Monday, 2 April 2018

Ross, The Divorce Force

        (Note : So this time, I decided to try something different, something light. The TV series F.R.I.E.N.D.S is my all-time favourite show and hence, I came up with this funny (maybe even silly) little poem about one of the lead characters, Ross Geller. I dedicate it to all my fellow F.R.I.E.N.D.S fans out there. How you doin'? 😜😂)


My name is Doctor Ross
I'm the eldest Geller kid.
The story of my marriages
Is frankly, pretty stupid.

The first time I got married
Well thought out, unhurried
It was love, I say to this day
Not my fault she turned out gay.

The second time I married
Without thinking, quite hurried
Was at the altar, said the wrong name
The British chippy I loved, then played quite a game.

The third time I got married
I was way too drunk to be worried
My ex became my current wife,
And divorce became a way of life.

I've walked down the aisle
And I've bought a million rings,
My name is Ross Geller
And divorce is 'my thing'.

- Gayatri Shejwal

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

A Tale Of Two Bluffs


          “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a princess. She was not only beautiful but was also a woman of wit. She rode horses and fought with swords. She argued with words and conquered with her mind. She stood tall in a man’s world. Being the kind of woman she was, she made a lot of enemies. One of them was a sorcerer who had been outsmarted by the princess at court. In order to seek revenge, he put a curse on her that would turn her intended, the handsome prince into a frog, the moment she kissed him. Now like most of the men around her, the prince happened to be a sexist, patriarchal, self-centred jackass. So on her wedding night, she kissed the prince. The sorcerer’s curse did its job and the prince turned into an ugly croaking frog. She gathered her belongings and ran off into the night, free to live her own life. In her excitement, she ran off of a cliff, but no sooner had she fallen, than she discovered that she was flying. She had wings. She never looked back again.”

          Within the next couple of seconds, Veera realised that she was lying on something soft and comfortable, not flying off of cliffs. She opened her bleary eyes when the cat, all seven pounds of squirming flesh, climbed onto her belly. Squinting into the sunlight streaming in from the open window, she discovered that she was now the weary possessor of a pounding headache, and at some point, had managed to lose both a tooth and a spouse. A fake tooth and a real spouse, to be precise. Is that why the dream was so weird? A sudden shooting pain behind her upper lip made her realise that it was actually the other way round. She had managed to lose a real tooth and a fake spouse, to be precisely precise. It had been a good dream though. The ending had felt like what she assumed bungee jumping would feel like – liberating, in a sense. Although right now, it was hard to think straight with the constant buzzing in her head which, twenty seconds later she realised, was not actually in her head. It was her cell phone ringing somewhere nearby. By the time she fished it out of the glorious mess that was her bed, it had already stopped ringing.

          She quickly stood up and then sat back down on the bed, the head rush making her dizzy. When the giddy feeling had passed, she unlocked her cell phone to see who had called. It was Akash. It was his fifth missed call. It’s just the tooth then, not the spouse. She couldn’t remember how she came back home after the hideousness of the weekend. May be Akash could help. He was with her when she left the party. She called him back and asked him to come to her place. Hanging up the call, she strained her memory to remember whatever she could.

          It started two weeks ago. Veera worked at a renowned publishing house. Her office had organised a weekend summer retreat for all the employees in Goa. It was a weekend getaway where everyone was supposed to bring along their spouses. Mr. Kulkarni, her boss had told the staff about a new project. A famous mystery writer was coming out with a new novel and this one too was going to be published by their publishing house. The editor for the project would be declared at the retreat.

          As it turned out, only married people were eligible for the post. According to Mr. Kulkarni, it was too big a responsibility to be given to bachelors, especially since they could quit the company any time for better prospects, once they’d had their big break. Married people, on the other hand, tended to stick to their job. It was irrational, but Mr. K - that’s what he made his staff call him - was the boss, after all. Veera had been working in the company for five years now, doing on the same old stuff, with no real decision making powers. She was talented, she had a way with words and she believed she deserved a promotion. She wanted to be an editor, which was why she had joined the publishing house in the first place.

          But most of all, she was tired of answering to her superiors, especially Mr. Kulkarni. He was a real pain. A short, fat, balding man in his late fifties, he would go on and on about himself and his achievements in life. He would constantly tell people how he was a brilliant kid back in school and college, how he topped every exam he ever gave and how every publishing company wanted to hire him even though he was fresh out of college. He would go on about how he had always been the most outstanding employee and a favourite of his superiors. Everybody knew his stories by heart, because he had told each story at least a million times. Every story ended with “I hope you do half as well in your life as I have done in mine. At least you have one advantage over me – you have the best boss!” and he would laugh at his own joke. All through this, he never had a single word of praise for his employees. People still faked a laugh every time he cracked a stupid joke because they were too concerned about losing their jobs to the whims of their boss.

          For the next two weeks, the office was abuzz with plans for the retreat. Everyone talked about how great it was going to be. Veera, however, was upset. She had already made great progress in her current position. She had even received praise from the board of directors for meeting all her deadlines, which no other employee had been able to do so far. And now, when a great opportunity had finally presented itself to her, the pompous brat Mr. K had managed to ruin it by imposing his stupid condition on the staff. Veera was single. An ambitious, career-driven woman like her was going to lose out on a great professional prospect because of her personal life. So she stayed away from the excitement and kept herself busy.

          Two days before the retreat, as Veera was sitting in her own cubicle, having lunch alone, Mrs. Nandini Patel a.k.a. Gossip Aunty from the adjacent cubicle, poked her head in.

          “Alone, again? You can join us for lunch, you know?” she said, in an overly sweet voice.

          “Thanks Nandini, but I need some space from the grand retreat. It’s driving me crazy. I really need to preserve my sanity”, Veera replied.

          “Oh, come on! It’s going to be super duper fun!” she almost squealed. “Anurag, my hubby you know, said he would totally love to come and meet all my AM-AZING colleagues. Mr. K is going to be so thrilled! It gonna be a bulllll-lllaaaasssttttt!!!!”

          Veera mentally rolled her eyes and managed to fake a smile. “Yeah, I’m sure it is.”

          “So what’s your plan baby doll?” Nandini asked.

          “Yeah, well, I’m not going. Although I’m sure my rich and handsome husband would have loved to come but you know he’s such a busy man, doing all sorts of really important stuff like saving the world and not existing.”

           Silly as she was, Nandini might have caught the sarcasm in her tone because all she said was, “Oh.” And she left.

          However, Veera in that instant had no idea just how far Nandini’s silliness extended because within the next hour or so, a new discussion had replaced the discussion of the weekend. It took some time for Veera to realise that it was about her. Nothing travels faster than the speed of light, except for rumours and gossip, and Veera would soon discover just how fast. An hour before the working hours ended, Veera found herself summoned to Mr. K’s office.

          “Good evening, Ms. Patil. Or should I say Mrs.? Veera, my dear, you have been a sneaky little thing, haven’t you?”

          “I’m sorry, Sir?”

          “Well, don’t be. Of course, I’m not allowed to tell you this, but you’ve made matters quite simple for me. The board of directors wanted you as the new editor. But you were single, so I thought you weren’t ready to handle such a big responsibility. So I persuaded them to change their mind and appoint someone else. But now that we know that you’re married, there is no problem. Just bring that husband of yours to the retreat. Convince him yourself or I’ll call him personally to ask him about how he remained so well hidden all this time.”

          “My... My HUSBAND?” Veera stuttered, dumbstruck.

          “Of course, your husband. Nandini told us everything. She said you told her that your husband is rich and handsome and is too busy saving the world to find time for the weekend. I don’t get why you had to be so sneaky about him. If I were in your place, I would have jumped at the opportunity. In fact, once when I was working as a....” and Mr. K launched into one of usual stories about himself.

          Veera had no way to stop him in the middle of his smug, self-centred tale, to tell him that she had no husband and that Nandini had either misheard what she’d said or wasn’t paying enough attention to hear out her entire sentence. Oh, stupid, stupid Nandini. There was a reason they had nicknamed her Gossip Aunty. As Veera walked out of that office, her mind was on a rollercoaster. Since Nandini was involved, the whole office knew by now. If Veera tried to put things straight, she might end up making matters worse, courtesy of Mr. K. She had found unexpected favour with him and telling him the truth would not only end that but would probably also affect her future promotion prospects. The only thing that would be more humiliating than not attending the retreat was attending it alone, without her non-existent spouse.

          When she came back home, Veera forced herself to think of a possible solution. Backing out was not an option, as wasn’t going alone. She had to bring a husband. How was she going to find a guy, fall in love with him, get him to fall in love with her and get married to him – all within a span of two days? Wait, unless she didn’t bring a real husband. It was just the matter of a weekend, and after she got promoted, she could simply tell her boss that they had broken up. She could pay someone to be her fake husband. But her boss would ask him all sorts of personal questions which if he didn’t answer correctly, would appear really suspicious. Well then, she had to take the help of someone who knew her well. And suddenly, she had the answer. Akash. He was her high school friend. Akash liked her and had asked her out, a couple of times, but Veera had told him she just wanted to be friends. And he fit the profile too – rich, handsome, busy saving the world as an environmental lawyer.

          So Veera called him and told him the situation.

          “I’ll be indebted to you if you could do this one thing for me. Please just come with me and pretend to be my husband for one weekend.”

          “Are you sure about this? We’ll be lying about a huge thing, Veera. But assuming that I agree to help, what’s in it for me?”

          “In return for your help, you get a date. With me. Day and place, your choice.”

          “Huh? A date?”

          “Funny you don't know what a date is, since you've been asking me out on one since quite some time now.”

          “So all I had to do was be your fake husband for a weekend? Man, why didn't I think of that sooner!”

          She smiled. “So what do you say? Will you come?”

          “Ok, if it's that important to you, I'll go with you.”

          Two days later, when they reached the retreat, it was almost like an ambush. “It’s show time, baby”, Akash whispered to Veera as all her colleagues gathered around to meet the new secret husband, while Nandini kept telling everyone that it was she who had discovered the big secret. Veera felt oddly proud as Akash handled the scene like a pro. He even managed to make all the small talk work. When he spoke about Veera, how he’d met her and how amazing she was, everyone was convinced that he was head-over-heels in love with his wife. He even won over Mr. K, who was all praise for Veera’s husband. Veera on the other hand, found it easy enough to play the blushing wife, since that helped her stay out of the way of more questions.

          After dinner, it was time to announce the new editor and Veera couldn’t keep still. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She had slogged for five years, doing stuff she was overqualified for and now, this was her moment. The wait was finally over. The voice of the host blared over the speakers.

          “Our new editor is none other than... our own Mr. Suhas Kulkarni! Give him a big hand, ladies and gentlemen. And assisting him as juniors will be Ms. Patil along with Mr. Sharma. Congratulations, Sir!”

          Veera’s mind went blank for a while. And then it filled with white hot fury. That foul little monkey had played a foul little game with her. How dare he? He tricked her into bringing her husband by offering to make her editor, only to let her make a fool of herself because he knew how badly she wanted the position of editor. She stormed out of the place, with Akash following her. That’s the last thing she remembered.

          The doorbell rang. Veera got up, much steadier now and opened the door. It was Akash. When the general pleasantries were out of the way, Veera came to the point and asked him about last night’s events. Veera listened in stunned silence as Akash gave her the entire picture.

          “So, let me get this straight. Last night, I was so furious that I got completely drunk, even though I never drink. And you’re telling me that after we left the party, I made you take me to the beach where I paid a prostitute only to hang around the beach with her, after which, we rescued a cat from a bunch of goons and I got into a scuffle with them, getting a tooth knocked out in the process. Is that what you’re saying?”

          “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I tried to stop you, pull you back, even carry you away, but you just wouldn’t listen to me. Anyway they left you alone after you told them that you’re a cop. This is how you threatened them, “Listen to me, jackass. If you don’t get the hell out of here right now, this will be the last happy evening of your life. Tomorrow, I will hunt you down and bust your ass. Do you understand?” That was by far the best fake drunk cop performance I’ve ever seen in my life. Anyway, I got us out of there, and this morning we flew back from Goa.”

          “Wait, I still can’t believe it. I did all of that? I, Veera – the literature nerd? Well, that just puts the whole thing in perspective, doesn’t it? I thought hard work and dedication would be enough to get me what I want in life. Clearly it’s not. But I know what will work. Wait here, I’ll see you in a bit.” Veera took a quick shower and drove off to her office.

          She went directly to Mr. K’s cabin. When he saw her, he said with a smug look and a wicked smile, “Look Veera, the board of directors decided it would be better to let a senior employee handle the project, given how big the author is. I tried to convince them, but they did not budge. I’m sorry dear, but it’s nothing personal.”

          She knew what to do. “Listen to me, jackass”, she said, “You think you’re too smart, double crossing me like that? Guess what, I’ve got an offer for you too. I met an old buddy of yours last week. He seemed a bit too eager to talk about you. More like complain about you. And I must say, I learned a great deal about you, a lot more than you would want me to. I’ve got stuff on you that will destroy you in seconds. So unless you want me to bust your ass and tell everyone the fraud that you really are, I suggest you step down and give others a chance. As for me, I resign. As for you, remember, I’ll be watching.” And she walked out of there.

          When she came back home, she found Akash waiting for her.

          “What did you do?”

          “A bit of acting. Didn’t you tell me I was good? I just used it to my advantage.” She hadn’t met any friend of Mr. K. But from the way he had treated her, she knew he had to have done it before and worse. The look on his face today, after she threatened to expose him, was enough to confirm that her little trick would work.

          “I’ll take you up on that date now, assuming you’re still up for it.”

          As Akash looked at her in wonder, she realised that her dream wasn’t weird at all. Quitting something she didn't love had given her the freedom of making her own choices. She had just kissed the prince and turned him into a frog. She had jumped off the cliff and found her wings. The dream had never made more sense.

- Gayatri Shejwal

Monday, 12 September 2016

The Land of Roses

       Gauri looked at the old key she was holding. Today it brought out mixed emotions in her - a lump in her throat and a mad desire to laugh. Because his cupboard would be unlocked again. Those earrings would finally come out of the closet. She would wear them today. All her life, she had waited for this day. She’d almost feared it would never come. But here it was. The day of redemption. The day when history would be made. Because there had been enough of them like him. Too many. Too many to be justified. But not anymore. No, there wouldn’t be any more of them like him. And there won’t be any more of them like her.

       The doors creaked loudly as she opened the cupboard. A pungent smell reached her nose and the combined effect of the smell and the accumulated dust sent her into a coughing fit. She waited for it to pass. As she recovered from the cough, she breathed in again and looked inside the cupboard. There was a wide assortment of objects. She found herself reaching for a dusty old frame. One glance and it all came flooding back. A reminder of happier times. The glimpse of a perfect life - whole and complete. And an acknowledgement of the self-imposed denial. Denial of reality, and then the realisation that the memories were still there. Hidden somewhere in a forgotten little corner. A corner, she sometimes pretended, did not exist. It had been a while since she had visited this part of herself. The flashes of the bygones came onto her in rapid torrents, though slightly blurred now, like an old reel of some black and white movie. She was still amused with the way her movie had started.

       They had met through Gauri’s brother, Milind. He was her brother’s friend and three years older than her. Gauri had always insisted that she didn’t want to have an arranged marriage. So when Milind Dada suggested that she meet his friend as a prospective groom, she had flatly refused. Because journalist Gauri Jadhav prided herself on being a fiercely independent woman. Milind Dada had said, “That’s rubbish, Gauri. Why don’t you meet him first and then decide? You’re never going to find a guy like Sameer again.”

       When they finally met during Milind Dada’s wedding, Gauri could not help liking Sameer. Somehow, small talk led to long phone calls and ‘hanging out as friends’ turned into romantic dates. What started off as a crush soon blossomed into love. A year later, Gauri proposed and Sameer accepted. The families were told and whatever apprehensions her parents might have had about Sameer’s profession, disappeared on meeting him. Gauri and Sameer got married. She would later laugh at the look on Sameer’s face as she’d popped the question and his playful teasing about how she’d stolen his thunder by proposing first.

       Even now, she laughed out loud and it was the sound of her own laugh that brought her back to the present. Her laugh turned into a sob as she looked again at the dusty frame in her hand. Strange, she thought, how some objects affect us. Strange, scary even, the way they hold so much power over us, even when the subjects that they signify have been...

       “Gone. Long gone”, she said in a whisper as a tear trickled down her eye.

       That is why she never touched his cupboard. It was painful, not just because he wasn’t there anymore but because time had started to make its’ presence felt. It happened slowly but it had been a while since she struggled to remember his face - his broad forehead, his dark eyes, his sharp nose and his beautiful lips. The memories were there but he was fading away from them. She struggled to remember the sound of his laugh, his cheeky look when he said something funny, the worry showing on his face when she was down with a terrible fever - it was all slipping through her fingers. But she would not let it go, because that was all she had. So she chose to deny his absence altogether. Or sometimes even his existence, for that matter. On some days she would pretend she’d never met anyone called Sameer, and on the others, she’d pretend he was alive.

       Her mind went back to that day which had changed her life. Sameer had come home after a long time - for the last time. They had been married for three years but she hadn’t seen him in eight months. When he came home, she threw herself into his arms and he broke the news to her. One word was all it took. One word to stop her heart. Hers as well as his.

       Siachen.

       She never suspected when Major Sameer Deshmukh was transferred there that he would literally die ON the battlefield. The world’s highest battlefield, to be precise.

       Or maybe she did suspect it. She just never thought it would happen with him. Because she knew about Siachen - an inhospitable terrain with extreme weather conditions - sub-freezing temperatures, cold hostile winds - uninhabitable by all practical sense. It was a media sensation, that place. It was, apparently, one of those issues that had made matters worse with Pakistan. And every time it was in news, the same process repeated itself - allegations and counter allegations, blame games - the same old stuff that left you wary after a while and made you wish that they’d just sit down together, find a solution and be done with it. Simple as that.

       That’s what it was for her - Siachen - a faraway land with faraway stories, which had faraway problems with simple solutions. That was all it was for her - until now. Now, when her own husband would go and serve there. Her life would be permanently sealed with the destiny of Siachen.

       Siachen, she would now realise, was a real place with real stories. There were real problems that civilians could hardly even imagine and solutions were only in theory. Because the Siachen conflict was almost as old as independence itself. The region had been a part of the boundary dispute - the 76 km stretch of the Siachen glacier and its’ surrounding area in Kashmir’s far north - which both India and Pakistan claimed as their own. The British, in their wake, had left a legacy of political instability through incomplete boundary demarcation, in addition to Partition, which would haunt both the countries for years to come. Common sense dictated that the extremities of Siachen rendered it practically uninhabitable by all means. And yet, the Indian Army had been holding post there since 1984 - they said it was a highly strategic location from a national security viewpoint. Since then, India had continued to spend crores everyday over Siachen and it's security. Both sides had lost more than 2000 troops over the years - most of them due to geographical extremities and a mere fraction in actual combat. The talks about demilitarisation were merely that - talks - because neither India nor Pakistan budged from their stands - neither politically nor physically. And ironically enough, the word Siachen literally meant 'land of roses'.

       Gauri was used to Sameer’s transfers by now. She herself had to travel a lot for her work. He had served in the remotest of locations in the country. She was proud of what he did and yet it scared every time to see him go. Somewhere, a small part of her knew that maybe, someday, he would bravely die defending the country - a hero’s death. But a bigger part of her hoped that he would live to tell the tale with his battle scars as proof.

       She was right on one count. He would die defending the country.

       But he wouldn’t be killed by the enemy. He wouldn’t be killed by the wounds inflicted by their weapons.

       He would be killed by nature’s fury. He would be caught in a massive avalanche. He would be buried alive under thirty feet of snow and die of hypothermia, frost bite and multiple organ failure. He would die because, even though his spirit was strong enough to withstand any calamity, his body was not. Thirty feet under the snow - medically there was no hope, especially when it was already six days since the calamity had struck and the rescue team hadn't been able to find him and the other ten soldiers who had been with him when the avalanche occurred.

       A phone call from Siachen had brought her the news. Gauri, who was visiting her parents at the time, had collapsed to the floor. She would later remember very little about the days that followed. How she survived, she knew not. The only thing that she remembered was that they never found his body. His last rites were completed two months after the incident, on his belongings, instead of his dead body.

       For a few years after that, she was a shell. She took up a desk job at work. She wouldn't talk much, she wouldn't go out, she just led a mechanical existence. She would even avoid meeting Milind Dada because she knew it was as painful for him as it was for her. After all, he was the connecting thread between Sameer and her. She lived like that for two years until that day, when her life changed for the second time.

       Gauri was sitting in front of the TV one day, absentmindedly flipping through the channels. She suddenly came across 'breaking news' flashing on all news bulletins. As she realised what was going on, a cold dread consumed her - a horrible sense of deja vu. There had been another avalanche at Siachen. Eight soldiers were buried alive under twenty feet of snow and only one of them had been rescued. He too, was battling for his life in the ICU. She sat like that in front of the TV until she realised with a start, that what pulsed through her veins now was not grief but white hot fury. Eight more martyrs like Sameer. And eight more widows like her. That day, for the first time, she would come out of her shell and see that it wasn't about her and Sameer alone. There had been so many more like them and there would be countless more until this madness was stopped.

      That day, she decided to fight. She would be the fearless journalist she had once been. She would be a brave soldier’s wife and she would fight. Fight against what had taken him away. Him and so many others.

       And so it started. The process that would bring redemption. Armed with her purpose, she talked to everyone who she thought could help her - Sameer’s superiors, her superiors, university professors, political analysts, retired soldiers, senior bureaucrats, authors - the list was endless. She set out on a mission that would lead her to the others like her - the wives and families of soldiers who had died in Siachen - both from India as well as Pakistan. It took three years to find and contact them. Being a journalist had been the best help so far. The contacts from her office had helped her get in touch with one of the most influential journalists in Pakistan, Aziza Qureshi. Aziza was moved after Gauri told her what she had in mind. She promised Gauri that she would do all she could to help her fulfil her purpose.

       Together they launched a massive civilian movement called 'AMAN' on both sides of the border. Non government organizations by the same name were started in both countries. They were entrusted with the work of gathering support and influencing public opinion. Every available medium would be used - traditional ones like newspaper, radio and television as well as modern ones like social media. With the entire media involved in it, it rapidly garnered attention. The struggle had begun.

       From the very beginning, they knew that this was not an easy road to travel. Far from it. This was a battle. And everything was fair in war. They were threatened by many of those who felt that the movement was an existential crisis for them. There was blackmail, life threats and even attempts on their lives. There were times when they had narrowly escaped. All of this, in addition to the lack of political will, change of governments in both countries, communalism, vested interests, mutual hostility, the threat of non state actors, terrorists, confusing of this issue with the others like Kashmir - there were too many roadblocks. But most of all, it was the historical hatred among the common people of India and Pakistan, which was the hardest to defeat. It was a knockout round. If they were to survive, they had to win each game.

       They had struggled through the years, slipping, tripping, falling, but always rising to play to the end. It took a long time, lots of patience and heavy sacrifices on their side. But in the end, even destiny could not deny them what was rightfully theirs. The day they were waiting for was here at last.

       Today would be history, as the news channels constantly reminded everyone. Historic day, they kept screaming, as “BREAKING NEWS” kept flashing on the screen. Never in the history of the world had such a long standing strategic issue been resolved through civilian pressure. A year ago, The Siachen Peace Agreement had been signed between India and Pakistan. A year ago, it was decided that the two countries would jointly build a Siachen Peace Park along and around the glaciers' downstream side and the flags of both the countries would be hoisted together at 6000 metres - a tribute to the more than 2000 soldiers from both countries, who had lost their lives in the prolonged conflict. A fortnight ago, the actual work was completed and today, the park would be inaugurated by the Indian President and his Pakistani counterpart through a live conference from Delhi. Smt. Gauri Deshmukh, as the undisputed leader of the movement from India, had been invited along with Mrs. Aziza Qureshi, her counterpart in Pakistan, to be guests of honour.

       Gauri would turn seventy-three next week. Her mad desire to laugh was in the brief moment when this thought crossed her mind - she was an old woman now but her husband would still remain as young as ever. She sat now in their Delhi home looking at the old frame as tears trickled down her eyes. She took out the box of earrings which he had gifted her before he left for Siachen. "Wear it on our date, the next time I'm home", he had said. After he died, Gauri couldn't bear to look at his gift, let alone wearing it. But today was different. Today she would finally wear those earrings to the inaugural function.

       For everyone who had fought for the movement, the day had come but very late. The wait had been too long and the price paid had been too heavy. During the forty-two years of their struggle for demilitarisation, so many more lives had been lost in Siachen. So much more money - thousands of crores of rupees - had been spent in securing the 'human cold storage'.

       But Gauri would not think today of what had been lost, because she was eternally grateful for what had been won. There would be no one like Sameer anymore.

       "Ma'am, your car is here", her secretary called from the living room, interrupting her thoughts. Gauri took the earrings out of their box and wore them. Picking up the dusty old frame, she said quietly to her husband's photograph, "Well, how do I look?" And somewhere from the depths of her heart, Sameer's voice would answer, "Beautiful as ever, my love!"

Thursday, 7 July 2016

KAKA... A MEMORY

(It's not just our blood relations that define us, it is also the family that we find along the way. Today is Kaka's birth anniversary. This is a little memoir I had written about him when he passed away a few years ago. I believe it is only right that I post it today. He was one of those few people I shared a special bond with. I know that he's watching over me from someplace and I want him to know that he's remembered and that I miss him.)

       There’s life, and then, there’s death. Inevitable. The ultimate truth of life. Simply as if you are born to leave. But when it comes as suddenly and unexpectedly as it did for Kaka, it leaves you numb. It brings on the realisation that nothing is permanent and how important it is to live each day to the fullest, just as if it is your last. Because change is the most absolute law and that is what we should learn to live with.
       Kaka is survived by Kaku and his three children – Rupa Tai, Rahul Dada and Mehul Dada – all of them way older than me. And then, I was the fourth. Because Kaka always called me his “Maanas Kanyaa”. When I first heard about his demise, it was this image that refused to leave my mind – Kaka sitting on the Bhartiya Baithak in his living room and as I push open the partially closed door, his happy and enthusiastic exclamation of “Arre wah! Gayu!!!”
       Kaka was an artist as well as a poet (and sometimes a writer), and he was exceptionally good at both. He had painted this portrait of Ahilyabai Holkar (holding a miniature Shivlinga with her palms closed around it), which had taken him quite a long time to complete. Such was its beauty that if some lay person had seen it in its earlier stages, it would have seemed complete even then. But no, Kaka wouldn’t rest until it became perfect – adding layer upon layer of paint till it really became so. I (then a teenager) used to tease him about it. Whenever I would ask him about how come he still hadn’t completed the portrait, even after all this time, he would reply with a smile, “Beta, there’s still finishing to be done!”. Incidentally, as a kid, it was Kaka who first encouraged me to draw after he saw my lithe drawing book, where I had drawn silly cartoon faces. And it was Kaka again, who gave me my first paint brush along with a little blue box of water colours and a colour mixing palette. And to this day, I still have them all.
       Kaka wrote as well but he was more of a poet. As a kid, I remember wondering at the length of his poems, simply because all the poems I had ever come across till then (courtesy: school textbooks) were all limited to eight or ten lines. Interestingly, it was Kaka again, who edited and finalised the draft of my first speech (my Maushi had written the speech for me) – the one which I gave in school when I was around four years old, on 15th August, 1997 – India’s 50th Independence Day. I still have a copy of that too.
       I was a student of Rupa Tai’s since nursery. My Maushi used to come to collect me from school sometimes. That’s when she and Rupa Tai struck a friendship. It was from there that the acquaintance had begun. Being the first child and an only daughter, Rupa Tai was very dear to Kaka. Then some years ago, she got married and moved to Indore. You could tell from the way he was reminiscent of her, that he missed her very much. Even though he stayed nearby, I used to go and visit him mostly on festivals – Dasra, Sankrant, Ganpati season, etc. But I specially never missed Rakshabandhan and Bhaubij. Meeting Kaka was rare and it became even less frequent when Rupa Tai got married. But whenever I went, he would always say this – “Beta, you know, you are so much like Rupa. Whenever you come, it feels like Rupa has come home.” – And I would smile and touch his feet.
       I am very grateful to my life, for having given me some really amazing people. And Kaka was one of them. There is so much I could write about him but it could never fit in the matter of a few pages. I have known him practically all my life, since the time I was a three year old kid. He had lived 73 years in the world, but he never appeared even a day older than 60.  Perhaps it will be hard to believe, but I have never seen him without a smile on his face. Never have I seen him get angry or utter a harsh word, ever. He was so full of love. May be it was his pleasing aura that spread cheer all around. And this is something that a fatal heart attack can never take away.
       I have always wondered where people go after they die. And I guess, I have found the answer, at last. They don’t go, they come. They come to live in our hearts as memories... as alive as ever!
       I Love You, Kaka... And I Miss You!

- Gayatri Shejwal

Wednesday, 9 March 2016

The Cave Among The Rocks

       You couldn't see it - The Cave Among The Rocks. It was well hidden. Away from prying eyes. Safely out of view. Only the rocks could be seen.

       The Rocks. They were famous. They'd always stood firm and tall in the face of adversity. It was this quality that people admired. It was this quality that inspired them. They seldom realised that it was The Cave that was the strength of The Rocks. The Rocks in themselves were nothing. But people only saw the Rocks. And then, they walked on. Nobody bothered to look beyond. They just accepted the Convenient Illusion and they walked on.

       It was a Buried Treasure - The Cave. Her Cave. It had always been her favourite place in the world. She would come there often. In Happiness and in Sorrow, in moments of War and in times of Peace, The Cave had been Her Constant Companion, Her Truest Friend. It was Her Strength and Her Weakness. And it was Her Fortress - the walls of which had never been breached. When the world became too noisy to handle or too quiet to figure out, she would retreat to Her Cave.

       The Cave belonged to Her. No one else knew of it's existence. Even the people close to Her had no idea. And She never told anyone. If they wanted to know, and if, at all, they were meant to know, they would have to find out for themselves.

       Occasionally, someone would catch a glimpse of something among The Rocks. But they were too caught up in their own lives to stop for a while and look closely. They were too busy to look for The Difference. The Difference between what met the eye and what didn't - to look for The Entire Picture - for the world always worked in bits and pieces, on spare parts. Spare parts, that usually did the job.

       Sometimes they were curious, but they never really had the time or the patience for silly things like Caves-Among-Rocks. It even sounded funny. Caves-Among-Rocks. Why on earth would someone bother about that? There was always work to do. Serious work. Important stuff. So important that Caves-Among-Rocks did not matter.

       It was Her Cave. And no one else was allowed. She never let anyone in. Because this was where she kept it all. Her Hopes and Her Dreams. Her Fears and Her Demons. Her Darkest Secrets, Her Wildest Desires. Her Silliest Joys and Her Deepest Sorrows. Her Care, Her Sacrifices. The Shadows of Everything that she held dear. And Her Wordless Love.

       It was Her Little Secret. She would carry it to the grave. Unless? Unless Someone discovered it first. Unless Someone broke down those walls and faced Her Soul. Would Anyone ever go to the trouble? Or were they so caught up in walking on and running away, that they tripped over their own toes?

       It would take Someone with another Cave Among The Rocks. Another Soul to face a Soul. Another Secret to discover a Secret. And another Reality to look beyond the Illusion. Someone. Could they? Would they?

- Gayatri Shejwal

Saturday, 27 February 2016

"क्षण"

      (ही जुनी कविता सापडली एका वहीत. मराठीत काहीतरी लिहून खूप दिवस झाले हे अचानक जाणवलं आणि खूप वाईट वाटलं. इंग्रजीच्या पसाऱ्यात कुठेतरी मराठीशी असलेलं नातं हरवतंय असं वाटलं. म्हणून आज जागतिक मराठी भाषा दिनानिमित्त आणि नेहमीच्या इंग्रजी लेखनापेक्षा जरा वेगळेपणा हवा म्हणून ही कविता ब्लॉगवर टाकतेय. सगळ्यांना जागतिक मराठी भाषा दिनाच्या मनापासून शुभेच्छा!)

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      मनातलं गुपित ओठांवर यायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      "आयुष्य" सारं बदलून टाकायला...

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      कुणा अनोळखीशी ओळख व्हायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      आयुष्यभर साथ देणारी "मैत्री" बनायला...

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      "तो" दिसल्यावर पुन्हा वळून बघायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      नकळत त्याच्या प्रेमात पडायला...

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      विस्कटलेल्या आयुष्याचा कंटाळा यायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      जगण्याचा खरा "अर्थ" समजायला...

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      जगाच्या पसाऱ्यात स्वतःला हरवून बसायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      त्याच गर्दीत आपलं "वेगळेपण" दिसायला...

एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो,
      कोणाला तरी मानापासून आनंद द्यायला...
तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो,
      ही "नाती" अशीच, कायम जपून ठेवायला...

खरंच...
      एक क्षणंच पुरेसा असतो...
पण तरी...
      तरी तो क्षणंच पुरेेसा असतो...

- गायत्री शेजवळ (१२ मे २०१३)

Sunday, 7 February 2016

The Wonder In Her Eyes

       There was wonder in her eyes. Like the incessant beating of her heart, it had always been there. It had been there when she was born, and it would probably be there till the moment when her eyes would close forever.

      Like glittering diamonds, it shone from the depths of her eyes. It was an illusion though. The Depth. There was no depth in those eyes. People seldom realized this when they admired the beauty of her beautiful brown eyes.

       They said her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the things she loved. The Sounds of Nature. The Wind in her Face. The Smell of Rain. Little things. Just little things for the people who could see them but never had the time for. They said her eyes sparkled. Did they sparkle? Her eyes? May be people imagined things. They just couldn’t understand. Her eyes never sparkled.

       There was wonder in her eyes, because she had never really seen the world. The World? She couldn’t understand it sometimes. How could she? She’d never had a chance to know the ways of the world. Ignorance is bliss, they say. And this was ignorance for her. It wasn’t by choice though.

       But she was a fighter. A fighter armed with a disarming smile. And a pair of Depthless Unsparkling Beautiful Brown Eyes. She had fought her way into the world and she would fight her way through it. She would make her ignorance her strength and it would be her own choice.

      That’s who she was. A Warrior. A warrior who knew that swords weren’t always the answer. And that was her mantra – the universal prayer. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.” Perhaps acceptance was something she was born with. And as for courage, well, it had become a way of life for her.

       There was wonder in her eyes, because she had never seen the world. She had never seen the world because… because she couldn’t see.

       Yes, she couldn’t see. And she would fight her way through the world. But the wonder would stay. Always.