The humane touch!

The humane & human touch! Have often wondered about this aspect applying to different situations. Both are such important components to make or break relationships. Be it parent /child, siblings, friends or lovers. Every one needs a generous dose of this magic potion to keep them going!

So when one comes across a few little souls that have been born n abandoned, trapped in obscurity awaiting deliverance, one struggles with such disparities. Why is God partial to a few n less to others?

The ground floor of the nursery of St Teresa Orphanage houses infants. Adorable babies who smile in their sleep as if in conversation with God. Move their mouths in sleep searching for an invisible breast to cling on to. Squirm in their cribs in search of a particular soft warm snuggle….tiny feet lifted up pressing against their little stomachs looking lost without their mommies.

As a baby cries…one wants to comfort it by holding it close to the heart. But the sister-in-charge says “don’t lift the babies please”! A human touch is very infectious. Even an infant learns to demand it & we are heavily short staffed. You shall go back after spending some time here. Do we have that many hands to lift each baby & cuddle it when it cries for attention? Pl maam…I request you to just rock her crib. She’s used to this & shall slowly stop crying & lull back to sleep.

As the kids find their feet & start standing in their cribs, they are transported to the first floor nursery that has steep steps. The kids who can walk are allowed to descend on their own every day around 3.30pm to play in the little garden below.

Looking at the kids descend in unsteady steps precariously getting down the stairs immediately brings out the maternal instinct as your heart is in your mouth. What if one kid topples…there will be a heap of them badly injured. But the nanny restrains…says they learn to be independent this way. Don’t pamper….they have to find their own footing. It feels harsh! Reality is thus!

It’s around 3.45pm. I’m helping a nun who doubles up as a nurse to sick kids. There’s this baby born with no opening at the lower end of the alimentary canal. She has to undergo a few operations for the doctor to design an anus to allow normal evacuation. But for now, she has this opening in the side of her abdomen through which a pipe sticks out. This aperture needs to be cleaned at regular intervals to keep it infection free.

Suddenly there is terrified screaming in the garden outside. A few kids running amuck screaming, displaying extreme anxiety. One little boy is screaming the loudest. There is this huge Doberman (belongs to the orphanage & probably let lose at that hour by mistake) that’s bounding playfully behind the kids who run helter-skelter petrified of the dog.

As I run out to shoo the dog away from the kids, the marathon screamer runs across the courtyard & desperately hugs me shrieking to be lifted. All words of solace fails him as he sobs uncontrollably into my bosom. The dormitory nun comes out by now & chides the kids for making a racket out of nothing. As the kids surround her like lost puppies…she’s overwhelmed for a moment. Says something kind & then back to barking orders to maintain decorum.
The freaky shrieky kid has adopted me by now & follows me around as if he’s found his mama. A feeling of guilt overwhelms as I leave for home with him staring fixatedly with a stoic expression. He looks confused! Why is he being left behind when a while ago he was hugged so warmly? His tiny mind doesn’t understand why the humane touch is hurriedly closing the doors of the orphanage behind her.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Thou shall not deliver!

The delivery date had shot past by 10 days & the body showed no signs of evacuating the baby. The uterus is tightly clamped…said the gynecologist & she was worried!

Since I had been unsuccessful in putting on significant amount of fat packs at prominent junctures of the body, she said “Bunts…the baby shall be severely under-weight”

So there I was….gobbling every bit of protein that the stomach grudgingly allowed from the list provided by the clinic to have a healthy baby. Result? The weighing scale tipped a wee bit after downing a few kilo’s of sprouts as advised. Now she was worried some more! Said the baby would be weak during birth.

The baby actually was HUGE & listening in annoyance from its pouch. It sure was pissed at being under-rated this way. And now this new dramatic turn of events! It just was too annoying for the baby with all this hulla bulla* & it decided to take the situation’s reigns into its hands.

Thou shall not get delivered! Thou shall sleep some more inside this warm cosy pocket & let them know who the boss actually is.

The gynecologist had different plans. She said we couldn’t waste time with the amniotic fluid drying up due to the baby’s size & full term. She worried about the baby’s bowels doing an unwanted expulsion in the uterus. Something like…jis thali main khate hain…ushi thali main ched karna!*

So it was decided to administer drugs to start the contractions. The gynecologist & the baby had started on a wrong footing right from day one. Whatever she said…the baby did otherwise. So here was this jail-bird* that didn’t want to come out & the thanedar* that wanted to release it. A difference of opinion! The sufferer? The host-body* that mutely endures both.

It had been twelve hours & four bottles of fluid. The bladder was bursting at the seams but the urethra was in full control. The nurse advises to use a bed-pan to avoid unhooking the fluid bottle. Ok says the host-body. So the bed-pan is strategically placed. Tick…tick…tick…wait…wait some more…command the urethra to open up. Cajole the urethra to open up. Request the urethra to open up. Plead the urethra to open up.

The nurse suggests squatting over it on the bed. Ok says the host-body once again. Tick…tick…tick…wait…wait some more…command the urethra to open up. Cajole the urethra to open up. Request the urethra to open up. Plead the urethra to open up.

The bed-pan is deriding the host-body by now. It’s scornful mirth is beginning to psychologically affect the host-body’s confidence. Some more pressure is exerted. Nay says the duct! The passage is on strike!

After every position & angle is deluded from the anals of medical succor…its truce time! A joint resolution of disconnecting the fluid pipes is taken. The host-body is paraded to the rest room where she rests & rests & rests!

After a million seconds…its back to enjoying the torturous moments of excruciating motherhood!


*hulla bulla – much ado
*jis thali main khate hain…ushi main ched karna! – to be disloyal to the one that helps.
* thanedar – law enforcer
* jail-bird – baby in the womb
* host-body – mother (in this case…me…moi…ma-self)

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Love notes from my nymphet doodle!

As I stretched n huffed n puffed…could hear a slight rustling sound from the other side of the door. No matter how hard I concentrated, the murmurous brook outside my bedroom kept disquieting my power-packed workout.

It’s tough to be a mum sometimes! Oh yeah…have heard this like a billion times! And my nymphet was a pro in grabbing all the attention when I wanted least company. There is an unwritten rule or something about this whole equation between kids n their mommies.

The moment you sit to calm down a ravenous hunger pang, even if you kid was asleep, the unknown iniquitous powers would connive & nudge her awake to cry her loudest cry to be lifted.

You have bathed & are purity personified on your way to say a quick prayer & stop! Your kid needs its mum right then! She’s soiled her nappy & needs a change….read my lips…IMMEDIATELY! No if’s…no but’s…you sure drive me nuts!

And then slowly your social circle starts dwindling. The friend calls & as you exchange pleasantries…your kids broken the necklace & stuck the bead up her nose all in 3 seconds flat! What a genius! She sure shall beat them meerkats in her endevour to discover life’s greatness.

The friend in the meantime is all apologetic & holds herself responsible for being accountable for my child’s actions. The counter reaction? The only tiny ray of a friend I had disappears behind a haze of forgotten friendships.

So this mornings prevarications getting me this close to losing it. In a swift motion a little folded page is thrust from below the door accompanied by much giggling. Hmmm…now I’m curious. What could that little imp be up to this time?

Reading the most lovely n innocent note from my 7-year ole leaves me soaking in love. The exasperation of motherhood is replaced by this need to give her the tightest hug!

Row Row Row your boat,
Gently down the street,
Merrily…merrily…merrily…merrily…
Life is but a dream!

She says....Dont ever die mommy & if you have to....please go only when I have my own babies & I'm too busy to cry!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

Meri Mehbooba!

The valley reverberated with sporadic grenade explosions sending black morbid fumes up in the clear air. Fear written-writ on everyone’s face the anxiety of losing a loved one made the women huddle together comforting one another in the confines of their homes.

Kashmir…once a supernal place & engraved in gold in the history of the Mugal raj* by the famous Mugal Emperor Jahangir who said…

gar firdaus bar ru-e-zameeN ast
hamiasto, hamiasto, hamiast

If there is heaven on earth,
It’s here! it’s here! it’s here alone!

Shafiq was quite a sought after tourist guide. After all he was the only one who knew a little english & could thus take the gore nawabs* around who descended on Srinagar to catch the pristine beauty of the mountainous terrain & the valley beyond.

Off late, the jihadis had started propagating about Azad Kashmir. The need for a separate state. A state that would thrive under Islam disjoining itself from the kashmiri pundits* that were equally a part of the state & its culture. There was confusion in every mussalman’s* mind as they listened to the haughty speeches that spread its tentacles around gullible listeners.

Sunaina was Shafiq’s neighbour. An orphan who lived with her aunt, Mehrunisa, two boats away from Shafiq’s shikara*. Ever since kids…they had been inseparable. Shafiq had been the protective friend who shielded her in the street fights with other kids when there game would turn sour. Shafiq was that omnipresent shoulder that she leaned on whenever distressed. Her pillar of strength! Her confidence!

The terrorist’s kidnapping of the three foreigners who were in Shafiq’s group left all numb with fear. As news spread, Sunaina felt faint with anxiety. She rushed to the nearby dargah* to appease her saint to blanket Shafiq from any misfortune.

The group had been heading towards Pehelgaon when the terrorists had struck from the near-by forest. Everyone was taken hostage. Shafiq was the only one spared since he was fittest & the best bet to trek down to Srinagar with the terrorist’s message for the Indian Government.

When the situation had been grave, the only thought that crossed Shafiq’s mind was Sunaina. As he trekked back to Srinagar, he pondered about this sudden longing to see her as soon as possible. What was this feeling? Crap! How could he feel like a softie? But the truth was that he felt all those emotions that he looked down upon in the much-in-love couples who enjoyed the shikara rides in the Dal lake every evening.

Sunaina was going crazy with trepidation about the worst & the moment she saw him standing at the door-way, gasping to catch his breath from all the running he had done….she ran into his arms weeping in relief. They held on to each other for a long time & finally Shafiq asked Sunaina why she was crying. She asked him the same question which made him turn a beetroot red with embarrassment. He had never felt this weak all his life. His mehbooba* had made a poet out of him. He could now understand the nuances of poetry that he had sniggered upon in the past.

Mehrunisa bi was startled seeing the lovebirds snuggling & clearing her throat to announce her presence said….its time to bid you farewell bete jaan*. We shall have the nikah* this coming jumma* & until then your future shauhar* has to keep to his side of the shikara.


*raj – reign
*gore nawabs – white gentlemen
* pundits – hindu brahmins
*mussalman – muslim
*Shikara – house-boat
*dargah – tomb of a muslim saint where worshippers pledge devotion in kind or prayers if their supplication is heard by the holy saint.
*mehbooba – female lover
* bete jaan – loving daughter
*nikah – muslim wedding ceremony
*jumma – Friday
*Shauhar - husband

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

I wonder sometimes! (poem)

I wonder sometimes about things as I thought they were…were they?
I wonder sometimes about that look of warmth,
The tear that wrenched its way down your sapience face…were they?
The things we shared of hurt n joy,
The remorse of broken relationships & their aftermath,
The divinity & pains of parenthood,
Was it for real or just pantomimes of what I wanted to see?

I wonder sometimes about the past,
Some of which were good, some bad & few others…weird!
A potpourri of jumbled thoughts,
A rigmarole of lost souls.

Life goes on no matter what,
No one stops …no matter what,
The relative worth of someone who cared
Is lost in the resounding insinuations.

We scream for deliverance,
Fight for perseverance,
But when felicity stares at us,
We question it’s integrity.

As wisdom catches up & innocence lost,
There’s so much we have learnt…but at what cost?
A simple smile is met by mistrust,
A benevolent gesture is thought to be lust,
How do I get those simple feelings back?
Life is but in the fast lane,
What a shame…what a shame!

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The monster that killed humanity!

The frenzied crowd poured into the main street from the different by-lanes with blood curdling slogans of Jai Maharastra! Har Har Mahadev! The residents of Charkop colony were dumb stuck, caught unawares by the onslaught of such hostile behaviour. No one could fathom this ugly turn of events.

Shazia stayed with her husband, Avinash on the fourth floor of Hidayat Manzil. They had eloped & got married much against their parent’s will since they belonged to different religions. It had been a tumultuous year with trying to humour sorrowful parents, struggling to survive without any support from either of their families. A few close friends had helped them solemnize the nuptials but other than that, both had precious little as support.

It was the month after Ramadan when Shazia missed her periods. A visit to the gynaecologist a couple of weeks later confirmed the good news. Even the dysphoric parents came around on hearing of the pregnancy & made efforts to patch things up between them.

It was 6th of Jan, 1993. Being jumma most of the muslims had congregated to offer prayers at their respective mosques. Trouble had been brewing for sometime since the Babri Masjid demolition & sporadic incidents of rioting had been reported. But Mumbai was known for its religious harmony & tolerance in such matters.

The parishad had been plotting this for a while now after the retaliation they had received in various parts of the country by the enraged lot. Systematic attacks in all areas where the minorities lived had been planned with deft expertise by the saffron clad. The message this time would be loud n clear.

Rishi the 5 year ole bundle of mischief ran to Shazia aunty’s house the moment he opened his eyes each morning. This was like any other mornings for Rishi & as Shazia aunty prepared tea to soak the musk in for him to eat, he peeped from the parapet of the small balcony in glee. It was time for some festival again he thought.

A bewildered Shazia looked out as well & hearing the blood curdling death calls quickly closed the balcony door trembling in fear. She felt a dull pain in the pit of her stomach at the fear of being alone at home. The apprehension of Avinash’s well-being gnawed at her with each war cry!

It all happened so fast it took everyone living in Hidayat Manzil by surprise. A crowd of 30 odd rioters barged into the building breaking doors claiming lives with demonic frenzy thwarting all attempts of escape.

Shazia’s door collapsed with the efficacy of brute force. She hid Rishi under a pile of clothes in the far corner of the room. As the men raged in, she cried in desperation to spare her and her unborn child but her pitiful wailings drowned in the barbarian cries of the cruelly rapacious lot. The hands thirstily approached her from all around ripping, tugging, pining her down.
Her cries for mercy was answered with savage cruelty as they ravaged her one by one. Each thrust of human insult made her cry out loud for her ammi jaan. That was enough for the blood thirsty gang to inflict more violence.

Rishi trembled like a frightened leaf below the heap of clothes. He couldn’t bare to see his beloved aunty being tortured by strangers. He saw them carving her flesh with their knives & by the time they left her for dead, he had lost his voice in a state of shock. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t call out to his aunty to ascertain if she was still alive.

Shazia was in a delirious state slipping in & out of consciousness. Her insides hurt beyond comprehension. The vagina that had gasped with pleasure at the touch of a loved one was wailing, trying to comprise its fault. The heartbeat of the unborn that had started to beat relentlessly had been abridged abruptly.

Hearing her moan in pain made Rishi bolt in search of his family to bring help. No one was around as he looked desperately for his family. As he looked for his mother, he came across Raju dada his nineteen yr ole cousin brother who had hid in the loft. Sensing urgency in Rishi’s frantic gestures he followed him & was shocked to see a bloodied Shazia lying naked with her left breast cut open.

Wrapping Shazia in a bed sheet, Raju lifted the shallowly breathing Shazia & broke into a trot jumping stairs to reach medical help as soon as possible. The rioters were everywhere on the streets. He would not be able to pass through the milling crowd that had lost all sense of modesty.

It was then that Rishi did something that pronounced loss of innocence in this crazy genocide dance. He ran up to a corpse that had a shawl with the hindu god names wrapped around its neck. He unwound the shawl & ran to Raju wrapping the same around his thin body. Raju n Rishi plodded through the thick stupor of insanity in an attempt to reach the ESIC hospital that was close by.

In the meantime, Avinash had been in a daze. The diamond-polishing workshop where he worked as a supervisor was in a Muslim dominated area. Everywhere he looked, he could see smoke snaking its way towards the morbid sky, flames licking away at every possible flammable unit in the gully. Men shouting Allah-O-Akbar & other jihadi war calls, that combusted the atmosphere to nervous proportions.

The workshop owners’ wife, Imrana hid Avinash in their quarters & asked him to emerge only at sun down. When Avinash finally came out of his concealment he stealthily headed straight towards his home fearing the worst. On seeing his building blackened with smoke n flames, he rushed to the near by hospitals looking for his beloved Shazia. He searched in the casualty wards of the three hospitals near by. Not finding his wife, crestfallen he started looking for her in the mortuaries. And then he met Ravi who related the horrific incident of the day & guided him to a limp Shazia fighting for life between precious gasps of erratic breath. Avinash wept like a child looking at his beautiful wife tattered & torn, struggling for survival.

Ravi & Rishi went looking for Rishi’s mother Arti. His father had died just last year succumbing to alcoholism. Arti made ends meet by working as a nanny to a rich mans twins. The growing mob violence had made her nervous about the two boys at home & she had set out for home despite the ensuing violence.

Being a widow, she dressed in light coloured sarees, her forehead devoid of the conventional bindi, that every married hindu women adorned. As she picked her way hiding in the by lanes between buildings, she was cornered by a group who erroneously classified her as a muslim, bathed her with gasoline & burnt her alive a few meters away from her building. As Rishi stood dumb stuck a neighbour pacified the boys. He was struggling to grasp the unfortunate happenings & its consequences.

Tired & hungry, he yearned the warmth of his mothers lap where he snuggled every night his ear close to her bosom. The rhythmic beat of her heart lulled little Rishi to sleep every night. But this night was different. His mother’s charred body lay in the middle of the corridor of their building awaiting daybreak to be sent to dust.

The Army was brought in after two days of intensive rioting & strewn decomposed bodies picked up from the surrounding areas of Charkop. Arti’s body was also claimed by the jawans to be included in the mass funeral organized in the near by cremation grounds.

Ravi n Rishi like directionless waifs walked around till they reached the ESIC hospital. Shazia aunty was there…one last hope! Rishi ran through the chaotic passage way dodging injured victims lying on the floors of the grimy hospital. At last he found Avinash uncle squatting next to his semi-dead wife staring listlessly at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

Seeing a familiar face was too overwhelming for Rishi who jumped into Avinash’s outstretched arms weeping loudly, his voice back after almost 36 hours of the ordeal. He tugged at Shazia aunty’s arm in an attempt to revive her, crying loudly pleading her not to leave him alone.

Shazia had been travelling in a dark tunnel aimlessly floating thru timelessness. She could hear Rishi’s voice in the distance. Why was the child crying? As her gaze fixed onto his frail sobbing body she squeezed the tiny hands that held hers. Seeing her back to consciousness made Rishi wail all the more, relating his mum’s violent death.

Don’t die Shazia aunty. Who shall take care of me if you too go away to God?

The innocent plea tugged at Shazia & emboldened her to fight back. She could not give up now. Avinash & Rishi needed her.

It took Shazia many weeks of medical care & physio-therapy to get back on her feet. She was lucky to be spotted by a social worker who enrolled her for the riot victims counselling program. Meeting others & sharing their tragedies helped heal the invisible wounds inflicted on her soul.

Shazia is back with her family now. They have changed residence & lives with Avinash, Rishi & Ravi in a chawl. The struggle to get back to normalcy is not over. Trying to erase that black Friday’s memories is not easy….taking each day as it comes. But even today, a small incident like watching tandori chicken get roasted gets Rishi all agitated transporting him back to that fateful day.

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007

The Message! (flash fiction - 300 words)

Word spread like wild fire in the Vindhyacal ranges. The tiny hamlets that peppered the horizontally stretching hills had no communication facilities. The only way to spread the news was by word of mouth.

A villager would stand on top of a hillock, beat his drums & yell loudly his message to be passed on to the next village. The receiver of this message in turn would beat his drums & convey loudly the message to the next village & in no time, using this rudimentary skill, the entire range would be agog with the news of the day.

It was the 5th of February, the morning chill still in the air when Banwari started beating his drums. Banwari was the best messenger in the village & known for his drumming & decibel prowess. The village girls adored him peeping shyly from under their veils.

Back to the story….Banwari conveys his message to his awaiting recipient who’s taken aback by the news. But he has no time to ponder over the details. Time is scarce & a lot needs to be done. He has to immediately route the message to his neighboring village Deolia. There is a call to all the twenty-seven villages to congregate at Pachim Kawariya which is centrally located.

The folks of Deolia are surprised at the news as well & after passing the message across to Muli, the village elders start getting ready to make their journey to Pachim Kawariya. Everyone had to meet there sharp at 6pm to take stock of the next phase of the mass gathering.

By 5pm, everyone started pouring into Pachim Kawariya & once all the Sarpanch’s of the twenty-seven villages assembled, they went up to their Guru Sri Ram Bhagat Sarkar singing “Happy Birthday to you”

Copyright © BuntysBanter 2007