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Until We Meet Again!

It was the last day in the city, the place where I grew up and her 1st day at work. She came running down to bid her final lines of farewell. Instead of saying two affectionate words of love, I immediately judged her in my head for the way she had dressed up…ugh….her usual, old, maroon kurta and a black salwar with frizzy, unruly hair pulled to a pony tail. Couldn’t she buy a set of new clothes to be worn on her first day to work? Even a little makeup would have done better. I met her at the lobby and all that we exchanged were a few parting formalities. I could clearly see the silenced pain in her big, deep brown eyes.

Sudha says...

Disclaimer: Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, is purely coincidental. 

I am not an attractive face and many refer to me as a woman who came from the jungles – coarse and dark skinned, frizzy unmanageable hair, weird potato body structure, average height, thick lips and a big nose. I am not a brainy either that I can impress people even with my intelligence. When people see me with my husband, I am laughed at, more often mocked at, and asked a repetitive question – “Sudha, how did you manage to get hitched? Was it some black magic?”

And somewhere in their deep-dark question, buried a bitter truth.
15 years have passed, I have no children and there isn’t any spark to the relationship I share with my husband, Shekhar. Marriage moved at a roller coaster speed, faking how beautiful and wonderful it is on the social media and elsewhere. 

The Diary of a 4 year old

Dear Diary, This happened, on a lousy afternoon, an old friend of Mommy’s pings her up and says that she should re-start writing on her parenting journey. Yes, it had a been a while she wrote for her dear parenting websites (Apologies Sangeetha aunty…but my Mommy heavily misses her old days and I have heard her talking about you so much) about the wacky, yet so memorable my baby and toddler-hood phase. Now that I am 4 years old and slowly outgrowing her lap, it has taken a backseat. Her life revolves around so much more than before. Leave aside all the roller coasters and tora-toras, there are also merry-go rounds to talk about. What do hilarious discussions, irrational opinions, invalid justifications, unannounced alarm, soiled clothes, unwanted delays have in common?
Its us, KIDS!

The Chronicles of the Unspoken

Back in our school days when we were caught for those incessant giggling under the desks on our lame jokes, we were not even given the opportunity to speak up for the chuckles of laughter orchestrated alongside the lesson. How thankful I am to God now, we were usually shown the door or the teacher might have branded us insane and remembered us for our gross humour sense. Agreed, it’s a circumstantial boon and may be even the teacher was least interested in the blame game of who started what, first!!!   
For many like me, there exists a deep, dark tunnel between the mind and the heart. It is that unknown, mysterious subway where you make your life’s toughest decisions. Several times, I have found that even those choices don’t come out in words and in due course get influenced by many whom you meet and connect.

While in the train...

My train diaries have always been quite interesting. This one was even more. We usually, rather, always, end up reaching the railway station with a lot of hullabaloo. This time around, it was no different. As a matter of fact, it was even worse. I had to skip my lunch which I never do because of my everlasting gastric issues. My husband was behaving weirdly strange over WhatsApp. My saasuma is one superwoman who faultlessly believes that the whole world rests on her.

The Rendezvous...

Hey, long time, no see. How you doing?
A couple of years back you never asked me this question. One look, one word and you gathered all my feelings. You knew how to handle me. Now as I sit miles and miles away holding scotch and reading your message flashing on my mobile screen, I feel strange. I had let you go, and let you go very easily. I thought I will be free from the snarls of relationship.

Legacy of Passion

On a fine monsoon morning, when the clouds still darkened the sky with its blanket of sparkly, silvery lines and we were surrounded by heavy rains, there was a knock on the door. I was still sipping my favourite tea made out of freshly ground basil leaves from my mother’s well maintained kitchen garden. This man came out of nowhere with an attractive package addressed to me. Well, receiving something after a long time made me look like a dog with two tails, wagging away in glory.