Necessity is the mother of invention. This is no more true in India where the lack of resources and the unquenchable aspirations of the common citizens prompts them to come up with ingenuous and often insane inventions. Here is a tiny sampling đ
No electricity required- ‘Mitti fridge’ (a refrigerator made all of clay)
Here is another Excerpt from my upcoming book NOW AND FOREVER BOOK 2 OF INCONVENIENT RELATIONS
Jealousy. Nothing burns more like it. Especially when what you think is yours is snatched away from you and the foul act is committed right under your nose. So mused Ruhi as she slow danced with her husband and observed Des from the corner of her eyes. The bitch (she couldnât think of the woman as anything else) wore a placid smile on her blood red lips as she walked around among her guests making small talk like a gracious hostess. But her telltale eyes gave her game away. They revealed her thoughts were elsewhere and they werenât very pleasant.
Her head shot up when a sharp pinch landed on her hip. âWake up Ruhi! It isnât every day you get to dance with your husband.â
Ruhi flushed, âSorry Shaan. Actually I was distracted by the sunset.â She pointed to the horizon. âI havenât seen anything quite like it, have you?â
Fortunately for her, Shaan bought her ruse. He scanned the western sky, taking in the panorama of the rippling river of grey clouds that reflected the orange red rays of the sun onto the ocean below and nodded, âYes it is spectacular. Like a scene right out of a David Lean movie.â Ruhi smiled recalling his love for the classics.
They were both at Spacegenicâs annual summer party that Rich was hosting at his residenceâa grand palatial bungalow built on top of a steep bluff overlooking a long stretch of private beach in Malibu. She had been persuaded to attend by Shaan— âI wouldnât care to go but for Rich. He wants to celebrate the success of the Venus project with all of us. Besides, now that I am one of his team leads it would be rude if I gave it a miss.â
Ruhi was pleasantly surprised. It wasnât an intimate get together as she had feared. Rich had organized the party outdoors so to take advantage of the wonderful weather and the glorious views. The music was live and upbeat, the wine free flowing and the crowd large and raucous making it easy for her to avoid run-ins with her enemy. That is if her mind would let her do so.
âRich is very lucky; donât you think?â she said almost to herself.
âYes he is. But not as lucky as me.â
Ruhi beheld the tender expression on her spouseâs face and was immediately besieged by remorse. Something was terribly wrong with her. They were here to have a good time werenât they? She was then struck by a sudden notion. âCome with me!â She grasped Shaan by the arm and pulled him to a passageway near the front of the house that she had spotted on the way in. It had a sign that said it led to the beach. There she removed her wedge sandals and urged him to follow as she raced down the wooden steps hewn into the hillside. Then once on the ground she plodded through the warm sand to a small copse of tall thin palm trees. Shaan was out of breath and laughing when he caught up. Yet he seemed to have grasped her intention—that she wanted to be alone with him.
They gazed at each other. Their solitude amplified by the roar of the ocean crashing on the beach. His skin gleamed gold in the fading light. Abruptly she flung her arms around his neck; âShaan! You will never know how much I love you.â
âI donât need to,â he said and then stepped forward and kissed her. She tasted salt on his lips. It was intoxicating. She leaned back against a tree trunk and pulled him closer. His kiss grew deeper. And then all of a sudden…..
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I am waiting eagerly for the book release. Are you?Â
Cover reveal coming soon đÂ
17: The Anticipation
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âKhanak beta? Khanak beta!â
âYes? What happened mama?â
âNot me, you. You look so lost. Something wrong?â Sunitaâs voice was full of concern as she addressed her daughter who had just walked in through the door.
âNo Iâm fine. Everythingâs fine. Uhh. Daddy kahaan hain? Where is he? I wanted to ask him about his cough.â
âKhanak..,your father had said this morning that he was feeling much better? Did you forget already? Tell me why are you so late? Should I dial up Shantanu?â
Khanak jumped and flushed a deep crimson. âMama! Didnât I tell you Iâm doing fine and stop taking his name all the time! I went to see his Dadima and that’s why am late.â
âDadima? I didn’t know Shantanu had a grandmother? Is she okay?â
âYes she’s fine and so is Shantanu.â Khanak said dropping her eyes to the floor.
Jhuki jhuki see nazar..
Bekaraar hai ke nahin…
Dabaa dabaa sa sahee
Dil mein pyaar hai ke nahin…
(The downcast gaze
Is it filled with longing or not
Repressed, tamped down
Is there love in your heart or not)
Palak came out of her room and gave her sister a knowing look.
âMama please! Tell this Palak to stop making these direct and indirect implications. Iâve had enough of them!â Khanak exclaimed.
âAww câmon deeds! Me and my friends were trying to find songs that had the words ‘Aankhen’ or ‘Nazar’ in them and deeds thinks it is always about her and her dear beau. Please do tell her mom.â Palak pretended to look distressed.
Yes, its true. I was never born to be a writer. It just happened that I wrote some stuff that struck the right chord with a few. My writing is ‘pathetic’, ‘sophomoric’ etc. Okay. I’ve got it. There’s a limit to turning a deaf ear or believing in oneself etc. etc. I’m not ‘strong’ nor do I want to be.  (Any thoughts on how I could make the negative remarks go away people? I am a thinking, feeling, human after all! No pun intended!)
So, its final! No more books! Phew! (Wipes brow)Â Now and Forever will be my last ( if it sees the light of day, I’ve begun to wonder.) Unless… I write something groundbreaking which I doubt will happen đ
But to those very few of you who still want to read my inane ramblings I will continue to write and publish here on my blog. You can’t get rid of me that easy! You see writing is my bad habit đ
I thank all my readers for your love and your hate. Please kindly pause a moment before you throw that next barb. They hurt big time.
16: From Megha With Love
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In the prettiest room in the Khandelwal manor lit only by the light of the moon, a woman cuddled with a small child.
Chanda hai tu, mera suraj hai tu
Oh meri aankhon ka tara hai tu
Jeeti hun main, bas tujhe dekh ke
la..la..la..la..sahaara hai tu..
(You are my moon, you are my Sun
You are the apple of my eye
I live only to see you everyday
la.la.la.la..)
“Mama?”
“Yes my sweetheart?”
“Thank you for tucking me in tonight. Dad, he falls asleep on the story book and makes noises like a choo choo train. Then I can’t sleep at all.”
“Really? My poor baby!â muaahhh! âFrom tonight mommy will tuck you in. Okay?”
“I love you mama! And you sing so nicely, not like Daddy.”
Sounds of sniffling.
“Why are you crying, mama?”
I’m not crying sweetie pie. Sometimes tears just start to flow when adults are very happy! Like I am now, with you.â
âIt’s alright mama! I thought you must be hurt like Teddy though he never cried when his nose fell off.â
âIs Teddy your best friend?â
âYes, mama. And now you are too, just like Doctor Aunty and Shaan chaachu!â
âYou love Doctor Aunty, yes?â
âYes mama, very much, she always kisses me and hugs me! And chachu loves her too! He said so!â
âHe did?â
âYes! And when I asked Doctor Aunty, she shook her head like this.â Megha nodded vigorously.
âShe did?â
âYes! And I asked her to come to my birthday, I did right, didn’t I Mama?â
âYour birthday?! OMG! Its next week isn’t it? I have to make so many arrangements! My baby will have the best birthday ever!â
âThank you mama! And please invite Doctor Aunty for me. Please!â Megha hugged her mother tight.
âYes, I will. I swear! Happy? Now go to sleep. Tomorrow you have sports day right?â
âMama? Will you come to watch me run? Do say yes! Pleease! Then I will run really fast!â
âOf course I will! And Dad will too! I’ll make him. And I’ll cheer the loudest! Now, here is your Daisy (ragdoll) go to sleep! Goodnight my most precious one! Muuaaah!â
âMama I love you! You are the best!â
âAnd you are the best little girl anyone could ever have! Now sleep tight.âKhushboo couldn’t control her tears as she shut the door. She let them flow freely.
***
Now Daisy was a doll with eyes that blinked so Megha could hold a conversation with her and get her to agree with her each and every time.
And so she began: âDaisy, today is the happiest day donât you think?â
Blink!
âMama sang me to sleep!â
Blink!
âBut she cried. Why? Sometimes grownups do funny things, don’t they Daisy?â
Blink!
âLike Dadi did today. She was fine and then she called Doctor Aunty saying she was sick. Then she was okay again!â
Blink!
âThen she made me follow Chachu and Aunty outside. Do you know why?â
Blink! Blink!
âNo? I dunno either! Then Chaachu acted funny with Aunty. He looked like he was going to eat her up!â
Blink!
âYes! And he looked just like Daddy did today when he was going to kiss Mama!â
Blink?!
âYes, I know everything! What Daddies do to Mommies!â She giggled loudly.
âShhh! Somebody will hear us!â
Blink!
âI don’t know why Shaan chaachu was pulling his hair. Doesnât he know only Daddies and Mommies can kiss?â
Blink? Blink?
âWhy? Dumbo! Because that’s how they have babies! Yes, I’m going to get a baby brother soon!â Megha giggled again.
Blink! Blink! Blink!
30: Tangled Tale
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“Good morning sleeping beauty.”
Khanak flopped over on her stomach and buried her head in a large fluffy pillow. She was trying hard to hold on to her dream. Or was it real. It was hard to tell. The scene was a grand ball, where she was the only one dancing with the handsome prince because he wouldnât dance with anyone else. He was holding her tight as if he feared she would vanish at any moment. Then his fudge brown eyes peered deep into her own as he asked for her hand and her heart stopped beating and…
“Wake up sleepy head!”
She stirred and groaned in complaint as the bright rays of sun struck her eyes. Her head throbbed as someone shook her arm.
“Where am I?”
“Perfecto! Just the question I would expect from a beautiful princess. C’mon wake up or was the witch’s spell stronger than the power of your love?”
“What?”
Khanak sat up straight. The sudden movement made the room spin and sent a wave of nausea through her chest. She stared blankly at the purple haired man sitting in front of her grinning from ear to ear.
15: Line and Sinker
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âDadi ma I love you so much!â Shantanu exclaimed as he hugged his grandma early the next morning.
âI love you too beta. Whatâs the matter? What have I done to deserve this special attention?â She asked with a smile.
âWhy? Can’t I hug you like Megha does all the time? I’m also your ladla am I not?â Shaan said pretending to look miffed.
âOf course my son, you are just like Megha for me only slightly bigger. I was just asking as I’m not used to being carried around every day!â She said as Shaan had now hoisted her up.
Her grandson laughed. âSorry. I’m so happy today that I want to tell it to the entire world!â
âTell what? Please put me down now before I have a heart attack!â
Shan obliged with her instruction then began pacing the floor. âUmm⊠How do I say it?â
Dadi maâs astute eyes twinkled. âThat you are in love? Donât hesitate. Just say it son. Get it out from your chest. So when are the wedding bells?â
Sorry for my idiosyncracies. But I’ve realized that readers come to my blog to read my stories and not otherwise. So I’ve decided to continue to post HAA (Human After All). It is a soap opera. But heck don’t people love them still?
14: Hooked
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She lay on the forest floor, dead for all practical purposes. Her body deathly still and cold, her face pale and grey, her lips cracked and blue. She looked like a waif in her thin white dress of muslin. Her feet were bare. Even nature had given up, the gentle breeze sweeping the dry leaves on to her, covering her up to blend her in with itself.
The only thing to suggest there was life still, were her breaths. They barely managed to stir the air above her face and each successive one was followed by more prolonged pauses. But she did not want to give up yet. Her soul still clung to her body hoping for some reprieve. After all what wrong had she done? Therefore she remained, her ears straining for approaching humanity that they may stumble across her and save her ebbing life. She was too young to die.
And just before her brain slipped into unconsciousness, hope arrived in the form of the sounds of a trotting horse and therefore a rider. She listened as the horse protested being reigned in. The rider who had obviously seen her jumped down and strode towards her, his stride full of youthful confidence (maybe it was her wishful thinking). She heard the swish of his long cloak as it swung in rhythm with his stride. Hmm a nobleman! He paused. Then she heard the leaves crackle as he bent down to examine her face closely. She hoped he liked what he saw and was willing to give her the breath of life. Her diminishing heart beat quickened as she felt his warm breath caress her cold cheeks. Several moments passed yet she did not feel the warmth of his lips on hers.
‘What in hell are you waiting for? Get on with it! Have you forgotten the basics of Life Support?‘Â She wanted to scream.
Itâs said that memories fade with time, which is probably a good thing, because some of us would find it impossible to go on. But there are certain reminiscences that cannot afford to be forgotten. They are like precious keepsakes that need to be extracted from the dusty realms of time. They have to be caressed and fondled with affection, reinforced and perhaps refurbished, before being tucked away securely again.
One such memory that I’ve guarded fiercely is that of my trip to Calcutta. Over the years it has been revisited a million times and imbued with subtle nuances so to add color and character.
I was perhaps ten or twelve (my mother stresses on the latter and she is probably right as I’m pathetically poor with specifics). The trip would never have come about hadnât it been for my father, who after one of his numerous travels brought back an exquisite Bengal handloom sari of olive green and cream. It became my favorite. My mother looked lovely in it. He also spoke of a land rich in culture that had produced the likes of Rabindranath Tagore, Vivekananda, Satyajit Ray and of course the indomitable Kishore Da. Armed with a miniscule amount of information and barely suppressed curiosity, I embarked on my sole journey to the east, with my tiny family in tow.
We boarded the Coromandel Express which I believe covered the distance from Chennai to Howrah in little more than a day. My very first recollection of the place that endeared it to me forever is the memory of delicious, melt-in-your-mouth, spongy roshogollas in clay handis (pots) that I relished with gusto right on the railway platform. I swear, I havenât had anything more delectable in my life!
We stayed in a cosy guest house favored by the bank my father worked for. It was winter time; I know because I could see my breath in front of my face and the ownersâ little white Pomeranian had a sweater on. There were pleasant smiles everywhere and though I didnât have a clue about what was being spoken, I didnât mind listening because the words floated in the air like the melodious strains of Lord Krishnaâs flute.
On our first day out, I recall seeing trams loaded with commuters, coursing on tracks right in the middle of the street. Having never come across anything similar before, either in Delhi or Chennai, I of course wanted a ride.
We did the usual touristy things. I remember gawking awestruck at the magnificent Dakshineshwar temple glistening in the morning light on the banks of the Hooghly; then trying to battle through the mad melee at Kalighat which had my mother utterly riled up and me dumbfounded and overwhelmed.
The Victoria Memorial came as a welcome respite; more so the calm serenity of the Botanical Gardens that also touts the worldâs largest Banyan tree.
I remember the distinct tang of mustard oil in the air and spending a lazy afternoon strolling the lanes of New Market absorbing the banter of many tongues, the fragrance of fresh flowers, resisting the lure of jewelry and garments, and the calls of hawkers and shopkeepers selling anything and everything from furniture to fish.
The city pulsed with life, from am to night- an eclectic and intoxicating blend of culture, beauty, intellect, relationships and raw emotions. I left feeling thoroughly confused but lastingly intrigued.
So here are my experiences; trivial they may seem but to me they are dearly cherished because they are what I remember my father by– simple, adventurous and carefree.
1: The Window
I see her everyday
At the window of her house
Her likeness lurking in the shadows
Her  mind obscure
Mira watched as the young man walked by. His limbs long and loose, his eyes pensive and his pace halting and slow as if navigating through an invisible mine field. Mira accompanied him to the end of the street and then stood silently as he waited hands in pockets for the bus to arrive. In a few moments he was gone. The routine repeated itself every day.
She cracked the window open as the air inside had grown musty. Freshness rushed in but along with it also scurried in sound; that of the street, commonplace and routine. Yet it gave shape to the visions she had been trying very hard to leave behind.
….xxx
Chennai–when life was less complicated.
Though the day had barely begun the air was already thick with activity. Mira lingered a while longer in the bed that she shared with her sister and attempted to associate the sounds with the images— The light slap-slap of her motherâs slippered feet as she hurried down the corridor to coax their father awake with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Mira hadn’t heard him come in last night but that had become quite the norm of late.