacy of the god, but rather revenge. If the Gujarath Chief Minister, could quote Newton's third law in reply to the press while asked about the 2002 Gujarat Riots, then that is all revenge and nothing done in the God's service, who preaches about love.

Religion brings in a feeling of belonging to the individual, and he finds security in the numbers. He have people to talk to about his ideas of God and many a time have them so drastically change that they end up believing fidayeen is the easiest way to be right beside God. After the true believers for sure there are the cowards who commits the murder and rape, for he believes in not just serving the God, but himself as well.

If only, men were a little more wise instead of being brave and loyal, a lot of blood shed, would have been avoided. If only people practiced what religion preached, rather than try show their strength in numbers or clout, many a history darkened with blood stains could have been different. If only, people like my friend, restrained their mouth from making inappropriate religious comments, many a mosque / church / synagogue or any temple of worship, as Rand would have said, would still be standing.











Friday, April 20, 2012

Helpless


Watching my grandfather sit on his chair and pass time, bored and yet helpless, waiting for the needles on clock to come to a certain hour, for the arrival of some people, is a scene in my house on almost all days. He sits waiting for us to come back home, to share with him the events of the day and make his life eventful. It is the poor old mans wait to share the life of the young, to make his life have a tiny shade of color. But then, the figure waiting is not given the whole time once we are home, for we have our own jobs to finish at home as well.

His marriage, lasted 58 years, before grandma died and now he is left to live in memories alone. He some times talks about their marriage, when around 25, a friend found a suitable proposal for him and after many a formality he got married. Sharing life ever since then and being there to watch each others back, till an year ago,there wasn't a world, without her, for him. She was his, through the smiles and the pain and its been a union, from as far his old memory could easily recollect.

Grandma was on bed with arthritis, moving with the aid of a walker or if the weather was good, with a walking stick, for more than a decade and it was his tireless devotion, which made her walk at least that much. A loving dedicated husband,and a good father, but with the old age and its toll, there is so little a world for him to exist in now.

A peaceful existence with family and news and events and being involved for 85 years and finally to a big silence now. Grand mom was the talker, the one who had a 100 questions to ask or share and grandpa the listener. Now with the speaker gone, there is no sound for this old man to listen to throughout the day and he doesn't fancy listening to the new FM stations as well.

I can close my eyes and easily recollect my childhood spend with him. He always had the time, to answer my questions and always had some work with me involved in it. He held my hand while crossing the road, waited for me in the railway station, solved my queries about farm animals, taught me the roads, bought me a hundred rubber balls, is now just confined to his easy chair and the walk to the church and grave every morning.

I was filled with shame, for no reason, while I was making him evening tea the other day. The tea turned out to be horrible, yet he had it with no complaint, asking me about a friend of mine. I asked him "what do you want to do? Start a small farm and spend time the agrarian way? travel a bit and go through places, you have once been to? See the changes time have brought in? Live in different cities and meet new people?" He smiles at me and says, "I am just happy like this, sitting with you."

I look at him and I can in a way feel myself as a kid all over again, sitting in wait for him, for my adventures to begin. Being a kid, I wasn't left to venture out myself, but then with him around, the world had a new bigger dimension. The huge pond near the temple, the small tea shop near the main road, which served 'chaai' and 'pazham porri' (Banana fry and I hope Melange doesn't find my translation ridiculous), the lake on the left side of the Edapalli Railway Station, every place I went to, near the home I lived as a child, was holding his hand. And now he sits, waiting for me to share my life with his. Waiting for the rubber balls, with what I could brighten and bounce his days.

I take him out to meet his younger sister living about 50 miles away and he sits in the front seat, like a child, fascinated or maybe struck by the change that has struck and the pace with which change is marching on relentlessly. He tells me many a tale about some of the places, we pass by, places he have lived, places he been to, places which had his friends, most of whom, who doesn't remain any longer. While we drive back, he looks at me and tells, "since you were there, the day had wings."

Saturday, March 31, 2012

the Fourth Estate delivery !!



The Fourth Estate delivery every morning to the door steps of most homes in the God's Own Country has been almost non-existent for over ten days now. Kerala is supposedly the only 100 percent literate State in our Union, and it has quite a lot to do with the news papers and men's quench for news. Most homes have a pattern of reading the news paper as well, with the alpha male in the family normally having his first go at the news and then the kids and then the lady of the house, while on her commute or maybe in the evening. But everyone invariably read something or the other out from the thin foils with the carbon imprint, imparting the so called 'news' to tease man's appetite for knowing.

The agents, who administered the home delivery are now on a strike, like most other group and organisation in the State, of enlightened masses, who knows the benefits of numbers. The news paper agents in charge of the delivery of the news, imprinted on thin foils, wants a higher share of the profit that the Management is making with the Fourth Estate and they have resolved to not performing the deliveries, unless they are offered a higher percentage of the profits.

I tried read the newspaper online for some days now, but it is not as appetizing as the thin foils which I could hold on to. The online version of news, seems so impersonal and my sacred ritual of reading the news paper or rather browsing the paper for my favorite pages, has taken a serious hit back. I am up-to-date with the issues that is making news, like the Army Chiefs bribe accusations and the Ministry of Defenses, defense taken regarding the allegation. I know the Italian tourist and the Member of Legislative Assembly from Odisha is still under the captivity of the Maoist and the State is on a negotiation to get them released. The merchant Italian Ship, Enrica Lexie, from which shots were fired, which resulted in the death of two fishermen from the Kerala coast is still lying in anchorage at the Cochin Port Trust and the Hon'ble High Court has stayed its sailing for 3 more days.

The news, I am updated about, through the TV, through the internet, through my friends regarding their areas of interest, like the news about Indian cricket team losing yesterdays T20 cricket match against the Porteas, based on the Duck-worth Lewis calculation. But the gathering of the news or rather being enriched with the events happening around me is not happening, vide the medium I best prefers.

My household have endured this strike by the newspaper delivery agents, without much complaints till now, but then there has been days when an eruption has been heard from my dad / me / or a random guest, regarding the strike. In a society where everyone is aware of their rights, very little can be done in-spite of all the eruptions, unless you want to put an end to the little discomfort yourself and be made free of the feeling of emptiness for not having read the newspaper daily.

I woke up a little earlier than usual and armed with ten rupees, without brushing my teeth or changing into a more accepted dress-code, I set off on my rickety bike to the news paper office, to buy my two newspapers and make my day have something which has been missing the last few days. There was not much of a line waiting for the paper and the guy sitting behind the desk, didn't even bother give me a second glance, when I passed him the ten rupee note and said, "oru Hindu, oru Mathrubhumi" (one Hindu, One Mathrbhumi).

Armed with my little cart filled with events around the world from the past 24 odd hours, I drove back home to be greeted at the gate with my Appa, having in his hand a copy of the two newspapers I had just bought, by paying the tenner. He looked at me and said, the neighbor who works in a newspaper has agreed to get us these two papers on his way back from office, after the night shift, till the agents call of their strike. So you needn't ride everyday in the morning to get the dailies. I tell him back, that is wonderful Appa, but in case we didn't have this alternate arrangement for getting the newspaper delivered, I wouldn't have bothered much about having to drive in the morning. I don't want to be held at ransom, by not having my newspaper delivered everyday. I would rather take up the discomfort of waking up 15 minutes earlier and go get the paper from the press, than wait for the strike to be over.

Monday, March 26, 2012

begone the days of chivalry



Exhausted and my eyes laden with sleep, I sat with my eyes closed, trying to drift to sleep listening to the bumps of the road and being rocked in the hardly cushioned seat of the bus. It had been a long day and the 3 hours back, seemed like a good time to catch some sleep, which had been quite missing this week. I felt something touching my head and I find this lady leaning on the side of the seat in front, with a toddler in hand and it was the child's dangling legs, which had made contact with me. For a moment, I looked at her, while she looked at me and I couldn't dare look at her eyes and I started staring outside, avoiding her eyes.

The little goodness in me made me feel bad about this lady standing with a kid in her hands and holding on to the rail for balance, while I sat leisurely; that took away my dare in meeting her eyes. For she wanted the seat more than me, but then I wasn't ready to share my comfort with her. I had checked the sign above the seat indicating 'reserved for women' before sitting and I wasn't on a seat reserved for the members of the fairer sex. No women, sitting on the reserved seats for their gender, looked at her, for all of us wanted to have our comfort to ourselves. And the other men in the bus were lucky, for they didn't have to deal with a tiny leg, dangling before your eyes at such a close distance.

I remember having a conversation about women equality with my mom, when we were at our regular Sunday morning breakfast or rather blasphemy sessions, in the words of a prudent catholic in our kitchen. I had told her, women is responsible for whatever her plight of misery she says she is in, because of her sisters as much because of men. Mom wouldn't agree, but then I wouldn't agree on anything else either and we eventually had no place else to go ahead, with both our ideas and stopped in peace.


Lost in the thought of gender equality and trying to fit together the exact reply my mom had told me, I find this lady loose her balance and almost fall, when the bus hit a sudden halt. The time she looses her balance and starts falling, the first feelings in me, is not the safety of her or the kid, but a sense of shame for having made this happen by not wanting to share my comfort. Thankfully she didn't complete the fall and she stood tall again, with the kid held tighter and her fists clenched on to the rail, with more vigor than before. 


Gone are the days of gentlemen, who stood every time the lady stood and I don't think there will ever be a time, when a lady would get an extra care, on account of just being a lady from men, much less members of her own species. She talks about gender equality, and receives the special treatments conferred on her as part of vote oriented politics, like the women in the bus, who sat on the seats reserved for them. But then, deep down in their heart were not willing to trade their comfort, with a fellow sister.

((Did I offer my seat to her is left to you, my dear reader, to give shape, for the post is not about whether I did or not)) 

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

ogling at a girl's navel !!


A friends 'treat', thrown in celebration of saying adieu from 'practice of law' to join her husband working in the Middle East, gave me a much needed break from the serious faces staring from law briefs  and be in the chilled environment of a coffee lounge, wrapped around with the presence of youngsters and their loud voices.

Sitting leisurely, with the eyes half closed, sinking with the tickling of the green apple soda, making its way into me, I couldn't help but pause for a moment, looking at the six girls sitting a little away from us. I am not sure, whether I should call them girls, for they looked in their early twenties and ripe enough to be called a woman. The girls were adorned in sarees, draping the young silhouettes in style, giving themselves a false look of maturity. The lounge had this aura, that their presence had brought, an aura of life and vigor, of promises and dreams.

Spending a lion's share of every day, surrounded by people in black and white, my eyes couldn't help but ogle, though I tried not to. The friend, who was to pay for my apple soda, found my eyes wandering on to the girls, in a harmless caress and then again repeating it every other minute.

I saw a girl from the six, wearing an yellow saree rise and my eyes followed her like the pug in the Vodafone add. Her saree had moved and her navel was at the mercy of my lecherous eyes, which for a moment I enjoyed like a feast and  then something made me look away. Acting innocent, my eyes circled all the way round, back from her, to be met by the stare of  my apple soda sponsor and I had to confess with a little shame, "I saw her navel, the girl wearing the yellow saree. I couldn't help but just look when she stood up".

Saturday, March 17, 2012

time heals



Science tells me, man, in the course of his travel from 'apes' to 'men', not just lost the tail but also his thoughts grew wider, deeper and broader. He thought about things, presuming and assuming, believing briefly a presumption to be true, in search of the next level of the thought, and that has led him to where he stands today.  "From how does lightening happen", which puzzled the first members of our species, we have come all the way to lightening resistors. 

His thoughts always accompanies him, the invisible twin, sometimes mono-zygotic, some times not. Watching a game of football, the thoughts might be not about football or the way that particular game has to be played nor about the pretty lady in the stand sitting two rows ahead; but about the milk I forgot to keep back in the fridge. Making love to your beloved, ones thoughts not always sticks to the person or the neighbor damsel / hunk nor anything to do with the act, but could be found wandering about the tiny blotch of black on the ceiling. The thoughts would be of people, things, abstracts, could be of anything, but the process normally is always on, in almost all humans, except the time we call it a night and not have a dream nor a nightmare at least.

Broken hearts attracts the phrase, "time heals, you will surely forget" like flees to an open sweet. But time seldom makes one forget, but rather makes the thought disappear, for all of us live for the present, looking up ahead into our future. The memories will always be there, until the grey cells gets corrupted with age, but all that would remain before and after the corruption is only the memories, which could be triggered in a nostalgic frenzy, forming part of our present thoughts.

Travelling in a bus, passing by the side of a school, might make one think about his school or friends back then or some incidents which occurred while in school. But only when a set of conditions triggers ones memory to something from the old days, does one think about things from past, during the school. One could boastfully say, I remember all my friends from 1st grade, which in my case is quite untrue, but could be true in the case of many humans, but all that person actually does is, the images of everyone from the 1st grade is stored some place in his memory, a vault which gets opened when something triggers the word '1st grade' in him. One remembers most things from the past, but it doesn't ever mean the past is thought about through each moment he spends being alive. The memories forms a part of me, but surely it is not the force or thought which takes the center stage of a man's existence.

All the friends from 1st grade are never again alive in you, but only a few on rare occasions, when one goes riding in the joyous / painful memories of time spend as a kid attending the 1st grade. Incidents and people, unless they have a significant importance to you the person, gets stored in a place from which it is hard to be recovered or maybe gets deleted for ever. The few significant ones stays active, but is not always thought about and given life every single moment of our life.

Living this day the 17th of March, in the year 2012 after Christ, if I try remember my days from childhood with a conscious effort, I might have my thought process going through the big grounds of the school and friends filling it, but the process is limited to a select few, for my memory is corrupted to have made the insignificant ones go vanish. And of all the significant ones, about whom I remembers, not everyone is thought about, the thoughts rather glides from one side of the ground to the other with just my favorite or loathed characters making an appearance in a glimpse and then vanishing to be replaced by another and then another. The past lives in the present for brief moments and then crawls back into the place, where it had been lying dormant, before I thought about school.

Not every person who has been a part of ones life and has held some significance, one way or the other exist in each days thoughts or even each years thoughts. We all know that, even if we remember people, everyone stored in our memory, never forms a part of the thoughts right at this moment for years at a stretch. In ones thoughts, very few would live everyday and some would never be born again and some stays hidden, unless the catalyst of some nostalgic feeling is actually triggered.

The people who would always live or would always be thought about each day is the ones who are around at the present. The wife thinks about her husband everyday and his big appetite for friday night dinner, because she is going to be with him the friday evening and her life is knit closely with his, and him and his thoughts forms a part of her present or future. My grand-mom, who passed away last year had 5 kids, out of which one died when she was just some months old and grandma had some hair of the child wrapped in a soft cloth, secured in her vault. I once asked her, whether she remembers the kid who died, she said yes and had a little strain her voice answering me. I asked her, do you think about her everyday or often, is she alive in your thoughts of present, she said with tears rolling out from the corner of her eyes, "NO, in fact her thoughts haven't crossed my mind in some months. I remembers her now, when you asked me about her, a grey picture faded with time and my mind think about the soft curls she had and the way she used to cry. But my dear child, whom I brought to existence, was not even alive in me for some months. Time and again, something triggers the memory and the child lives in my thoughts for a brief moment and then her thoughts go vanishing again."

The time someone is thought about, the person thought about is alive in the mind for the moment and then expires without notice, with the thoughts wandering on to something else. When a thing or incident is thought about, the moments from the past is given the whiff of life for a brevity and then vanishes from the thoughts yet again for hours, days, weeks or years to come.


Time indeed heals, for the wounds and the way it was inflicted is not going to be part of the present thoughts for ever, it will all go into the vault of memories, surfacing only when triggered by something and then disappearing again into the vault from which it made an appearance. No man is ever going to live with the constant pain of a broken heart ten years from today, for the broken heart is not going to be in his thoughts around the clock to cause the hurt as it did the day it was broken.




Saturday, March 10, 2012

morning stroll through a serene postcard !


The wanderer in me found myself right in the middle of lush green tea carpets touching the grey sky, with a chill making my bones grow cold and yet my feet trembling ahead, but with no idea where I was heading; yesterday, in the morning. 8 hours of watching the world pass through the window of the bus, in the darkness of the night, combined with high projectile movements of thy self, that only the back seat of a State Road Transport bus could provide, in some way didn't make me feel right that I actually endured the ordeal only for 10 minutes in a secluded courtroom, to say 8 times when my cases were called, "counter affidavit to the amended claim petition has been served and now filed".

Securing my bags in a lodge, as they call it over there in Waynad, I left for a morning walk at 5 in the morning, alone not knowing where I was headed. My cramped legs wanted the red cells to run again and when they felt enough in an hour, I got into a bus with the board "Soochiparra Water Falls". I haven't heard about the place nor have any clue where it actually is, but then the Water Falls in the name, made it seemed covered in the finest silks. The guy in the bus told me, it takes a little more than half an hour, so I had all the time in the world to do my little adventure before the Bench sat at 11.

I never made it to the waterfalls, for half an hour later a sign board appears named after the waterfall and the road too narrow to lead any other place but the falls. I got down and started on my walk again, back on the main road and along comes another bus with the board "atta mala". The literal translation would be leech ghats, which would normally keep a person away, but not me. I had time till 8 to start back and this new guy in this new bus, told it will be a 30 minute journey to the leech ghat.

The bus had under a dozen travelers, and I watched eagerly as the tea estates started passing by, thought of getting down again, but then wanted to explore what lies in the leech ghat. Women kept getting into the bus, with their basket hung behind and their lunches packed and wrapped in polythene and voices a little too loud, to my tastes.

I turned back to read the board of the bus stop and suddenly felt the bus go nose up, high in the sky and turned to see not the sky, but the tea shrubs up front,and the road never went any more and this was leech ghat. Sitting on the milestone that had zero on it, surrounded by the green and the fog, I wondered where was I? I had no clue, but the place was beautiful, like from a post card and I couldn't resist the urge to makes some few steps on the the picture framed in mind of a tea estate.

The serene green sprawled all around, with the fog curbing the visibility to a few hundred meters and not a man in sight, I offered a prayer of thanks, for the 8 hours I endured on my way to Waynad, was worthy of the few pictures I took using my mobile phone and an half an hours walk through the picturesque postcard. The grey of the heavy fog slowly turning to a golden with the first rays of the sun making dew drops appear on the tiny leaves and little warmth settling in and I wandered aimlessly lost in my thoughts about "what brought me here and where am I"

On my journey back in an hour, the bus was filled with kids, on their way to the school and they kept appearing out of all the corners and the driver gleefully obliging with his legs on the brakes. A little girl sat by my side, with her long hair parted and pleated, with a little extra talc still on her temples, looking at me through the corner of her eye. She was a little dark, not pretty but elegant the way she held on to the tiny aluminium box on her lap, sitting by my side, as if her whole life depended on it and suddenly pointed at my phone and asked me can I show it to her.

What do I show a 3 or 4 year old girl in my phone, the new applications or some pictures I have taken?

Saturday, March 3, 2012

my blog - bisected

I started with the New Year Celebrations in the year 2004, which was more or less, a diary entry, purely personal in nature. I read about this online web-log, in 2002 and it took me 2 years to finally remember it again to try it for myself, I used to write with the pseudonym Ezra and not Ousu. Guess, if I am right, it made you a tiny intellect among your peers, cause you had a blog of your own.

But, my old friend forgetfulness caught up and made me go clueless about the password to the id, and the existence as Ezra ceased one fine day . My first blog id wasnt http://joe-ousu.blogspot.in/ but http://josephezra.blogspot.in/, the password of the latter I forgot and started the Ousu one in 2009, publishing again the initial posts by Ezra. My existence as Ezra, I think no one ever remembers, other than me.

Thanks to some friends who reads and spends some time using the world wide web, my first posts as Ousu in 2009 had 4 visitors, who were all my friends, but then they talked about the posts to me, which made it a little curious for other friends and they wanted the link. I made my blog id, my signature line and that drew in maybe 4 or 5 more of visitors to read a post or maybe just to have a general feel about it so as to get a clue about the silence I maintain in real life about personal stuff, like romance and flings. The posts were more of irregular grunts than growls, more a very personal online diary than anything else.

I don't remember taking part in much writing competitions nor ever winning a prize except an old faded certificate, attesting that I have won a short story writing competition in my first standard. How much ever I try remember, I actually don't remember anything like that. And if I remember right, some friends during my 3rd and 4th standards, used to ask me to write their letters to school for them, which I happily did. I guess that is the first time someone made me feel they think, I could write. Not with the grace of a poet nor with the mystery in phrases, but give some word or the other, to a thought and make my hands scribble it.

From the letters to school, for a permission or an explanation or a leave letter to this weblog as Ousu, it has been quite a long journey with periods of absolute non-writing and now to a little sense of consistency, thanks to some friends I met here in this blogger world.

After my last breakup and getting drunk over the new found independence and sleeping around to compensate for the time spend in being chaste; I thought about re-igniting my old habit, for suddenly I found a lot of time at hand. The time kept reserved for a girlfriend who practically lived with you, got erased from my days and I found myself with time in hand and started pecking at the blog again in January of 2011.

Reading my posts over the years, I find a lot of difference in the way I write. From being a boasting diary entry, I feel I did travel a bit recently, into writing about abstracts I keep thinking, indulging into personal stuff every once in a while. But if you ask me, whether I grew as a writer, I have no clue. The posts though have become a little more regular, thanks to some friends from the blogger world, both writers and readers, who actually read what I write and at times think about it and leaves a comment.


I don't think, my blog has the grace of the sentence, nor it was much thought about a thing. The content as well, until quite recently wherein I started trying with writing about abstracts or my thoughts. An online diary was the easiest thing to write for an irregular diary writer, who has got a box full of diaries from way back in 96. But just like in my blog, only the box is full, not the diaries, for there are some years with just the diary and nothing in it. In the same lines there are at times nothing in my posts, like my this post, which talks about nothing of much significance or like adieu my dear, which is yet again a diary entry with an effort to make it structured.


Friday, March 2, 2012

adieu, my dear

A familiar anticipated  number flashed on the mobile screen a good Sunday afternoon, some weeks back. The call was a little early; early by a day. It was the girl with whom I spend quite some time in my second year in college, who remained a friend after we split ways like about 5 years ago. We were quite close, but then I am not the greatest to be a boyfriend and we parted. We stayed friends, against most of her friend's wise words and quite close at that as well. She rode waves, into and out of relations for a brief time and couple of years back told me, I was the reason she took refuge in the new life style. Some months back, when I was packing my bags from Hyderabad, she called me up to say about being into a serious relation. I felt happy for her, or did I...aaah!

The call was awaited, for she was getting home, but then that was a little after and not the time the phone rang, with her name and face book profile picture spread all across the screen. The conversation was exactly not something I anticipated to happen now, maybe after a couple of years. She was short, but crisp, "we can't continue speaking to each other", and I didn't feel like asking her why and told her "yeah" and hung up. A little later the ego felt sad for not having its words to have been heard, with just the "yeah". Sat up straight and text her "deleting you from my phone and the online accounts" and then went ahead and did that.

I am not the greatest of birthday remember-er, for I keep forgetting most and I never remembered hers; thanks to a calendar.exe in my phone, which reminded birthdays, I was faring good in remembering of late. Couple of weeks back I am reminded in the morning, "Ms. X's birthday". I thought about wishing her and realized I didn't have the number and got into living the day, where she didn't belong; and the day turned to days and then weeks.

Driving home today evening from work, I remembered her and the birthday. Then dawned our last conversation, which loomed around the idea that old boy friends have no space in a serious relation, which was very true, if one may ask me. For the pangs of possession is something most humans feels, and it tends to be a little more hidden in men, if you may ask me, but they sure have it, the more, if the relation is comparatively new. And she wanted things to be ideal for her and just asked that, but I wanted it to end brutish, with my ego telling her about deleting the phone numbers and the accounts. At times, I am bloody so cruel. Maybe I too was acting possessive in that text, not wanting the great understanding we have to come to an end; for I called her at all odd times, with some new things I read or thing I thought and she always listened patiently.

Some people stay with you for life, and she surely would for the devotion she showered the time we were together and later as friends. I would certainly miss that, but then it can't happen, if she has to have an immediate life.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Religion ...naah for Chris-sake !!

I met quite an irritating  guy on my recent travel to northern Kerala, kind of the ones we would call a 'bugger' and feel the word doesn't have enough in it to mean what we actually mean. I prefer being alone in my travel, lost with a book in hand and gazing out of the window every other time, than indulging with fellow humans. Some might want to call me an anti-social for that, like my Appa, who thinks I am confining to myself, never accepting the existence of society and people. But then the post is not about 'what I would like to do, when I travel', but about this guy who kept bumping into me, with his banter, which I kept ignoring.

My guy, Alex asks my name, for we share a seat and then gets introduced himself. A christian aged about mid thirties and I leave it at that. Then he goes on to ask about my community. I tell him mine. He goes to ask my family name,which I tell him. Then he starts with a silly Pope joke. I act not interested and opens my book and he doesn't leave his pursuit. He starts of about the dark ages of European history or maybe we call it the World history, for Europe was the world and Catholic Church the ruler. Not quite in the manner, I described above.

Politics and religion, two powerful human thoughts or institutions, which should be kept at a distance, wasn't during the middle ages of Europe or more precisely the 1000AD till the 1500. And a lot of bad did happen. I look at him and still says nothing. He tells me he is a Protestant and I wonder, if two believers in Christ had so much of disagreement with each other, no wonder religions fight over each other. Jews are always at the throat of Palestinian Islam in the strip near the Mediterranean sea and bombs keep blasting throughout India. 

He goes on about the anarchy in the Church today, the Catholic one for sure. I feel the urge to not be pulled into a talk and let this guy, mind his business after his brawl. I tell him, I know nothing about it. He goes silent and then hits the sleep button straight off. My upbringing made me want to defend the Church, or I would rather say, the belief that there is a bigger power, God, the name I have given to it. The way my initial days were molded makes me believe the bigger power, whom I just now named 'God' for the sake of the Post, more Unitary in form and also think about the after death stage more in a rational catholic sought of way. If that makes me religious, then probably I am. My heaven is different, that is just the name, I have given the stage after death, it has knowledge and wisdom about creation !

As I listened to Alex, I wanted to tell him, "I agree Church has erred. Church did darken quite a good share of European History, with the Pope being the de-facto sovereign and the throne, the De-jure ones,  in France and England and almost all of other Europe. But then an honest human and a good man with a vision, did kneel down and apologized to the world for all the mistakes of the period, I meant the late Pope, John Paul 2. The Church has erred, so has every human institution, for men are not the idealist of beings.  And I find the late Popes act an unprecedented, noble act. For isn't it all we could do for the mistakes done, apologize honestly and I felt the man did mean what he said. But then another part of me, wanted to remain calm and get back to the book.

I couldn't read, but sat looking out thinking about what the man actually did to me. He made my religious sub-conscious or maybe something similar to that, get provoked.  I normally don't get irritated on accord of blasphemy to the Church or the Christian concept of God; for religious chords are the last ones of mine which gets pulled.

Alex's uncanny invasion into my privacy, should have been another reason, why it irritated me. He kept prying into my personal affairs, which never actually mattered to him, even when I kept showing him the door at many a repeated line. If he had just asked me about what is making me travel, that would have been a decent conversation to start with, between fellow travelers. But, this was un-called for, without knowing a line about my beliefs, he kept raising questions, which were offensive to any catholic in general. I like intelligent conversation on God, and peoples beliefs about that God, why they believe God exist and what form they think the God would be, if their beliefs is yes. I have my own beliefs which I hold good and we could reason, which one makes more sense, rather than degrade another and stand tall at the cost of the other. Talks on religion doesn't excite me to that an extent, but then on an histories perspective, is a conversation, I like having. But both of it is to be done, more in a manner fitting gentlemen, and not in shady language, with complete strangers.

Any prudent man, learnt enough to know about the dark ages, should also have the basic sense of knowing that religion is not the area to fiddle around with. Religion or rather each ones discovery or maybe invention, of the concept of the bigger power is as private as having sex; for yourself, to ponder or think and to act without crossing over to another person's belief in the bigger power. For the believers ultimately believes only in the bigger power, and they have conveniently named it and shaped it, for their purposes. They are sensitive areas of human psyche, beliefs that humans hold dear and shouldn't be treadled on callously.

Without ever knowing these very private things of mine, Alex was invading my space without being invited and I truly did fight the urge to make him feel snubbed, with my digs on Protestantism. I felt responsible enough or maybe as the religion lover in me would like to say, the snubbing was not a Christian thing to do, and I restrained.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

the BIG lawyer in town !!

This last week in Court was quite interesting an adventure with practice. There were some really big guns down here in the south, the Kerala High Court; Adv FS Nariman being the biggest of them. In the legal world, he is a luminary and I strongly believe even the Bench would have felt proud in having this eminent jurist argue before them. Every time the Bench rose, I saw them looking at him with reverence and bowing and he bowing his weak old frame in acknowledgement. That was FS Nariman and his charm, while my charm in some courts have made me a special piece of fun for the judge.

I walked in when my number was called, bowed down and said, "lordship, extension of interim stay on investigation?" All I hear is "for what?", then I was asked some sections of statutes I haven't even heard of, a round of humiliation, with me being the center character and finally a long walk back not knowing what actually happened.

While I was up and the above was happening, the number of another one of my senior's case in a different court starts flashing on the tv. Item 9, I was supposed to attend it and the number stayed on screen for 30 second and then moved to 10. I walk out humiliated and then rushes to the item 9 Court and by the back door checks with the Court Officer, what happened and she sends a chit back "No representation, dismissed for default". And it was an Appeal from the decision of a lower court which was dismissed. My clients property depended on it and now I had to pay costs to get the appeal petition restored. The law and the procedure, I can't make sense at times.

I get to a third court and my number gets called, the Hon'ble Judge asks me, "what is the status of the inquiry report?" I know that the report is ready, but I didn't know whether it was finalized. The client hadn't got back to us about it. We would receive it in a day or two and sought an adjournment till then. He looks at me in disgust and says, "you are specializing in that". In the same court yet again my number was called twice, and twice I got humiliated. Unlike before, the Judge did mouth his dislike and asked me whether I have lost my sensibility after wearing the black robe? and eventually the question, 'why do i wear it?'!!

Now all that was day before yesterday. Yesterday I had a case in a small town, in northern Kerala and I walked into the Court Hall, with my three buttoned blazer and shining shoes, sat in the front. Briefed the case, when asked to and sought time for filing some objections to their petitions. And I had 8 cases and I did the same for all. At the end of the 8th, after my request being granted, I feel the other few lawyers there looking at me.I bow down, and then sit.

After the Court, couple of middle aged lady lawyers comes to me, asks my name and where am I from. I tell them Ernakulam, and they asks me whether I practice in the High Court. I say yes. They asks me some names, which I do not quite know, and I tell them so. Then one of them calls her husband, another lawyer and introduces me to him, saying "this is Joseph, a good lawyer from the High Court". Little does she know about the day I just had before!

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

chums and women


Forgive me, if I make you feel ssshhhh with the name of post, cause your beliefs make you feel so. Please read no further, for I am quite sure the things below wouldn't seem appetizing for you. A blog I read recently talked about premenstrual syndrome and how girls felt during the chums made me quite not agree with the author and prompted me to write one up myself, the way I saw it, from the little I have read and seen.

I am not a woman to fully comprehend how it feels to be bleeding 5 days a month, but then that doesn't stop me from writing this post, from the perspective of a man, who has read about it and talked about it with some of them who bleeds. The actual feeling of helplessness, that a woman undergoes the time her fertility clock is running is never talked about in the sanitary napkin adds that I see. It talks about wearing the wings and why let just men have all the fun.

I remember keeping tab of an ex girlfriends 28 day cycle, just to be sure, that she doesn't catch me when she was there. For she picked up quarrels for the silliest of matters and was too delicate to be dealt normal, without the pamper of care in my acts and words. She was the women with wings to the world, but only her boyfriend, the poor me, knew how terrible a person she was to live with during the stage. The fights we picked up before the initial days of the 5 day ritual, invariably got forgotten during the end, when her's heart gets filled with all the time I was made to devote on her. The first time it happened, we were new in the relation, and I quite didn't see it coming. She kept bugging about me not picking her phone the first time she called and boy that was a scene. A silly scene at the end of which she sought refuge under the umbrella of PMS and I was supposed to be chivalrous and forget it.

A friend of mine tells me, she gets sexually excited just before her chums and yet she feels unclean to indulge in the act. The frustration breaks out into mood swings from the left to the right and the north to the south. Another friend once told me, the seclusion she is made to feel from everyday normalcy during her chums is what actually gets her mood-swing and feel irritated, just by the thought of the arriving discomfort. She understands the role she plays in propagation of the species with all the discomfort and the body cramps her physique is made to undergo and she finds it repulsive that her endurance of all that is not appreciated. That brings forth her PMS.

I aint advocating that PMS is all a notion in the head and nothing real, for I really don't know how stable my moods would be if I had to bleed some days every month. PMS could be real and the hormonal imbalances sure fluctuates the moods as well; but if women preach about equality, they shouldn't make themselves weak on accord of PMS. Every woman probably have a unique way of feeling while at it, but then she shouldn't let the swings before and during her chums spoil the chance of being an equal to the man.

a friend

I met a girl three years elder, while I was 15 attending a religious teenage retreat. I don't quite remember how I ended up there, but quite vividly remember that I was the youngest in the group of 200 odd teenagers, bursting with energy. I used to talk with her during the breaks about school and friends and she told me about her college and life in college. By the end of the week, we departed as friends, with a promise to write to each other.

She wrote to me from her college hostel, on an inland letter, which I still have in my box labelled letters. I wrote back to her, about some thoughts of mine, about people and about the things I was doing or maybe planned to do. She replied and the letters continued, making a lot of her friends familiar to me through her words.

I grew out of school and started living the life of a young college student, studying engineering as every other friend of mine was doing and the letters continued. She kept me updated with the incidents from her life, through her letters, to which I always replied back. I sometimes re-read the letters when alone and in one of her mails, she told me she does the same, at moments of gloom.

I was home after a fatal crash and being shown the exit doors of engineering, when I received a letter from her, describing to me the aroma of roasted coffee beans. I wrote to her that I would love filling my lungs with the aroma and not just with the thought of it through her words. On an impulse, I made the travel to her home and we spend a day talking, sitting in the family living room. Her folks, quite didn't grasp the relation we shared, but they thought it harmless, since I was younger to her by couple of years.

Time went sweeping and our letters got replaced by distant phone calls, when we tried update each other as to what all was happening.  Time was always short, but the care in the voice, the same. She knew about my girl friends, my habits and addictions, my interests and passions and the crazy thoughts on existence, which I always fancied.

She invited me for her marriage couple of years back, for which I characteristically never turned up. But she called me in a weeks time, to share with me the excitement of being newly married and never mentioned to me about my absence in her wedding. She kept calling me once in a while, to share a grief or a smile. I listened to her, but never had a word of comfort to soothe her griefs. She wanted to be a mother badly, but the 3 miscarriages and some sobs were all I got to hear for a long time.

I didn't hear from her for about an year and I never called her back. Three weeks back, I hear her voice over the phone, telling me, she gave birth to a baby girl the day before. I didn't know how to congratulate a new mother and I felt scrambling for words. I told her that I would turn up for the child's baptism and then we would meet. With a twitch in the voice, she hung up not letting me know, whether she believed me or not.

I woke up dreaming about her this Sunday while I was sleeping over at a friends place and I wanted to speak to her, badly. I rang her and she asked me, "when are you coming?" I didn't know when and I just said, "maybe today". She hung up saying, we will be waiting!

It was evening by the time I reached her home over the ghats and there she was waiting for me with the baby in her arms, when the auto-rickshaw stopped in the drive way of her parents home. She dialed up her husband and asked him to come in a jiffy and made me promise, I wouldn't leave today. She wanted to know the life I was leading, about which I have been silent with her for over an year. I told her bits and pieces and she tended to the baby listening to me.

After dinner, when everyone retired to bed, I kept prowling on the balcony, thinking about the strange relation we shared, we were never in romance nor related by blood. Our relation existed in knowing each others life to a good extend and that was all to it.

Her husband found me up and prowling on the balcony at 1am and he asked me "what happened?" I told him, "nothing, just not sleepy." He retired back to his room, with a smile on his face. Moments later, I find the shadow of a lady holding an infant and I turned back to see her, standing in the door way with the infant in her hand, held close to her bosom. I tell her, "you don't have to keep me company. I am good." She came closer and ran her fingers through my hair and said, "my dear, you existed way before I met my husband, way before I gave birth to the baby. You are my closest friend and my husband nor the baby can't take that away from you. Tell me about all the crazy stuffs you been doing recently"
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