Dad's Angel

It’s Dad's 1st anniversary of his corneal transplant. The entire year had been a bit trying for him. First the recuperation from the operation & then later, picking an unusual eye infection, which almost cost him his operated right eye.

The arduous journey to recovery, the numerous jibs (high anti biotic injections he had to take in his eye). He suffered all this with grit & immense faith in his God. For days he didn’t sleep for more than 1 hr at a stretch since there were certain drugs to be administered on an hourly basis. His is a story that any individual stricken with a serious ailment & dwindling confidence & self-esteem should hear.

Dad has entered a new phase in his life. Being able to see right is something that all of us take for granted. But how was this possible? It was due to the greatest humanitarian act of kindness of them all...pledging ones eyes.

Dad was on the wait list of recipients anxiously awaiting a donor cornea. Somebody had died & his/her cornea had given a new leash of life to Dad.

I have mixed feelings inside me. The happiness comes from looking at Dad's renewed vigour to look around, go places, capture the world in a picture that has high resolution now. Sadness comes from the fact that it’s the donor's 1st death anniversary.

The bottle containing the cornea was labeled with plain relevant facts...data that was important to the clinical world like age of cornea, date / time of expiry, date / time of preservation.

I often think about who this person was. What was the gender of the donor? The age of the cornea which is understood as the donor's chronological age was 55 yrs. Hey! that’s not an age to die !!! What was the cause of death of this genuinely caring person who thought of things beyond himself / herself? Answers to all these questions, I will never know.

I'm sure though, that this kind human being will be greatly missed on his/her 1st death anniversary by all who's life he/she had touched & pray to God to look after this very special soul, well. Bless you dear donor...for touching our lives & living after death through my Dad's eyes.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Women Entrepreneurs

My minds in its spiritual mode, awaiting darshan at the Mangapuram Temple at Tirupati when I realize someone’s tugging at my dress. A child barely 6 yrs is holding my dress lightly trying to draw my attention. She has disturbed the mantra that I was chanting in my prayer to the divine power & I look impatiently at her. She has a small camphor packet that she wants to sell to me. Her marketing skills are impeccable. Talks about the quality of the camphor she’s selling etc. She catches my attention, as she’s not the regular urchin who begs & tries to sell things by highlighting their squalor existence. She talks non-stop & I marvel at her entrepreneurial skills. Her name’s Kamala & after haggling a bit, we arrive at a comfortable price & I pay her.

The women quarry workers in Rajnandgaon in Chhattisgarh had been exploited for ages. There was a huge disparity between the wages given to the men from that of women. The district collector of State suggests to the women quarry workers to take contracts of these quarry’s themselves & do away with the Moneylenders, contractors & the middlemen. Women power spearheading the movement takes magnitude proportions & there is literacy & prosperity amongst the locals in this state.

I’m outside the Gaity / Galaxy multiplex at Bandra, Mumbai hoping frantically to get hold of 2 tickets when someone nudges me & whispers the name of the movie I have in mind. As I turn, an unexpected sight awaits me. A Handicapped women in crutches selling cinema tickets in black with the dexterity of a professional.

Wow…. I’m proud of all these women from the lowest levels of our economy rising above the rest to make a statement.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

The Doyen

Walking down the aisle I try to find my seat, relieved that finally, I would be in the sanctum of my home in a few hours. It had been an arduous wait & 3 trips to the airport in the hope that the technical snag that the aircraft had developed would be rectified & our debacle over.

As I approach my window seat, I find a man in his mid fifties wearing dark shades, sitting demurely in the middle seat. I realize that he is blind & mummer to make my presence felt & as he gives way, glide to my seat. I assume that my co-passenger is escorted by someone. I’m pleasantly surprised when he introduces himself as Mr Shree Ram Mittal, heading the Institute of Advance Studies in Special Education in Jamia-Millia-Islamia University. Like me, he had come to Nepal on work…wow…I’m impressed!

Inquiring minds want to know more & I strike a conversation with him. Curiously shoot questions at him relating to his profession, the environment he moves in, his life style etc.

As tales from his life unfolds, I realize that this is a man who possesses sheer guts & determination. He is a globe trotter attending seminars & conferences around the world. He specializes in special education for the blind & is a doyen in his field.

He talks about how physically challenged children can be helped by introducing them to special schools which helps them cope with everyday life & become independent & lead normal lives.

As we converse, my mind’s veering. I think of the countless number of times that we take our physical capabilities for granted. Challenging situations ruffle our general attitude towards life & we curse God, our destiny, parents, teachers, friends…just about any one we can get hold of to blame. Infact, we should thank God who puts us through difficult times so that we can emerge stronger. Just like the caterpillar has to struggle out from its cocoon endlessly to encourage the fluid from its body to force itself into its wings & finally when it emerges from the cocoon, its wings are so strong that it effortlessly flies into the yonder.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Yardstick of Aspirations

The car screeched to a halt outside Bandra's Holy Family hospital and women in her late forties sprung out screaming for help. I had gone to visit my friend's dad, who was recuperating after a major surgery. All visitors like me stood stunned, trying to decipher this woman's incoherent wails. By this time, 2 ward boys from the hospital ran out with a stretcher and a man in the car got off carrying a comatose young lad.

All of us flocked in silence as the teenage boy was carried in. His lips were blue, his body lifeless. In the casualty ward, they tried to revive him in futile and he was pronounced "dead on arrival".

All of us helplessly watched the mother of the dead boy hysterical beyond control and the father dumbfounded with shock staring into the oblivion. Their only child had committed suicide. He was a bright lad and had scored 92% in his exams, a discreditable score beyond his imagination. 92% is something that I have never seen in my report card, ever. I would die for that kind of marks and here was a strapping young lad who had felt like a failure and ended his life in total dejection.

This is a kind of benchmark that every ambitious individual in today's world is trying to set for themselves. Everyone's yardstick seems to be growing longer. We are happier nursing stress, visiting clairvoyants, trying all kinds of de-toxifying potions, learning yogic pranayam etc. All the set backs in my life is nothing in comparison to the women back in the hospital. I'm beginning to savor each day as it comes, with a smile.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Culture Shock!

As I hurriedly walk past the streets of Soho, close to my work one evening, I hear someone calling me from one of the by lanes. It’s Stuart, our janitor, smiling as he catches up with me making small talk. He professes how much he has missed me & would like to invite me for dinner one day & if I could give him my mobile number. All this happens so fast that it takes a while for it to register that Stuart has a shine for me. How dare he? My Indian mentality fumes & am perplexed at how this person could even dream of being with me. I politely refuse saying I’m busy & make my way to the nearest tube station.

One gloomy cold morning I’m traveling in the tube on my way to work when this exceptionally gorgeous women takes a seat opposite me. She’s wearing expensive clothes & shoes & her makeup is flawless. I try not to be too conspicuous as I observe her appearance. Suddenly she looks directly at me & gestures suggestively with her eyes & lips. I’m shocked as I realize that a member of my own gender has made a pass at me. Befuddled, I take solace in the thought that at least she’s beautiful.

A young strapping Polish collegue arrives one morning for his orientation. Hours tick away as I explain the various modules in our system. Out of the blue, he says that he would love to go to India one day & is interested in everything Indian after meeting me. The fact that he’s a decade younger than me doesn’t dampen his determination to know how I like my coffee.

One evening as I sit at the Embankment by the Thames, I come across a strange sight. A girl of Indian origin locked in a passionate display of affection with an english man.

Strange as all this seemed to me initially, I have begun to understand & accept the way of life in the west & yet cling to my beliefs that I have grown up with. As I jog my memory, I reminiscence the various counts of culture shocks that I have experienced in London in the last few months.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Women of Substance

Prince Charles has come to our country & one can see his bored smiling face splashed on the front pages of all local newspapers. I retrospect about how I was glued to the TV savoring each frame of the royal wedding of Prince Charles & Lady Diana in 1981.
They had struck me as the most romantic fairy tale couple.

And then, throw in a few years & both of them maintained separate lovers, committed adultery, lied, cheated & gave interviews to media in their race to hurt one another. The lore or “marriages are made in heaven” has to be amended to “and destroyed on earth”.

Though Diana had a string of lovers, Charles stuck to a women much older than Diana & closer to his age.

Another philippino business associate talks of his second marriage & wife displaying that rare emotion that one feels for someone whom you deeply love & respect. He divorced his 1st wife of 10 yrs, a very charming & young lady & mother of his only son to marry a lady 16yrs his senior. Looking at Anthony’s eyes soften as he relates how he met her makes me wonder…is he sane?

A colleague has this long-term relationship with this lady a decade older than him. He’s a dedicated lover & friend & holds his ladylove close to his heart. In his own words “Life without her is meaningless”

So what do these very famous, educated & well-balanced men have in common? Why have they defied their own species behavioral pattern of chasing girls half their age & instead gone for someone much older & mature?

Are they looking for their mothers in their partners? Psychological studies prove that men approve of women who resemble their Mum’s. As I understand it….they are looking for substance.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Nepal - A Travologue

The view from the air was just breathtaking. I am headed to Nepal, the only hindu country that enjoys monarchy for centuries. The first impression that one gets from the sky are the number of rivers & estuaries that gorges across the valley. Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal is a town situated in the heart of the valley.

The hotel where I was staying was Yak & Yeti a lovely place with lotsa exotic looking plants in the heart of the city. Adjoining the hotel was the “Casino Royale” a magnificent 3 storeyed building catering to different kinds of gamblers…the tourists, the novices & the regular or professional gamblers.

Since Kathmandu is most famous for its casino’s, one had to go to one to feel the pulse of the place. The moment you enter the casino, you are hit by the sheer pace, excitement & energy. The adrenaline flowing in every winner’s body & the hope and aspirations that the losers experience & go for one last bet, to try & make up for the previous losses….but alas !

I bought chips worth a couple of hundreds & tried to learn the backpack, a card game which was for the semi professional kinds & so retreated to a more understandable game of Roulette. Won some, lost some & eventually ended up with exactly the amount that I had earlier bought chips of. Felt it was safer to encash, before one was caught in the enticing drama & came back to the confines of my room with the satisfaction that I had not lost money gambling.

Next day was a visit to the ancient & famous temple of Pashupatinath to cleanse my sins of the previous night at the casino by paying homage to the popular deity. This is an ancient Shiva shrine and is almost a thousand years old. By the time I reached the shrine, it was raining very heavily & had to convince a flower girl to loan me her tattered but much in demand umbrella to which she finally did agree after being offered a comfortable amount.

The first thing that strikes one as you enter the temple grounds is the gigantic brass Nandi statue that guards the temple from the front end. The darshan was an arti followed by distribution of the holy water & some prasad. It humbled me, looking at the devotion & sheer faith of everyone coming to the temple braving the weather.

Suddenly, I heard a loud roar (bellowing) of 2 giant bulls in the temple courtyard & before one could take stock of the situation, the bulls were at loggerheads with one another. The sickening thud, which followed each time the bulls charged at one another & the angry outbursts made me scurry to the protection of the temple confines, lest one of the bulls got more interested in me than one another.

Behind the temple flows a holy river & the Hindus use the cemented banks to cremate their dead. The mortal remains of 2 people lay soaked in the rainwater, next to the river, awaiting their turn to be sent to dust.


After the completion of one pradakshina (walk round the temple) I headed back to the hotel with my cabby, Keshav, a young & energetic lad only too willing to talk & discuss his land, its people & the quandary that the political situation was in. Talking to Keshav reminded me once again of how the Nepalese were warm & very simple-minded people with a very hard & yet simple way of life.


The next day woke up early & walked across the hotel grounds seeping in its beauty. A couple of ducks waded in the pond near by. After a heavy breakfast, took a morning flight to Pokhra, a picturesque place. The Aircraft that we were travelling in was a 45 seater local airlines called Necon Air.

The arial view of Pokhra is just fantastic with multiple rivers, gorges & small hamlets peppered across the mountain slopes. The hotel where I was put up was “Fulbari”…the name seemed like a complete put off. But one look at the resort was enough to fall in love with the place. It’s grounds were lush green & full of exotic flora. Figurines of different hindu gods adorned the lawns. The interiors had exquisite wood work & decorated with ethnic paintings of ancient gods, pagodas, temples etc.

The rooms were airy with a wonderful view of the mountains from the varandah. Lunch was in a restaurant called “The Fish Tail”. The Fish tail also has lodging facilities. One had to go via a small boat from the main land to get to this island in the middle of the lake. The whole experience was quite thrilling & the ambience dreamy. Food was lovely…fish fry, prawns fry, rice n chicken dishes, chicken momo (nepali snack just like dumplings) washed down with local drinks.

Back at Fulbari, walked to the end of the cliff & the sheer magical view of the mountains was breathtaking. The mountains looked a rich green hue with little rivulets snaking down its sides & all the little brooks meeting up with the almighty river which looked ferocious after the recent torrential rains that had lashed the terrain a week ago.

After taking mugshots of the terrain around, walked towards the garden & hey ! there was this peacock walking by. He walked awkwardly near me. All too aware & cautious in his approach & ready to run lest I come too close. I love animals & without being intrussive like watching them. The moment I would get closer, he would run away like an elusive dream & when I stayed put, he would come back. After a while as his comfort level increased having me around, he started walking by my side, accompanying me to the pond where there were huge fresh water fish swimming in big schools. Watched the fish a bit & then headed to check out the swimming pool & gym. The same day, I had to leave to catch a flight back to Kathmandu & from there to Calcutta.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Our Sovereignity!

Went to the movies the other day with friends. Since all of us were famished, we picked our favourites to munch all through the movie. The National Anthem started playing as the tricolour fluttered on the screen.

All rise...was the verdict! I stood erect & looked placidly at the screen. The person standing right in front restlessly shifted his weight from one leg to the other & looked around with a bored expression on his face. The young couple standing next to us popped crispys & moaned about how life sucked & the futility of enforcing the National Anthem on all cinema goers.

I was thinking…is this where we are all headed? No sense of belonging to our own country? It crossed my mind, how all my friends who were settled abroad, away from home & hearth were more patriotic than us Indians staying in India. They had sent me emails wishing me a Happy Independence Day. Looking around, could see the hapless figures silhouetted against the gigantic screen, waiting for the Anthem to get over.

Disturbed, I reminiscenced about "Sadhu Baba" from my childhood. Sadhu Baba was my maternal great grand father (mom's grandfather). He was born into a feudal family of landlords to moneyed parents. Sadhu Baba was married at the age of 13 & was already a parent by 18yrs. He was a restless man, well educated from a comfortable background & yet aware of the freedom struggle happening around him. As he became more aware of the British Empires atrocities, he joined a group of spirited freedom fighters. They swam across the Padma river to reach the Dacca area (which is a part of Bangladesh now).They would meet up with fellow rebels there, collect formulae to make crude bombs & swim back with the tiny chits hidden in their mouths. The swatantratawadis would collect cash & jewellery willingly donated by their wives & near & dear ones which would fuel their activities in their struggle for independence.

It was the year 1937 when the British finally caught up with Sadhu Baba better known in those days as Dr Keshab Prasad Sinha.

He was tried & later sent to the cellular jail more commonly known as Kala Pani in the Andaman & Nicobar Islands.

Life at Kala Pani was a living hell. The freedom fighters would be tortured mercilessly by whipping them till they fainted only to be later tortured again by rubbing salt into their open wounds. Any Swatantrata Sainiks who would chant the Vande Mataram would be tied to the ice slabs specially designed to crush the enthusiastic freedom fighters spirits. Dr Keshab was one of the veterans in irking the british soldiers even if it meant sleeping on the ice slabs till he turned blue with cold & lost consciousness.

After 7 yrs at Kala Pani, he was released only to come back & again carry on the freedom struggle from where he had left 7 yrs back.

India finally got its independence in 1947 & Dr Keshab practiced medicine & was also the MLA in the new Swaraj. He had rubbed shoulders with great leaders like Pt Jawaharlal Nehru & Dr Rajendra Prasad (our first President who also hailed from Bihar). Dr Keshab was a man with strong connections & was troubled looking at how his relatives & friends tried milking him to bag lucrative contracts, jobs, ludicrous favors etc.

The madness around him made him reflect how it had taken sheer guts & determination to fight & rout the British Raj & where our country was headed after achieving the unachievable. He decided to renounce all his worldly possessions & became a hermit, wearing just a loin cloth living in a sparse cottage on the outskirts of Vrindavan.

I remember Sadhu Baba as a person with a long white beard who loved children. He had this serene calmness in his voice & face & people flocked to hear him talk about the supreme being & how simple acts of kindness was close to godliness.

As the National Anthem finally ends in the cinema hall, people around me flop to their seats relieved that it was over & the movie would finally starts. I'm lost in thought..will we experience the same dedication like the likes of Sadhu Baba towards our country...ever?

Listed below are names of Political internees, incarcerated in the cellular jail in the Andamans.

From Bihar

1. Shri Ahmadullah 21-11-1881
2. Shri Bishwanath Prasad 1937
* 3. Dr Keshab Prasad Sinha 1937
4. Shri Suraj Nath Chaube 1938
5. Shri Malaya Krishna Brahmachary 1937
6. Shri Pranatha Nath Ghosh 1937
7. Shri Kanhaiya Lall Missir 1938
8. Shri Jagendra Shukul 1938
9. Shri Mahabir Missir 1937
10 Shri Shyam Krishna Agarwal 1938
11 Shri Shyamdeo Narayan 1938

From Maharashtra

1 Shri Vinayak Damodar Savarkar 1911 - 1921
2 Shri Ganesh 1911-1921

( The above names are of political internees lodged in the same prison room from 1911 onwards )

Jai Hind !

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

My Friend...Zeenat!

Read this article in the news paper the other day about the eunuchs & the phobia people experienced when they accidentally cross path with them.

I have a story to tell about my friend Zeenat, the eunuch from my yesteryears.

I was a teenager then, growing up with all kindsa insecurities, like my looks (was painfully thin & gawky), would I fare well in my examinations? would I be accepted by my new peers at college? will I be able to board the 07.36 local train to arrive at Vile Parle sharp at 8.11 am…heck….my list of worries were endless.

At college, I joined the Naval Wing of NCC (National Cadet Corp) & was actively attending CATC’s (combined annual training camps) conducted to promote inter zonal competitions for ship modeling.

To excel in this vocation, I had to travel daily to Jaihind College at Churchgate & work on miniature models of different Indian Navy ships in one of the 2 dingy rooms allotted to the Naval & Air wing cadets of NCC in the basement for ship & aero modeling.

The daily train ride to Churchgate was roughly 50 mins. This I spent either downing junk food or catching up on sleep.

During one such journey, I was rudely awakened one day by this gruff male voice. As I opened my eyes, a pair of savage eyes stared back at me. He clapped his hands loudly & announced that I was a Madhuri Dixit look alike…huh??? What did this man think I was ?…nuts?..then he suggested that I could part with Rs 11/- & good luck would be bestowed on me….hhmmm…I thought…so this is why I look like the tensil towns top heroine.

His intimidating presence frightened me a bit since I was alone in the ladies compartment that day with this gigantic looking swarthy individual. I realized that he was clad in a saree, receding hair tightly clasped in a tiny knot. I decided that since this individual had chosen to dress like a women, I would call him.… “her”.

She kept clapping loudly & demanding that I take heed to her advise & part with the Rs 11/- I summoned up courage to answer that I couldn’t afford such an expensive proposition. I reasoned that I was a student & had to skip my lunch to save up the Rs2/- to buy fancy earrings peddled in the local trains (matching the earrings with the colour of your dress was considered trendy those days). In a meek voice, I requested her that she should accept my 50 paise instead.

What happened next was most unexpected. She sat opposite me, summing me up & what seemed like an eternity, grinned exposing an awkward set of bad teeth. She introduced herself as Zeenat. I stared astounded at this revelation…Zeenatt ???…she defied all norms of being Zeenat..honour of a women.

She was 5 ft 9” broad shouldered, burly & had coarse body hair matting her chest right down to her huge pot belly which protruded offensively as she sat opposite me. She didn’t dress like the regular eunuchs who are known to wear garish makeup, flowers adorning their hair & brightly coloured clothes. Instead she looked like a man dressed in a saree.

I quaintly looked at her, relaxed since she had this rather gentle expression on her face as she looked at me. After the initial rapprochement, we got down to first name basis. As Churchgate approached, I parted with my 50P & promised to give her another if I saw her the next day.

As I traveled the next afternoon, there she was again. She grinned broadly as she recognized me, begged outrageous amounts from the other commuters & later came back to chat a bit & collect the measly 8 annas I had to offer her.

This became our daily routine & was amused at people gawking at the odd couple we made. Zeenat would caution me to the world of men & how it was important to be a toughie & not get exploited. Both of us probably got on to a plane where we understood one another.

One day, I asked Zeenat why she begged. Wasn’t it shameful to not work hard & instead earn a living by terrorizing people to part with their money grudgingly. She looked bemused at my outspokenness, pondered on it for sometime then said yes, she would love to take up this suggestion. But then, she would need a job to support herself & could I help her with it?

This simple question coming from her jolted me & my romanticism about hard work & earning ones livelihood. I tried to think hard about who I could approach to get Zeenat a decent job…not one name came up from my mental diary who would dare the world & reach out…Would any of you dare to give Zeenat a job?

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Little Saplings

It had been an eternity since I had tended to my babies, my loving plants which I had brought home as little saplings from the nursery about a year back.

During the infancy period, I would tend to them, nurture them, directing them to grow in a certain way. I would wind them with soft strings or bend them in a particular angle so that they could seep in the first morning rays & grow looking healthy & energized.

As they grew stronger, their roots stuck deeper into the soil, I started to relax & not worry too much about their well being. There would be a general watering session once or twice a day (depending on the season) & then I would retreat to my other chores, sure that they had grown into young confident plants who could take care of themselves.

Days grew into months & I got busier, smug in the thought that my babies no longer needed my undivided attention. Last week, as I sipped on my morning tea, it dawned on me that I had been a careless parent. I had ignored my children & in the bargain, some of them had grown into callous little things. Others looked unhealthy & tired as if they had depleted all their energy reserves.

I mentally kicked myself for my folly. What kind of a parent was I? How could I have not noticed these coherent signs & got into action earlier & helped my little ones?

In an overwhelming catharsis, chiding myself, I swung into action. I needed to guide my young ones gently but surely.

The first plan of action was swapping the very soil that they grew in with new soil full of minerals which would help cleanse their damaged persona. I tried in vain, separating the roots from the soil. I realized how difficult this task was. With months of being on their own, they had grown into smutty little stubborn things. Their roots were grotesquely entwined with the barren soil & almost inseparable.

As I tugged at the soil, they shrieked in horror, screaming to be left alone. Their roots like stubborn individuals bent upon self pity would not let go of the rotting soil.

I braced myself & took shelter in the thought that even if this exercise was hurting my babies, it was they who would later benefit from my being heartless.

I slowly but steadily loosened the unwanted soil & introduced once again, fresh soil with all the elements that would invigorate them & nurture them back into being happy, confident individuals.

As the first rays hit my window today morning, I walked up to them to water them & finish my morning chore to get ready for work. I experienced pure ecstasy seeing my young ones growing up once again into healthy beings, prancing in the morning breeze, wet with little droplets from the rains that had lashed all night long. They seemed to be shouting out in glee, thanking me. I looked at my hands, they needed a manicure but nevertheless, I felt rewarded.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Celebrating Bandra

The rhythmic beat of drums gets your adrenalin flowing as the musicians play along the sea shore on a make shift stage erected to celebrate the place I live in ….Bandra.

The balmy sea rises in unison with the percussionist as the rhythm gets faster. Chen, the 4ft 11” musician is oblivious to the world around him as his music rises to a crescendo briefly punctuated by another player on the electric guitar.

The spectators are mesmerized with the music and I’m thumping my feet pulverizing any inhibitions of public ridicule. As I enjoy the music, my eyes catch this teenage spastic girl in a wheel chair adjacent to the stage.

As she sits in her wheel chair flaying her arms, I’m awe struck at the effect the music has on her. As she tries to vent her happiness in odd grunts, I realize how soothing an effect music has on everyone especially people with an intelligent mind trapped in a wasted body.

Sunita Rao starts crooning an old favourite number and she beckons to the crowd to join her in celebrating Bandra which has its own history written along its coastlines. As people clap and sing, everyone seems to be a part of the community celebrations. There’s no distinction of caste, creed or class.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Charity

I wrap up the day every night by reading to my daughter as sleep envelopes her. As sleep descends, I look at her placid face, calm & serene, sleeping without a care in the world. This picture of comfort is so different to the one I see in the little urchin’s face who’s barely 4 yrs. He meets me everyday at the junction of a particular traffic signal. Recognizing my car he comes bounding for a chocolate treat everyday.

My daughters seldom fond of sweetmeats but loves to stash them. I stealthily raid her treasure cove where she hides her booty gifted to her by my friends & give away one each day to this ever waiting urchin boy.

He’s not alone on the streets. Many like him roam the streets of India, aimlessly being violated by the police, adult beggars, local henchmen…the likes. Every time I set my eyes on a beggar child, I pray to God to watch over him / her.

Looking at the “have-nots” makes me humble. I remember in my earlier days, I used to snigger at my maternal granddad giving alms to the poor, distributing woollies in the winter. He used to try & imbibe in me the spirit of charity & compassion for the poor, which I would laugh away. I have come a full circle today & see my child’s face in every urchin roaming the streets. Granddad used to say “ A little charitys not going to make a deep hole in one’s pocket”

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Ah...Men!

I had the entire morning free before I took off to Mumbai my home town from Chandigarh. To make good my free time, I opt to drive to Kasauli, a small sleepy hill station about 2 hrs drive from Chandigarh. As I inform my parents about my trip excitedly, mum scolds “ Don’t be so bold. You cannot afford to behave like this now-a-days, my girl.” Mum’s been my constant supporter, always boosting my spirits. What’s making her so paranoid today? I wonder. She sounded so concerned…ah..now I get it! It’s the news articles in the papers off late, about the rise in rape & molestation cases in Delhi, Mumbai & other parts of the country.

As I enter the hills, the pristine forest is a welcome getaway from the daily humdrum of city life. There’s greenery everywhere due to the recent spate of monsoon rains which has exceeded its seasonal life. Tendrils of different creepers wind themselves onto the trees & there is a riot of colours as flowers of different species blossom in the well maintained gardens along the valley & uphill.

Mum’s on the line again, “Beta, be careful…you don’t know the men there..their mentality ”…I assure her that I have a trustworthy driver along who guards me like his offspring. I’m thinking..men..hhmm.

I’m a happily divorced women & yet I hold nothing against the male gender. There are endless examples of good, chivalrous men whom I have come across & proved that men & meanness are not synonymous.

I’m still in love with the first man in my life….my Dad. My brother is responsibility galore. A friend who’s been a perfect dad to his adopted daughter, another friend who counsels women who have had difficult pasts…the list is endless of all the thoughtful, emotional, sentimental, dependable & loving men who have crossed my path at some point in my life…Kudos to all you guys for helping me walk the thin ice in confidence.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

My Daughter...my inspiration!

It’s been 9 summers as a mom & 7 & 1/2 yrs since I have been called maaa, mom, mommy, matheswari, mathe, etc. during the day a zillion times. On some occasions, I have to actually plead with my daughter to stop thinking of me as the center of her life & give me some peace...oh yes...how I yearn sometimes to be all by myself, sit at leisure with a cup of tea & think of nothing...just relax without worrying about the nitty gritty of daily chores of motherhood.

Most of the days when I'm back from work, the house, especially my bedroom is in total disarray, things strewn around as if a hurricane has struck.

Kids are scavengers by nature & collect all kinds of odd bits & pieces & have a photographic memory of what has been stashed where. Mine collects used toothbrushes, all sorts of pens, worn out toys from yesteryears, bits of paper & cloth, broken bangles, beads etc. This treasure is fiercely protected especially from one ruthless raider...her mom!

Once every month, I raid the supposed treasure coves, when I sense that these are overflowing & need to be cleaned a bit. For this, I have to first stalk Sonia (my daughter) & when the scene is clear, hurriedly accumulate all the rubbish in a garbage bag (which is colored & not see through) & then smuggle it out of the house into the municipal bin...but alas...most of the times, Sonia’s eagle eyes senses something amiss the moment she's back & she heads straight for the garbage bin to salvage her most treasured sweet nothings.

As days go by, Sonia's turning into a thoughtful child who has struggled during her most impressionable age with the trauma of being a part of a broken home. The relation between a mother & child is the most complex of all relations & the bond helps nurture & instill the values in the child that he/she further put to use in their journey of life.

My daughter has helped me emerge stronger in tough situations & given me a reason to strive harder. She misses her father but sensing my troubled look of helplessness tries to put a brave face & very sweetly analyses how she's so lucky to have a big happy family who care about her so much.

Sonia's joining a boarding school in Panchagani this June. As a mother, I'm apprehensive & my heart feels empty at the thought that I will not hear the countless no. of times she yells for me & drives me crazy. My house will not be messy...no monthly raids of garbage...no endless late night chatter in bed till my tired eyes would close & the realization that sleep had dawned on her Mom, she would unwillingly go to sleep herself.

Today, being Mothers days, I was made to feel very special. Some bit of money was borrowed from her pocket money by her to buy me a lovely card, a pendent & lotsa wet kisses till I screamed with delight...ENOUGH !!!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Parenting your parent

The angiography report is a grim site. The severity of blockage in the femoral arteries is profound. My ever-inquisitive Dad wants to know all & as he realizes that his hearts receiving lesser blood than what’s normally required, he suffers a psychological attack.

His mental age regresses to that of a 5 year old & he’s the family’s baby now. Everyone spoils him smothering him with well meaning concern.

I’m his new mum, who makes sure along with his regular dose of love & affection; he gets on a disciplined routine of diet and exercise. My Mum (his wife) plays the role of the ayah. Our baby keeps his ayah on her toes all day, throws tantrums & pays no heed to her well-meaning gestures.

Every morning, our baby resists his healthy but boring breakfast with renewed intensity. I split the breakfast into morsels, cajoling him to consume each morsel, glorifying each mouthful that he takes with impatient appreciation. The watch is ticking away & I’m getting late for work but our baby’s adamant as he slowly leafs through the morning newspaper without the care in the world.

Come evening, I take our baby & the ayah for a walk on the seaside. Our baby meticulously ties his shoelaces slowly. Its 15 minutes & I offer to tie his laces for him as I shift my weight impatiently from one foot to the other. “Don’t hurry me ! I can do it myself ”... he barks. My enthusiasm shrivels as I slink back & wait another 10 minutes cooling my heels waiting for his majesty to embark on his ritual exercise regime.

As I drive, he commands me where to park the car. Search me, if you wanna know why he’s being picky about where to park the car. It’s just a baby’s way of having things his way I suppose. I feel like a struggling parent, trying to keep my patience no matter how hard my baby tries to drive me against the wall.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Childhood journeys

I look at the ruthlessly pruned Litchi tree that stood at the junction of the boundary wall of my paternal grandfather’s house as our delighted relatives open up the wrought iron gates to welcome us. Time has purloined some of its beauty, the way it does with all things but nothing can rob it of the memories with which I had invested it.

It takes me back the memory lane of our bratish childhood. The memories are like sketches on an old tracing paper, some bold & fresh like it was just yesterday… embossed forever. Other’s that are partially erased, difficult to remember the minute details. I try to dissect my childhood memories rooted to this beautiful tree. It’s an untidy mess of jumbled incidents. It’s been long. The magic threshold has been crossed as I return to our ancestral home.

It was the summer of 1977 as my family embarked zestfully on yet another arduous journey to Bihar. My brother & me most of the times would jostle to sit next to the window, merrily waving to unknown people patiently waiting at the railway crossings, peasants working in the fields, children sitting on buffalo backs with an expression of unconquered glee.

As Allahabad approached & the train traveled with demonic speed on the bridge situated above the Ganges, both of us shamelessly exhibit the collection of broken milk teeth from the past year. Our Nani ma had sworn by the lord’s name & instilled the belief in us that once our broken teeth & some spare coins were submerged in the holy Ganges by us, our journey to heaven was imperative. We launch the broken teeth & coins with precision aim smug in the thought that our booking into Heaven is confirmed.

Our trip would take us to Gaya & then a bus ride of another seven torturous hours to Ranchi. My Dad’s is a huge family comprising of five brothers & five sisters & the off springs of the siblings who were married then. We congregated at Ranchi from everywhere.

Ranchi is situated at a higher altitude hence is cooler than the rest of Bihar. It also experienced occasional thunderstorms as the mercury shot up during the summers. After the heavy lashings would return the calm & serene beauty as life would erupt at the most unexpected places.

Our favourite haunt was Rani Bagan a well planned orchard of litchi & mango tree’s. It was an ornithologist’s paradise. At daybreak, there would be a pandemonium of different birds descending on the orchard to devour the luscious fruits growing there. The
Bagan’s chowkidar would keep an eagle eye on us kids making it impossible for us to steal the ripened fruits as we tramped aimlessly between the mangroves eating roasted gram sprinkled liberally with salt & lime out of thin, erect paper cones.

It was one such hot & humid summer afternoon that pressurized the clouds into thunderous combat with one another. Lightening struck at different places & the fury of the bellowing winds uprooted many a tree’s as well as electric poles plunging the entire area in darkness. As our mother’s worried about the clothes drying in the backyard & the terrace of the house, a new shoot of excitement poked through the earth beneath our feet & it was the germination of our master plan!

There was Sanjay, Raju & Lily (our uncles & aunt who were almost in the same age bracket as us), Bhaiya (my brother), Prem Phua (my extravagantly boisterous & brave aunt who was the leader of the brat pack) & me. Our target… Montu’s litchi tree. The same litchi tree that stood at the junction of the boundary wall that separated our house from Montu’s.

Montu’s mother was the vortex of wrath that would unleash with cruel disdain at anyone who would ogle at her well-endowed litchi tree. And here we were, a group straight out of “mission impossible”, aspiring to steal the sweet fruits from right under her nose.

A sense of déjà vu strikes my consciousness as Prem Phua clad in a green salwar kameez beckons to us to follow her stealthily into the night. The plan is impeccable. Prem Phua climbs the tree as the rest of us spread out & direct her to pluck the forbidden fruits, which she then drops into the huge pocket that I have styled by lifting the front of my rather longish frock.

As the heaven’s open up with greater fury that’s punctuated with occasional lightening, we squeal with devilish delight as the adrenalin flows through our veins. My frock pouch is fast filing up with bunches of litchi’s attached to one another like happy siblings. We are by now creating a rukus directing Prem Phua oblivious that the storms slowly dieing its natural death.

Montu’s mum on hearing unfamiliar sounds that give away our presence rushes out on her patio using expletives by the mouthful welding a thick wicked looking stick.in her hand. She scrutinizes the darkness for give away signs. Sensing the Gladiator’s approach we flee the crime scene in one spineless fervor. As we hide in the confines of our home we realize…PREM PHUA ! She’s still stuck on the tree.

As the five of us pray with righteous apathy for Prem Phua she turns into a chameleon hiding amongst the branches that protruded here & receded there. After a futile search for the perpetrator’s, Montu’s mum retreats grumbling about the entire world ganging up on her poor litchi trees.

We heavy a sigh of relief as minutes tick by waiting in final acknowledgement of her demise. Now, we worry about our fate in the hands of our Sardar.

As imagined, Prem Phua after descending from her perch reprimands us branding us as gutless scrounges not fit to be commissioned in her battalion.

The next morning as we luxuriate in the morning sun in our garden, Montu’s mum picks up a conversation with Prem Phua. “Prem, I tell you, this colony’s turning into a nest of squirming parasites. Look at what they have done to my beloved litchi tree…”

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

The Masseur

I wait for the childlike sweet voiced Geeta...my masseur cum beautician who I have never met before…she has been suggested to me by a friend. Frankly in my opinion, massages are for people who are aged or who undergo physical therapy. What was I doing giving in to my friend’s suggestion ?

She had said “ My Dear, we women are so engrossed in our responsibilities as some one’s wife, mother, sister, daughter etc that we ignore our own needs. We must unwind every once in a while too. Pamper yourself Sweety, you deserve it ”.

Geeta arrives…she’s a 30 something, 85kg plus women who quickly commands me to undress. Undress ???? What is she talking about ? Doesn’t she know that I’m shy???? Patiently she points out that she will give me a scalp massage extending to my back which cannot be done with my shirt on.

As she massages my scalp, I secretly bless my friend for suggesting this. It’s pure heaven…especially as she directs her expertise to my nape & slowly with even strokes reaches to my lower back. By this time I’m dreaming…there’s lush green grass spread out till where my eyes can reach, breeze licking each blade as it courses through the vast expanse. Brightly coloured Tulip’s happily wave from disciplined flowerbeds. The distant Pine tree’s standing majestically, seeping the sun as it rises above the mountains.

Suddenly, I’m rudely snapped out of my dream as I feel this gentle giant channeling her entire weight on me through her hands…I’m feeling claustrophobic...the last breath of air getting snuffed out of me as my lungs are crushed under the sheer weight.Despite my discomfort, I’m embarrassed to voice out my agony as I imagine her sniggering at my sissy ness…so I stick on as she manoeuvres my legs in angles that are horrifically crazy & her idea of loosening tensed muscles.After what seems like an eternity, the ordeal’s over & we switch on to other personal care rituals. My tormentor, who has sensed that I’m an inexperienced first timer, asks me whether I enjoyed the massage…Oh Yes ! I promptly reply…you were VERY GOOD !!!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Why I love London

This city of dreams, London. An overflowing population of more than 9 million. The assortment of cultures here is amazing. More so, the tolerance of the English towards other cultures which is so unique to this place.

I arrive here on a sunny morning carrying loads of enthusiasm, ready to soak up the pulse of this much happening city.

In a few weeks time, I rent an apartment which looks like the perfect heaven after a hard days work. The apartment is good but has suffered months of abuse & neglect from the previous tenant. This person must have been a blond man as I discover hair from various parts of his body as I toil to spruce up the place to make it liveable.

There’s another discovery on my journey to reach the Mecca of hygiene. The insect life in England. There were the flea’s with an amazing abundance of energy as they hip-hopped around in glee. The bugs were a more reserved lot preferring to venture alone only in the stealth of the night. And then there were the master architects, the spiders. I have discovered 6 different species and am open to getting to know a few more during my stay here. The degree of grace with which they cascade down from the wall to furniture and then the ground can transfix the observer.

And then I realize how lucky I am. There are no lizards, the scariest things around. I wonder why Noah ever saved them from ultimate extinction. At one point I had begun to believe that I could be a world class sprinter if only my coach could train a tiny lizard to chase me on the tracks.

Back to my apartment, so here I was feeling blessed by the almighty for sparing me this horrendous experience. How I love this place. I cannot imagine a more peaceful place than London with the absence of its reptilian population.

Of course, there are beautiful places like the various artistically maintained gardens, the majestic cathedrals, Palaces, Forts, Buildings with the European grandeur of architecture, the festivals organised here from different countries, the theatre, open air shows at Hyde park, Trafalgar square and the embankment beside the river Thames…the list is endless.

But my reason to love London is the absence of the draconian four legged creepy creation of God.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

The Contusion

In deep slumber, I was awakened by someone’s touch. Someone was probing me in the dark. My sleepy eyes focuses on my aunt’s husband who was visiting us. He has a rakish grin pasted on his face.

I was 13 & an epitome of ignorance. But one look at him made my danger antennas go up. With one smooth leap, I was on my feet bolting to my parents bedroom. My brain was in a state of shock. Was I imagining things ? In a confused way I try to explain to my folks that our visiting relative was not a nice person. Mum confutes my statement. She knows what a nerd I am….but not Dad. The relative profusely apologizes to them the next day quoting his unforgivable behavior to sleep walking.

This impressionable incident scarred me to the extent that in my growing years, I would get tense & spooked if left alone with a stranger. I realize today that I got off very lightly & not many are as lucky as I was.

Most sexual offences happen to children much younger & by people who are generally known to the child. The confused child does not know how to react to this kind of perverted behavior & consents thinking it to be a normal act of some kind in many cases.

Most people fear for their girl child. Here, I would like to reiterate that the onus is not always on the girl child. A male child is equally susceptible to sexual abuse.

Recent years have seen a rising spate in such condemnable acts. This piece is to create awareness amongst all responsible adults to treat such issues with utter seriousness. To create awareness amongst all, that sexual abuse & rape is not something we read in the news papers happening to other people. We can definitely skirt this danger by exercising gumption & prudence.

Teach your child the difference between a good touch & a bad touch. Bathe your child as often as you can. Knowing your child’s body not only makes you aware of how they are growing but also if there are any tell tale signs of physical abuse. Never leave your child unattended or alone with strangers or people you do not trust. Do not trust your child with relatives or friends you don’t know well. While choosing a day care center, research the credentials of the people running it. Talk to parents who have been regulars there. Ensure that your child grows in a healthy & safe environment.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Road to Partison

In one riotous flutter of wings, the pigeons were scampering for cover. We were on a mission. To shoot down pigeons, cook them into sumptuous meals & devour them.

My brother was pursuing his engineering degree out of town. Naturally, his friends anointed me as his successor in his absentia & here I was, roaming the mango groves, being very much a part of this vagabond clan.

Amongst all our mums, mine was the only one who tolerated our regressive behavior & hence our trophies were cooked to perfection at my place. Deepak was good at shooting & skinning the birds, Raju did least of the chores but always had a word of praise for me & hence my favourite. The grand finale…the “ Shahi Pigeon Mussalam” was cooked by me.

All summer our skins tanned a deeper hue loitering in the sun doing nonsensical “guy things”. I loved to be a part of the gang. No fighting & bickering like my other female counterparts. Speaking of gurl friends, well…they had solemnly resigned to the fact that I had a confused sexual identity.

Then there was this incident, that totally changed my persective towards animals. During one of our afternoon routines, we had already shot down two pigeons & were looking for the third one to complete the count & lo, prat came a pigeon & perched itself on a branch of a tree. My friend took aim & pulled the trigger, the pellet pierced the pigeon’s body, but instead of falling dead, it flew clumsily till a certain distance & then fell into a thicket of thorny shrubbery.

All three of us chased behind, hounding it to come out in the open. The courageous bird struggled, dared the thorny bushes & fought to stay alive, trying to escape us. I was troubled looking at the hapless bird.

Asking my friends to stop, we called an emergency meeting where in, I put forth my thoughts of sparing the bird. It had earned its right to live.

After that incident, we decided to quit hunting. The trio turned into a new leaf & switched to robbing mangoes instead. Well...I know…robbing is not a saintly act…but at least we had improved from being murderers to being petty thieves.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Are you PMSing?

My close friend's boyfriend is flying out of the country. As she bids a tearful bon voyage, her fear begins to take shape. What if the aircraft in which he's traveling meets with a disaster? On her way back from the airport, the various scenes from Rohan’s funeral unfolds in her minds eye.
She bowls continuously for three hours much to the chagrin of everyone around. She's a smart & successful young girl. So what's triggering such an obscure behaviour?

Another friends making some extra pocket money playing detective to his aunt. The subject that he's supposed to stalk is none other than his poor unsuspecting uncle. Reason? She suspects infidelity.

The wife of a colleague is a perfectly balanced, loving & warm person till the clock ticks closer to that particular day of the month when she experiences excruciating cramps that leaves her frail & immobile. She turns into this vicious foul tempered person who's just waiting to detonate.

Personally, I make a conscious effort to be happy every day. But come close the PMS days & I blow up my sorrows in a three dimensional effect. My lachrymal glands work overtime as I look for a reason to cry.

Every woman goes through the harrows of Pre Menstrual Syndrome. The intensity may vary, but no ones spared. So the next time any of you men come across an obnoxious behaviour in your wife, girl friend, sister, colleague....which is not the outcome of a stimulus from your immediate environment, she's probably PMSing. And if she is....well...god save you. Buckle up your seat belts & wait for the worst to blow over.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Angels on the streets

It was like any other clear morning as I leave home for work waving to known faces on my way. Its 26th July, 2005. A day full of the regular morning humdrum of Mumbai life.

By afternoon its raining heavily with regular outbursts of thunder & lightening & yet we all dispel it as Mumbai’s monsoon at its best. And then nature’s unpredictable streak unfolds. By 4pm most of Mumbai’s conveyance comes to a stand still. The cell phones connectivity is at God’s mercy that allows an occasional SMS to leave the cell phone with no promises to deliver it to the recipient.

I leave office at 4.30pm along with my colleagues & we all disintegrate in different directions at Andheri Station. The local trains, Mumbai’s very backbone is grounded. As hoards of people resign themselves to walking home, I board a BEST bus that is probably headed towards Dadar. I feel lucky as I get a seat in the back of the bus. As the bus proceeds, it gets caught in a crippling traffic jam. There are cars ahead that have got submerged in the water & abandoned by its owners. Due to the abandoned vehicles, the rest of the traffic is immovable. The girl sitting next to me is going in the same direction as me & hence we decide to stick together.

We wait for 2 hrs in the bus for a miracle. The water level’s rising & looks like a mini river by now with forceful currents. Around 7.45pm when the bus seems redundant, we decide to leave the bus. We step out in thigh deep water & suddenly realize that venturing this way was a lot tougher than it looked. Due to the strong currents I take off my shoes & start walking bare feet feeling the ground where I realize the presence of potholes. Thousands walk the path along with us like headless chickens.

As we trudge in the murky water in the dark for about a km, a sudden gush of strong current at a particular junction throws us all in a quandary disseminating all in different directions clutching on anything hard for dear life.

I get separated from my bus friend & look frantically for her, holding on to a car to avoid getting swept away. I hear someone screaming, “Where are you” & recognize her voice across the road a few feet away. I shout back in acknowledgement to let her know my exact position & ask her name. In the chaos we had forgotten to introduce ourselves. She shouts that she’s Shobha & I jokingly shout back that it was a pleasure meeting her.

I wonder how Pascal (from Pascal’s Law) would have calculated the pressure of water rising around. This was something I had seen happening to other people in other places on TV while sipping tea. This is Mumbai…how can this be possible?

Shobha & me stay close together alternately taking lead. Our cell phones ring on & off but we are unable to retrieve our cells from our bags & then my battery dies.

As we reach the Santa Cruz subway we realize that it’s totally submerged with the water’s depth to around 10-12 ft. Since we can’t get through, we walk further in search of another opening into the western part of the city & spot a few slum dwellers form a human chain. They are directing people through a short cut to reach the main street in the western side. We immediately follow instructions as they guide us on to a narrow wooden pier submerged in water. One wrong step shall plunge us into the nulah & sure death. These angels guide one person at a time holding our hands, pointing exactly where to land our feet, constantly warning us to be careful since this is a perilous crossing. Safely on the other side, we wade our way through a slum & buy some biscuits at a small joint quickly devouring it ravenously. Its 9.30pm. We are still about 7kms away from home. We walk in the middle of the road fearing an open manhole as well as gaping gutters.

Finally we reach Khar & I separate from Shobha who takes a by lane leading to her home. It’s around 10.30pm. The entire Linking road is full of an endless line of wearily walking people. As I approach Bandra, I have to take a by lane to reach home. The roads empty & flooded. A man beckons to me from the shadows of a small pan shop. He looks tough sporting a thick moustache & I’m spooked as he walks towards me. I fasten my pace & hear him shout, “Be careful of the 3 guys walking ahead. They are drunk”. I sigh in relief as I realize that I had failed to recognize this angel.

I start running oblivious of the sharp stones cutting my feet & finally reach home. My distraught family have perched themselves on the window waiting for me. As they crowd around me hugging me, I jokingly remind them to be good to me in future.

After a refreshing bath, I relate to my folks about the days adventure as my daughter sits tending my injured feet listening wide-eyed. I talk about the brave slum dwellers who we treat like the pariah’s of our society. They had risen above themselves to help people who would have otherwise met disastrous fates. Loads of people caught unawares walking the streets wearing gold ornaments etc but there was not a stray incident of robbery or street violence.

Some other angels offered food & water to weary people walking past Bandra Station. I consider myself lucky. Millions were stranded in crowded trains & buses for up to 12 hrs & reached home only the next day.

At all stages in our journey we came across angels helping / guiding people. There was no pathos in the eyes of anyone walking the street. Just guts & determination. Such strength in ordinary people was very heartening. Mother nature in this trying time brought out the philanthropist in all of us.

Mumbai recorded a whooping 944mm of rainfall in 24 hours toppling Chirapunji’s record of the place receiving the highest rainfall in India.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Are you responsible for your sperm?

Ravi is a fun loving kinda guy, always quoting to his friends “Life’s too short, we live only once…so lets have fun”. His rakish good looks & dare devilry makes him an instant favourite amongst the opposite sex & he has a chain of girl friends that he has befriended during his numerous night outs to the local pub & discotheques.

Seema, one of his many girl friends, is his favourite. She’s different. A mixture of innocence & ignorance, he revels in the adoration that he sees in her eyes for him. Seema professes her love to Ravi in more ways than one & they are lovers stealing away time from her regular college hours to be with him.

As the romance blossom’s, Seema is jolted back to reality one day as she observes that she has missed her menstrual cycle for a couple of weeks. Worry & doubt are confirmed as she consults a doctor. Horrified & scared at the thought of being an unwed mother, she takes solace in the thought that Ravi’s going to set things right. As she discloses the truth to him, she realizes that he’s is a changed person. The very gregarious Ravi chastises her for being irresponsible & asks her not to bother him anymore.

Reeking in despair, Seema in consultation with her girl friends who are novices themselves, tries to miscarry her baby by downing a combination of prescription drugs. The repercussion is devastating & Seema is rushed to the hospital in very serious condition. Her parents are horrified when the doctor divulges the truth to them. Looking at the advanced stage of Seema’s pregnancy, the doctors advise against an abortion.

Seema’s near brush with death in her endeavor to miscarry her baby has had serious effects on her foetus. The baby is delivered premature & her heart & brain are affected seriously. Seema’s parents, in fear of public ridicule enforce her to give her baby up to an orphanage.


Seema's sorrow knows no bounds but has to give up her daughter since she lives in a society which does not allow such insolence.

Dhara, the baby, who has fought & struggled for survival in her mother’s womb is the new baby in the orphanage’s nursery which houses about 91 babies already. She’s barely 9 days old. Her weak & frail body searches her mother’s warmth as she cries out fervently, searching for her mother’s breasts to suckle.

Today, Dhara is a 15-month tiny bundle of joy, with a severely retarded growth & active eyes. As the nannies in the nursery go about doing their daily chore, she beckons with her hand & an inviting smile to be picked up & cuddled. She awaits her adoptive parents like many others in her orphanage.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005

Language of Love

A pair of the most beautiful brown eyes stare at me & I’m instantly in love. I’m fourteen & a very important half, unsure of the simplest of things to be done. But this little fella with his arresting eyes has made me realize that I want him bad.

As I get him home, everybody’s surprised but I’m worried about Dad. Will he condone my bold decision ? He arrives from work & one look tells me all. I get a dressing down & am told to pack him off where he belongs. That night I cry myself to sleep.

Next day, the Gods have had mercy, my Dad’s a changed man. He relents & allows him to stay on…yipeee ! dancing around in glee, I rejoice.

After thoughtful consultation with my brother, we name him Jackie. In the coming weeks, Jackie hogs all the lime light. He’s the darling of the family & an instant hit amongst our friends.

Dad’s a staunch member of “Animals are good for nothings” group & yet Jackie changes his perspective. His intelligence intrigues all. He loves us selflessly….ahem ! well...almost. Its only when his girl friend Nellys around that he turns into a dysfunctional love sick dog.

In the coming years, Jackie is well traveled. He even visits Bihar (our native place), meets up all our animal hating relatives, wins some & ignores the ones who could not be conquered.

He’s my constant companion & knows my darkest secrets. He’s loving & loyal & accepts my rebellious teenage ways without being judgmental. He’s fiercely possessive about me too. He wants my undivided attention & commits felony by killing the poor sparrow that had fallen off its nest & who I was trying to nurse back so that it could fly away.

And then I get married. He hates my new husband & is driven with rage to the extent of always making a point to show him who the boss actually is. My poor husband remorsefully tolerates this love hate relationship between them, considering the great love that Jackie & me share.

Mum calls me at work on 15th December, 1992. Jackie has been savagely attacked by a pack of dogs. It took many to drive the rouge pack away. Mum’s shaken, I cannot buckle & I immediately leave for home.

My heart sinks looking at Jackie’s torn & battered body. Precious time’s ticking away & shedding all emotional upheaval that’s going on inside me, I get down to systematically cleansing his wounds. The numerous punctures across his belly & back bleed continuously. He looks imploringly at me to leave him alone. The vet stitches him up, gives him a couple of shots & packs us home.

In the coming days, he fights a futile battle, his beautiful eyes wide in sheer agony as he struggles to breathe. I cry aloud to God to take my most beloved Jackie & rid him of his misery & puff…he’s gone.

This is my first brush with death in my mortal existence. Its past midnight, but Dad informs all of his demise & strangely, everyone who knew him come at that odd hour to walk along side him on his last journey to his grave.

We mourn him like our own. Its taken me years to not cry when I think of Jackie. How his lively bouncing spirit helped me cope with difficult situations during my most sensitive years. He taught me to love selflessly...thanks lil fella for teaching me the language of love.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2005