How do you express ANGER??

"Don't you get angry?" Many a times I have been asked this by many a people I have known. Of course I get angry, I mean who doesn't? I am sure even Shri Shri Ravi Shankar of AoL does get angry sometimes. In my case what confounds people is my lack of expression. I cannot for God knows what dumbfounded reason express my anger. I cannot shout or yell or scream or rant, rave, hit..nothing. All I can do is clam up!

At times I would so like to go and have a good fight. A proper battle of words where all the venom is spewed out. But nothing of that sort happens. What happens is withdrawal from the issue. If a thing or action is making me angry, I can easily withdraw from that place or situation. If the source of anger is closer home, then I just silently stand my ground. Do my daily grind and retire with a somewhat heavy and cluttered heart. But come what may I cannot express my anger in words. Neither can I fight. Hubby feels like he is fighting with a wall, my cousin feels its a 'single child syndrome'. my mom says, "shes the silent kinds", my kids just love this part of me and I just keep trying to put my anger into proper words!!

Anger is a strange emotion for me, I cannot hold on to it for more than a few hours at the most. It just melts away. At times when provoked into a fight, I cannot remember the points that would give me the upper hand, so I stall for thoughts and words and its a miserable situation. A vivid imagination makes me see myself penning my anger and handing out chits in response to a verbal duel..that makes me laugh and I forget the anger.Yes, very strange but very true.

Then again I think what if I had a similar problem expressing my joy, my love, my praise. what then? What if I was inhibited in saying I love you? What if I stalled for words when i had to cheer up my closest friend? and had to write chits to comfort my kids? what then? Its just anger..so be it!! I can deal with that.

Would like to know though what kind of anger expressions do you all have?

The hands that rise in prayer..

A few months back we got a new neighbour. A Syrian couple with two cute boys. They settled down quietly in the flat adjoining ours. The kids of the apartment did try to pull the new boys in to their games, but did not succeed. The boys always smiled but refused to play, remaining watchful and distant. Kids being what they are soon forgot about the two boys who always held their beautiful mother's hands and stood watching the games.

I, being a bit introverted, in person, did not reach out either. I stood at times talking and laughing with the other moms, watching the boys at their games, and she stood as well. So beautiful, so regal, so distant, a few feet away from me. Neither taking the initial step to bridge the gap.

One particular evening I decided to go ahead and talk to her. While we stood in our regular group and chatted, I saw her come quietly and take her usual place in the compound of the apartment, her two boys by her side. I excused myself from my group and went to her. Her beauty, that so far I had admired only from a distance, made me gasp. I am used to the Arabian beauties, but this lady had an unmistakable aura about her. We shook hands and introduced our selves. She politely introduced her boys to me. Beyond that she did not speak nor enquire about anything. I welcomed her to come and join the group telling her that her English was perfect and she would not face a communication problem. It was then that she looked at me with eyes that spelt a million sorrows. Those limpid pools of grey blue eyes seemed to communicate poignancy that did not require any language skill to be understood.

I literally took a step back, Looked at her again. She was still there. But now she was composed and regal once again. The momentary lift of her veil had come down to hide her sorrows from probing eyes. I did not probe further. I came back to my place and did a lot of trivial things, but all through the evening her eyes stayed with me.

Later that night the watchman of our apartment came to collect his wages. On opening the door to him, he said," Madam your neighbour is beating his wife again. Can you hear her cry? See there, again..can you hear him shout?" From the hallway of the apartment the anguished cries for mercy came distinctly to my ears, and so did the sounds of harsh, loud and painful blows. The pain in those eyes, the defeat of spirit and the bonded existence became clear to me. At that moment I desperately wanted to reach out to her, and in that same moment I also realised her staunch need for privacy. The thin veil of pride that she wore each evening would come crumbling down, by my intervention. I let her pride remain, and closed my door. I looked at my husband and kids, and felt the anguish in the adjacent house separated by a lone wall and a society that permits a man to beat his woman without shame, without guilt and without repentance. The hands that rise in prayer 5 times each day also rise to beat another human being, a mother, a wife.

I also realised, maybe for the first time, the sheer physical power a man has, and felt thankful that the men I know have never been tempted to use it in this way.

The city that flows in my veins..

A city I feared as a child. hated as a teenager, and understood as an adult.

Having always lived in small and peaceful cities, Calcutta was a nightmare to me. My fears gripped me as soon as the train pulled into Howrah station. It felt as if the hungry, desperate maddening rush at the platforms would gulp me down and I would choke and drown in its boiling belly. I clung to my mother's Saree for dear life till we were inside a taxi. Even then, I dared not look outside the window. My parents pointed out various sights of the city to me, but all I did was just slide down the seat slowly. The loud voices of the people all around, the beggars, the barely clothed mad woman hitting on our taxi window smiling a toothless, sinister smile, the street fights, the long rallies with men and women shouting slogans and waving red flags were too much for me. We usually went to Calcutta for 15 days in the summer months and then we would head to Patna where my maternal grandparents lived.

Those 15 days seemed like eternity to me. More so because the moment we set foot in this city, Baba was transformed. I almost became secondary to him. He was always going somewhere or the other. He was rejuvenated here. I guess I also saw Calcutta as my competitor. Not that he did not ask me to go along with him, but I was too scared to travel in that city and preferred to remain at home. I counted days when we would catch the train to Patna. I sulked and clammed up and remained an unfriendly and snobbish little girl to my relatives in that city.

Whether I liked Calcutta or not, did not matter at all, as every year the trips continued. By the time I reached my teens, I got used to the mobs at the stations and on the roads. I also got used to the dirt and the stark poverty. I resented the narrow lanes which had me, a rickshaw, a diseased dog and a skinny cat and at times even a cow together at one single point in time, with just me being the uncomfortable one. I walked the roads worrying that a running bus would at any moment spray the immensely dirty sewerage water, that had logged the streets onto me. My skin crawled each time a beggar sitting on the footpath would touch me and ask for food or money. I could never shoo them away, neither offer them anything, but the faces haunted me at nights.

The city dwarfed me. I remained an outsider who marked each day on the calender waiting for the 15 days to get over. I often heard Baba say, "you can't escape loving this city, someday you will understand its spirit, that day you will never be able to say no to Calcutta. This city lives, it has a life." I just about managed to bear the comment and hurriedly got into my train for Patna. leaving him behind in the city of his rejuvenation. As the train moved out slowly, his wave would be my focal point and I would deliberately make myself feel that the horrendous and bad mannered crowd of Calcutta was enveloping my Baba and taking him away. Even then I knew it was a silly thing for me to think, but such was the hatred for the city.

As fate would have it, as an adult, I had to come and live in this very city. There was no Baba now, but his love for the city made me take my first step towards getting to understand it. I had just started my career. The office and the home being on either ends of the city, ensured that I travel the entire length of this city twice everyday. The crowded buses gave me anxiety attacks to begin with, and yet my ears perked up at the wit of the people. The trademark one liners and repartees of the bangali were scattered like gems every where. Till then I had thought wit belonged to the elite. As days passed, warmth was added to the wit. I came across the genuine warmth that this city has. The only city probably in our country that has time to stop and give a detailed direction route to a complete stranger, that too on a scrap of paper. The only city where a phuchka walah will look at a kid and ask if she would like to take home some phuchkas for her old grandma. who probably is too old to come all the way, adding that he would give it for free. the city with its theaters and book shops was something I was discovering for the first time.

The second hand bookstores that abound here were my paradise. At any given excuse, I would head for them. Spending hours here and being offered cha(tea) and a stool to sit so that i can peacefully browse through their treasure. Not only this, the stall owners were extremely knowledgeable about their products and were happy to discuss authors and books at length without even once giving the impression that I needed to make a purchase. It was always a smiling "come again" that they said as I left their stall.

The Red road with its beautiful greens and the majestic Victoria Memorial soothed the tiredness out of my eyes. The old world charm of The Esplanade and the Chowringee made me reluctantly fall in love with the city. Park street with its lights and happy bustling people made me proud I belonged here. The various homes of Mother Teresa humbled me. The city of trams and the first metro, the city of cobbled streets and horse mounted traffic police, the city that napped in the afternoons and had about 3 bandhs each month, the city with dreams washed in the Ganges and the city of indefatigable spirit. I still hated the station, but had started loving the rest. This was a city that would never leave me alone, it would walk towards me and poke me, nudge me, share with me its troubles and encourage me to do the same. This city can never be indifferent, and neither could I.

I just took a tiny step towards it and Calcutta in turn embraced me for life!!

Through my eyes..

He was a lot of things to a lot of people. To me he was Baba. Never could call him anything else. My earliest memories of him are those of him taking me to school everyday. Hand in hand we went admiring flowers and turning each cloud into a particular character. The walk to the school always felt too short.

As I grew up, he was my playmate, my riding horse, my mannequin, my patient, my student, my confidant. My childhood days were filled to the brim by his jokes and by his songs.

As an adolescent, I shared his dreams. His vivid imagery brought many an illusive and abstract notion to perfect form. His laughter was my joy. He accepted my limited talent in the subject of his choice- Mathematics. I never realised for a very long time that as my private tutor, I had the most sought after professor of Engineering at one of the most reputed colleges of our country. He always came down to my level and made maths tolerable for me.

His romanticism, love of books and people, craze for films, adda, unbelievably child like joy at spooking me and my cousins in the dark, passion for football and rabindrasangeet, his story telling, his enthusiastic praise, all find an echo in me today. So does his contentment and peace.

An ambulance on the roads blaring away always scared me stiff, till the day he said ,"An ambulance takes the critical to the hospital in a jiffy so that they can get well and return home". My perspective towards the white van changed that day. I learnt, amongst a lot of things the pleasure of laughing with others rather than at others from him. I also learnt how to hide silly tears while watching a tearjerker and mushy Hindi film!! Yes, the trick was simple, to get out of the room just a few seconds before the film ended, I do it every time, works like magic!!


I loved him and everything associated with him. But it was short lived, maybe even if I had a complete life time it would still be short. I also understand that for every child, the pain of losing a parent is heart wrenching. I saw the suffering till it was unbearable. Eventually I prayed for his release, I let him go to a cloud we had booked for him. 16 years have passed today since I bid farewell, and yet the oozing wound stays just below the skin.

Life has moved on, and has brought many a pleasure in its course. But in every moment of utter joy, I miss his presence. I wish he had seen my kids, I wish he had played with them. Today as my kids joined their hands in silent prayer before his picture, I believed it reached the solitary cloud that still looks out for me over the desert sky.

A river and A storm...

At times I wonder, if it is possible for a mother to love one child a little less than the other. Its really a question that keeps coming back to me. Maybe because I am an only child, or maybe because my mind has nothing better to do. Whatever the reason, this question does nag me.

Both my kids are so different. The daughter- sincere, loving, open.. a chocolate that I can't ever have enough of. The son- a master story teller, always in motion, a brat with a smile to die for and a laugh that resonates throughout my house. He is my coffee, my daily stimulant. I can unwind with my daughter, relax in her company, read a book, share a moment, draw pictures together or just lie in bed listening to her talk softly about her day. I am perpetually on my toes with my son. Relax is probably a word he and I can't use when we are together. He pushes me to my limits. Every time I feel I have him in my grasp, he manages to climb the branch just above my reach.

Apparently for everybody who knows this family, I am partial to my daughter. Obviously, because all they see me do is shout my life out at my son. I am either running after him, or threatening him, or lashing out at his untidy work. I myself am not sure. Its true that life is easy with Toshali and quite difficult with Soumya. Its also true that after a long day when my son sleeps peacefully, he evokes emotions that are beyond words. If I admire sincerity in one, I have to admit that I admire boundless energy in the other.

Both are my eyes, both are my dreams. One a river flowing gently, the other a ship on high seas. Is it possible to love a dream less? I still am looking for answers.

End of Innocence...

She was all of 18. In college. Had recently lost her Dad. An autumn leaf. She loved to read. Had always liked poetry. Too sheltered an upbringing. Suddenly on her own with her rose tints still on. Her world had revolved around her dad. She was getting to know her mom. She clung to his memories. She lived in a dream. She continued her love for poetry. A whimsical girl not ready to be real.

He was 32. A charmer. A poet. A lost soul. Married with a kid. An accomplished wife - lively, beautiful and ambitious.

He was looking for validation. She was looking for love. She put his words and him on a pedestal. She did not see right from wrong. She did not want to believe in conventions. She was in love. Love knows no bars at 18. She felt like a rebel. She felt he needed her. She believed his marriage was coming apart. She was ready to give up all.

He was cautious. He was playing. He was proving a point to his wife. He was rising from the ashes of his insecurity. He wanted it all. She wanted just love. She fought with her mother. she called her practical, devoid of emotions, a robot without feelings. She didn't care that her mother had no more tears to shed. She was too full of her love. Love can be selfish, it can be all consuming, it can be ruthless, it can also be timid, double edged, sneering.

An ordinary day. A phone call. Not from him. But a friend. News that her calls to him are the joke of the office. He plays recorded phone conversations for all to listen. He massages his ego. He flaunts the love of a young girl carelessly on his sleeve. He feels like a man. She talks to him on this. He evades her. He has no answers. Her tints come crashing. For the first time she looks at the sun. for the first time she allows her eyes to get used to the blinding light of truth. She feels used and cheap. She feels dirty and exploited. She feels alone and lost.

One last meeting. She has to start afresh. She needs no answers, no justifications. She just needs closure. failing steps to a house that was once so dear. The bell that often was rung in joy, today rings in its shrill pitch. The face that was so loved, today stands devoid of its charm. An ordinary man. A thunderous slap. A flood of tears, Raging eyes. Silence and the door closes. An era closes too. Innocence is lost at the wrong door. A lesson for life.

A very common tale. But the hurt is real. The saddest part being that she was no kid. The story cannot be therefore categorized under the various forms of abuse. The story is afloat for the readers to decide. She was 18 and he was 32.

Haplessly hopeless...

Yesterday started off normally enough. I managed to get both my brats ready on time for their school bus. Came back to the house and saw that the hubby was almost ready to leave for work. Just as he was almost out of the door, I remembered an important thing that I had to mention else it would be late.. "There's no grocery." and a little later and a few decibels lower.. "not even rice." Carefully note the positions we were in.. He was outside the front door and I was inside ready to close it any moment. The look that followed was enough to burn me in hell if it was the age of righteousness. Thank god for sinners and kalyug. No time so the verbal assault didn't follow.. lucky me! I even managed a grin, he just turned and left. Please note this situation is not a first time thing in my house, I generally am very efficient and consistent in forgetting the basic things till the very last moment. I blame it on my genes.

Well after the peaceful parting of the morning I had my coffee and then started with whatever work had to be done around the house. by mid morning I was feeling quite guiltless and managed to call up the hubby at the office with a plan.

ME: "You know, I was thinking, that the kids and me will manage lunch with whatever is there..."

HE: "Whatever is there meaning??"

ME:"Oh you know, we love maggi, there are eggs, I can boil them.."

HE: "Huh.. hmm"

ME:(knowing that he was still pissed off), "I was thinking we could probably eat something outside for dinner and then do the groceries."

HE: "I have a football match today."

ME:" Ok, yah, after the match, we will be ready to leave as soon as you are home."

HE:" Hmm"

That was so simple. I was relieved. The mood was great I even made a list of stuff that needed to be bought, as a practice I don't do it... but this time I did, a nice systematic and proper list.. no wastage of time at the mall. It was almost time for my son to come home.

The bell rang and I opened the door. And what have I got in front of me? My 6 year old, thin as a stick boy, with his shirt, pants, belt everything in place except his undies, which he is proudly swinging on his fingers. My brain fell dead. Alarm bells of all varieties going berserk. My eyes must have spewed venom. For I noticed that his pride was instantly transformed into something akin to a sheepish look, which was again quickly followed by his eyes looking to the floor and then behind him to see if he was going to be spanked in front of his friends or alone, because by then he must have been sure about the outcome of his actions. Being a good mom and a funny one is alright, but yesterday was different. I pulled him in with such a jerk that he started his story immediately.

HE: "Mamma, I didn't do this."

ME: "Who? who? who did this then? who did this then?" I was shouting so loud, my throat actually hurt.

HE: "No , no mamma , wait, I'll tell you..I mean.."

It was clear by his look that he was fast thinking of a suitable tale which would calm my nerves, but was being totally at a loss of either a tale or words.

HE:"Yah mamma, actually I did susu in the pants and so.."

ME:" Who are you fooling big man? your pants are dry, and even if you did.. what made you remove your undies in public? Don't you have any shame? What were you trying to prove? Is this what has been taught to you? And why on earth were you swinging that blasted thing on your fingers?"

By this time I was feeling drained of all my energy and my throat was getting dry. I was also realising that I was hugely over reacting. And didn't know how to back track. So was quiet for sometime and started to fiddle with his school bag. He obviously took this opportunity to be a good boy and bolted for the bathroom. I felt like a having a cool shower myself. Instead took a few deep breaths and told myself this was not a panic situation and my son was not a roadside romeo yet.. there was still hope. He came out after his bath looking like an innocent victim of some tragic drama, and kept giving me 'I adore you mamma' looks. So then I again in a normal voice tried asking what had made him do what he did? With the room much cooler now and he in between spoon fulls of maggi told me that he was trying out what Govinda did in a flick we had seen a few days back on dvd, some old movie that he reminded me I had found immensely funny. Even laughed out loud when Govinda did the same thing on screen. So that was it. End of conversation and a stupid look on my face till the point my son finished his maggi and went to take his nap.

Then it was the daughter who returned from school. This was easy. she came in and started off with all that had happened at school, including how easy her test was that day. Finally she was done with removing her school wear and getting into nice cool home wear, and we both sat down for our meal. My kids really love maggi. And she, poor thing thought that I had made it as a surprise treat for them, instead of the daily rice and fish routine. I just smiled and remembered to add maggi to the grocery list.

Switch to evening.

Son gets up. he and I do his homework in peace and he goes out to play with his friends who by the way give me strange looks as they wait for him to join them. Anyways forget. Tommorow is Toshali's last exam, and its computers so hardly much to study, shes already done with her homework and revising for the test. Meanwhile Hubby comes in from work and is happily greeted . He doesn't show any memories of the morning. Gets his foot ball gear in place has a glass of lassi and says while he is leaving, "Will be back in 2 hours be ready else will be late, tommorow is a working day." Before I can reply, he is out of the door. So I now sit with my daughter to question her for her test. And quite unlike her..she looks all lost. This was seriously a bad day for me. I give her some more time but again nothing.. the same confusion and blabbers instead of confident answers.

ME: "Whats wrong? Tommorow is the test, why on earth are you clarifying your doubts with me now? haven't we made a timetable for each subject? doesn't computers show up in that?

SHE: I didn't study thinking it was easy. Practicals is so easy but theory I cant put in words the steps to use for formatting a document.

ME: "Obviously if the entire day you are sitting on the comp watching Hannah Montana videos and stupid musicals, how on earth will you find theory easy? Why didn't you sit with me before?

SHE:" Iam sorry."

Smart kid, knows exactly what will make me stop. Hmmmmph !! Well cant say much to that so ranting and raving I had to do the entire portion with her from scratch. In the meantime hubby and son had long returned. Hubby was insane with hunger,(football on grass field !!), was sitting on the couch with a box of cookies, and the son was overjoyed by my shouts, which were not directed towards him this time. So he kept running around the rooms in a frenzy. And kept giving a running commentary of the happenings of the study room to his dad. This was further aggravating his sister, who I think started scheming on ways to get back to him rather than what I was teaching her. So she became noticeably slower. By the time this bout of frenzied running and studying and cookie eating finally ended it was almost 9:00pm.

I had a quick dosa in mind and then the list of shopping. Mind you my day had been exhausting and I didn't even change into a proper outdoor kind of dress. All of us just went and sat in the car. Hoping for a quick meal. And where does the car stop? right in front of an extremely posh kebab and curry place that has a proper sit down buffet, and all the suitable elegance associated with it. This was the cherry. the kids needless to say were overjoyed, middle of the week treat. Hubby was hungry so kebabs were the thing on his mind. I was looking like a bai and feeling mighty upset.

ME: "I am not suitably dressed for this place."

HE: "Whats there to dress, we have come to eat".

ME:" Yah but still, I was thinking dosas and grocery.."

HE: "I am not thinking groceries at all"

Well ,well, well, Finally though we did have a super dinner, am not too much into dressing up, so the thought went out quickly from my head and I started enjoying the meal.

Finally all's well that tastes well!!

Please note, by the time we finished it was quite late and more importantly after that meal we could not have walked down aisles to save our souls. So just managed the rice and went back home. So my list is ready for today evening.

I am still a bit old fashioned and like doing the grocery in the company of the hubby. he shops, while I head towards the books section!!

And I also have a feeling that I have just managed to lose the "greatest Momma ever" award or even the "Best Homemaker award"!! Maybe if there's a category on self mockery..hmm just a thought!!