THE FIRST AARTI

It's our favourite time of the year. The most divinely frolic week, it was the first day of Ganesh Chaturthi. With the arrival of bappa, the long lost life of the house was retained after five months of brain draining home quarantine. We cried on the top of throats "Ganpati bappa morya" during the arrival procession, and it definitely was the first instance of excitement and optimism after months. 

Apart from the devotional values, what makes Ganesh Chaturthi Special is that, it brings the oldest Aaji of the family to the farthest cousin kaka, a fair of all generations of the family together.

As every year, my kaka-kaki and cousins were the earliest to join in right from bappa's arrival procession. Maasi too came in, flaunting her finest saree and jewellery. Atya prepared and showed us her special modaks for the Ganesh Chaturthi's bhog. 

Pandit ji had entered the room on time and instructed baba with the pooja practices. Didi struggled in her saree to help Aai with the home chores, meanwhile still managing to click a good deal of selfies and flood her gallery. Aai had tucked the pallu of her gorgeous Paithani saree as she prepared the yummiest authentic Maharashtrian lunch. And amid all that, I rushed around relaying behind everyone, capturing all that frenzy in my phone.

Soon it was time for the loud, chaotic yet thrillingly joyful first Aarti. So I requested everyone to gather in the room. Now, a Ganpati Aarti in a typical Maharashtrian household, isn't just another coordinated singing of devotional songs. Rather, it's a lawless performance of all the family members with various props, making sure they are loud enough to jam your ears for the next hour after the Aarti is over. 

So without any delay, the race to grab their favourite sound props and instruments began. Dada (elder brother) sat with his dholak, and his daughter, my three year old niece sat with her toy drum. Most of them had their pairs of cymbal or tambourines (मंजिरा) while for others, the musical instruments for the day was going to be their own palms. The kakis took out the Aarti books that came free with the regional news papers and had assumed the job of directing the Aarti and correcting wrong lyrics by raising their pitch midway.

Soon it was time and Pandit ji showed a thumbs-up. Dad, standing in front of Bappa added camphor to the diyas and we were all set to begin, when Leena Maasi interrupted-

"Arey Beta!! Sunil Mama has not yet joined. I mean we all joined conveniently but I think Sunil is having some trouble to join with the Zoom link you sent on the family group." 

And so, me, the technical incharge for the day got to my job of helping Mama join our zoom meeting. Soon Mama was on board, so I continued pointing the camera at bappa and keeping my window on spotlight, we began the Aarti with bappa's name. "Ganpati bappa morya", everyone began to blared into their microphones. Some, without even realising they were on mute. With poor internet connections, some of their audios cracked, some of their videos- distorted, the sync disturbed. But since we all had a stronger connection with bappa, our devotion and happiness remained undistorted, undisturbed. 

THE MIDNIGHT DATE

“Coffee!” I broke him off his trail of thoughts. He took the coffee mug from me with an amiable smile. I sat along, with my cup on the mat that had been laid on the balcony floor. It was my best-loved place; ideally for the ‘me’ time. I sat down here to read novels in summer afternoons, slurping Maggie at midnights, scribbling poetries of my melancholies and escaping for the secret rounds of customary smoke. This little corner of mine was now upgraded to my new found haven with his exquisite company.

I snuggled in his embrace, leaving no inch in between; with my arms enveloped around him; he enveloped the sheet around us. It wasn’t chilly outside, maybe we were just too possessive of the warmth we shared. Almost all my senses where in a jubilant festival. My eyes stuck between the moon and stars above, the aroma of the coffee and whiff of his cologne partied in my nostrils. My skin fondled along his, and my ears were grooving at our coordinated heartbeats.
 
I broke the bonny silence again. Like a dreamy kid, I asked
 
“What lies ahead?” 
 
To which he replied with a song-
"Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera sera,
What will be will be."
 
Well, I had sunk so deep in the euphoria of his presence that time, that his answer just worked on me.
 
Withdrawing miserly from his clasp, I stood up to lean by the balcony's railing, as if trying to get a closer glimpse of the stars. There seemed no fault in our stars that night, as they constellated to make different visuals of my rosy pink future with him. I chuckled at my own insane musings, I hadn't even smoked yet. I guess, I was just tripping over him. He too hopped up and locked me gently by my waist with his arms from behind. To add up to the warmth, I pulled out two cigarettes for us. As I helped him light his cig, my eyes elated, at the tiny flame of the lighter. It threw a golden spotlight at his lustrous lips and jaw line in the darkness of the midnight. And the only sense organ that had remained unattended earlier, the tongue craved for it's treat.
 

 
That night, while we let out the puffs of smoke, we also let ourselves out, exploring about each other, polishing familiarity with each other. We chatted about our families, we flirted. We uncurtained our pasts, we flirted. We had become an open book to each other about our fears, strengths and anxieties, and we flirted more. We discussed our favorite sitcoms, movies, restaurants, books with constant naive attempts at matching each other’s preferences. 
 
Days had passed, since we had planned our dates in the future; clinging to the fancy of being together someday and yet all those days and nights weren't enough for the chat. Adding to the moment's enchant, I plugged in my earphones and shared with him my 'can't-sleep-need-romantic-soothing’ playlist, my kinda lullaby.
 
The dawn was soon to born, and I couldn't afford my parents to catch me awake, beaming and blushing at my phone at 4:00am in the balcony. I realized it's been four hours with my lips elasticized in a broad smile. But I was still in 2018, the chats weren't over yet, and so wasn't my date. Many such dates were promised over a year ago, but never happened. Yet I gathered myself up, and advanced to finish reading our remaining chats.
 
I had smoked off cigarettes on both of our behalves and struggled to keep my eyes open now. My stubbornness kept me on though, as I scrolled down further and re-read our chats, to complete my imaginary date. 

I scrutinized them again for the umpteenth time like I have been doing for over a year now. Making unsuccessful attempts at finding where I went wrong; so terribly wrong that I can only comfort myself by imagining him with me now. But gratefully or not, the lullabies playing in my ear, took over me. The session for that night was over. I dozed off at my best-loving place, on the mats, wrapped in my sheets alone.

My eyes began to shut for the night; rather 'morning'. My phone slipped off my hand as I lost the grip of my palm to my sleep. Similarly, my open-eyed imaginary date slipped to continue in my fairytale dream. Similarly, I gladly lost grip of the unpleasant reality, for many more insomniac nights like these, were he left me alone, where he was not around anymore...
  

HUMAN UP PLEASE!

Enough attempts have been made towards empowering women in this man's world, loads of awareness campaigns, modified laws and practices have been abolished towards making women's life better in this man's world.

There's a revolution combating the stereotypes attached with women, but rarely do people cognize, let alone fighting for, that even men are subjected to such stereotypes. The worst part about it is that, women howl when called the depended or weaker sex but at the same time tag men of not being 'man enough', for being emotional, financially dependent and physically weak.

Frankly speaking, the society hasn't been very friendly to a man either. The birth of a male child sends merriment in the family, but the poor boy spends his entire life under the mountains of his family's expectations.

Earlier when he is a son, he is obliged to choose a career that would help him subsidize his retired parents and family. And later, as a husband and a father, he is obliged to work and slog till 60, because of course "Biwi ke kamai pe khayega kya?"

Situations are getting workable though when it comes to career and jobs as working women or wives are backing their husbands financially these days. But Alas! It shall take years to accept the psychological grievances of men.

According to Wikipedia- "Females show higher rates of non-fatal suicidal behavior and suicidal thoughts as well as attempts of  suicide, but reportedly ,males have a much higher rate of completed suicides."
Because until we realise that they have some psychological issue, they are dead already.

 'Men don't cry'- The statement that has been hammered so well since the childhood that it itself  becomes the killer within them. Suffocating their sob to the judgemental society, how often have we seen our father, brother or rather our male friend cry out loud? But that doesn't make them insensitive to the greatest pains and issues in their life.

Often heard about the mood swings women go through during mensturation and menopause, but we scarcely even know about andropause: the hormonal changes that middle age men go through resulting in mood swings, fatigue, negativity, and in the worst cases: depression. A man (our father/husband) closing to retirement, is vulnerable to post retirement financial anxiety, one may find him worried within their own thoughts but only when alone.

Men don't share their problems or open up easily, especially to a women, because they are forced to portray themselves stronger in front of them. Men get cheated on, suffer heart break, and at the threshold of torment also fall prey to fake sexual abuse accuses that calls the end of their life. We may have hugged and kissed our mother often, but a little we could do would also be, to hug our father once, for suffering so much without letting us know.

What makes humans different from other living organisms are feelings, and men can be sensitive because men are humans who deserve to be heard. And if they fall week on their knees and people ask them to man up, then ask the people to 'HUMAN UP PLEASE!'

THE EXPECTING FATHER'S DAY

Rajan couldn't concentrate on his work today, as he browsed for baby names on Google. Baby cribs, baby clothes and creams brimming in his Amazon
shopping cart.

His wife's maternity leave had begun, ending his after-parties and overtimes to reach home as early as possible. Buying groceries on his way back home and watching recipes instead of Game of Thrones became a routine, and the routine of smoke break became
nicotine time.

Rajan was more euphoric going back home today than other days of the week. It was a Saturday which meant a cozy weekend and an entire sunday to look after his queen and the little life inside her.

Picture credit- Babyearth.com

"Today is father's day. From next year, you shall celebrate it too." 

His wife said, caressing her belly.

Keeping aside all his work and ignoring all the office mails that day, Rajan planned a series of pamper therapy for his wife on that Sunday. Right from shopping and dinner to personal back massage. Some chitchat with the baby inside and feeding the medicines to his wife on time, practicing with the diaper and decorating the baby's room, it seemed like one day off was so not enough.

Despite a months more to become a father, Rajan had already commenced with his duties. He held his wife's hand tight outside, kept track of her diet, forbade her from physical home chores and had already opened a new savings account.

But as the sun dulled down for the day, so did Rajan's smile. A concerned Rajan had already requested the neighbours to keep check on his wife when he was at work. The expecting parents curled back in the bed, dishearted to begin with a new week of distance. After some fruits, chocolates and cuddles, they kissed each other, good night.

Unwilling, but out of obligations, before drifting to sleep, Rajan went through his pending office mails. But instead of vexing over it, he was rejoiced to get his first and best Father's day gift even before becoming one. Jumping on the bed like a kid, he hugged his sleeping wife in glee. The mail from the HR read- " Paternity Leave Sanctioned."

THE QUALIFYING CONTRIBUTION

The election slogans dominated the village's air, enlarged faces of candidates on humongous hoardings walled the roads. Different flags enveloped the gates and streetlights.

The judgement day was soon to come, but the attempts to make the decision in their favour was to begin today. The election campaign, the rally.

Two time winner, MLA.Guptaji eyed towards his hattrick. This rally had to be most extravagant. This rally had to be most influential. 

Where Guptaji's sons and son-in-law accompanied him for rallies and party works, the women of the house trageted other women of the village to seek votes for the party as they met and gossiped. Even little Aryan, his grandson was to take part in this rally with his father and grandfather. It was like the entire Gupta family stood for the elections, the entire family backed their man.

The six year old Siya, granddaughter of Guptaji stood silently by the door frame, watching her house at chaos of the family and party member running here and there, arranging and preparing tirelessly for the rally. They had to make it a one unforgettable sight for every villager. Siya felt guilty of not being able of aid to her family and dadaji.

In her mission to fish for some work, pulling her uncle's kurta, she asked-

"Chachu, chachu. I also want to help. What can I do?"

"Umm... You want to help Dadaji win right? Do one thing, tomorrow when you go to school tell your teachers and friend's parents about our party, and ask them to cast their votes for dadaji. Ok?", 

he said.

"But chachu I want to help in the rally and do something now for Dadaji"

 Siya plead but Chachu had already returned to work.

A broken Siya went back to her room, sat by her window and dejectedly looked at Aaryan help with decoration of the jeep for the rally. She stared at all the party members in white kurtas donning the party sashes, the black jeep and trucks decorated with blue and orange garlands between the huge photos of her dadaji. The preparations looked perfect, but suddenly not to Siya's eyes, something was missing. Without a second more, Siya rushed to her study, she had finally found her part of contribution.

After an hour, a garland laden Jeep, a party members on the truck and a hundred hoardings waited for Guptaji and so was Mrs.Gupta. Standing with the iconic dahi Shakkar and Diya just like a queen who is set to bid her king leaving for the battlefield. As Guptaji advanced towards the jeep outside the house Siya blasted out of her room. 

"Dadaji! You forgot something for the Rally!" 

She exclaimed.

Everybody turned around to Siya, but to be hit by a wave of bewilderment. Suddenly the noise of the frenzy party members felt cold. Guptaji stared at the masterpiece she made with her crayons and sketchpens. From the corridor of astounding silence, Siya walked towards dadaji, 

"You forgot your flag, dadaji." 

She said further reaching to the Jeeps bonnet and tucking it between the garlands. Everybody's eyes followed Siya, the eyes of the party members that bent down in Shame, and the eyes of Gupta family that lifted up with pride. 

Siya's flag for the election rally of his party would qualify the rally in true sense. Not a lotus, or a palm, neither an elephant nor the shades of blue or orange but three colours we often called Saffron, white and green.

THE ALMS

The multiple visits, petitions and urges to the bank had finally paid. The frustration and fatigue of travelling back home by a crammed public transport vehicle with varied odours of sweat more than oxygen to breath , after work suddenly didn't hamper the smile on Naveen's face.

He waited for the bus everyday, tired, eager to go home and leap into his bed, but today's eagerness, rather to be called- excitement to reach home had another reason. Unable to hold his rhapsody any long, he called up his wife.

"Hello Kripa! Prepare something special for dinner today, a sweet dish maybe kheer, or gulab jamun........ Yes yes! I am very happy, because it's a very special day for us, we'll soon have your own house, and you'll be the Rani of our house!....... Yes yes Kripa! Our home loan has got sanctioned.......... now you won't have to adjust with four people in 1BHK........Now nobody will disturb us. Just you and me in our little paradise ........ Ya I'll reach I half an hour ....... Ok bye, love you!"

Just as Naveen dismissed the call, he drifted into this paradise, currently who's bricks  and cement were made of his day dreams.

Hand-in-hand, Naveen brings his blindfolded wife to their brand new house. The blindfolds opens to tears rolling down her eyes, accompanied by a soft smile. "Naveen and Kripa Singh" the nameplate read. Holding her hand tighter than ever, Naveen pulled Kripa close, danced and swayed on the beats of joy . It never felt more picture perfect until the bus honk blared in his ear.

Naveen shifted further in the bus line when his sight fell on an old beggar across the lane. She sat pale, under the soring temperature on an old jute bag. The only sari on her body was dusty and wearing out with holes pleading to be empathized. The wrinkled skin hung by her lanky frame, as she looked up with gratitude at the donators half of her age.  Her skinny fingers with decayed nails shivered and struggled to grip the bowl as people dropped alms of a coin or two.

Naveen felt pity for the old lady's condition but she was just another old beggars one usually finds by the streets and stations. But it wasn't just another day for Naveen and neither was she, just another old beggar on the street. It seemed as a usual scene, until something caught Naveen's curiosity.

Naveen observed that everytime somebody dropped a coin in her bowl, she would mumble something to them, which ofcourse he couldn't hear from across the lane . He presumed that the old women was probably mentally unstable, blabbering to herself, but soon noticed her, responding only when somebody bent down to drop the penny.

Picture credits- flikr- Ahead Mohimin

Unable to hold himself back , Naveen spontaneously jumped out from the bus stand to the other side of the lane towards the old lady. Slipping out a note of ₹50 from his wallet, he lowered on his toes to her eye level.

"Maa ji, how may I help you?"

Naveen enquired with a concerned tone partially mixed with curiosity.

The old woman lifted her earnest eyes to meet that of Naveen's and mumbled with an exhausted tone partially mixed with plead-

"Don't throw your old parents out of your house."

THE SECOND SHOT

I caught him again, I caught him giggle at the phone screen all over again. No, it weren't any Santa-Banta or husband-wife jokes on the family group, neither was it a stupid video shared on his Facebook timeline. This giggle had another story all together that rooted to his heart.

Ever since he joined the new office, it was one of his overfriendly new colleague who had been the reason behind his sudden-aroused attachment for his phone. I didn't wish to distort my trust over him, but a women by sex I am, with 'nosey' settings on default. I am the most special girl in his life, or rather to correct- 'I was'. I had to take this new woman in captive, who's chat was pinned on his WhatsApp lately along with mine.

That day, when he was home from office, he got to his new routine of lazing in the couch with is phone, typing and giggling, or blushing to be precise.

I had to be good until I was sure , but the fire of betrayal sparked when I read him type- "It's a dinner date, I'll pick you by 8."

I typed her name on facebook- Archana Mathur, I had managed to find it from his phone when he was in the washroom. Thankfully, there were only two registered fingerprint unlocks atleast till now- his and mine.

Ain't sure about the infringement case but I loved Zuckerberg for offering such an amazing stalking platform.

Well I found this Archana, her bio read -'lives in Mumbai, studied in Kendriya Vidyalay Indore, Batch 1985. Marital status- Single '.

"Ahh, school mates!"
I exclaimed, too loud to be caught by him, but he burst out laughing. He walked to hug me- "Hey Stalker daughter, It's Valentine's Day. Will you dress me for my date tonight?"

I glared with rage , but the excitement of first date of a fifteen year old teenage boy on the face of fifty year old man melted me soon. I fetched for his favourite Maroon shirt in the closet, meanwhile I maturely prepared myself to share him with another women now. I knew, he wanted to give a second shot, I had to agree.

Now, I had grown old enough to understand the different emotional dimensions of love, the one I offered was different for the one a life partner would offer him. I knew he always barred his companionship needs for me. I knew he loved me but deep down, he needed a partner of his age and maturity since he was divorced with mom a decade ago.

In the era when I and the society had accepted even same sex marriage, then 50 isn't too late to date. When dad stepped out of his room, I realised how much disgrace I was as his daughter. He had managed to look so dapper and handsome at fifty to pick on a valentine and I was in my pajamas stalking guys on social media and still figuring ways to strike a conversation with my crush at my nighteen.

I waved goodbye to dad as he was set to leave.
"Dad, Say 'hi' from my side to Archana aunty. And call her home next time." I cleared, a women by sex I am, with 'nosey' settings on default.