OVER A COFFEE

Golden green bangles slowly slipped into Rasika’s wrists. They beautifully fell one over the other, clanking and jingling. She was gently pushing them into her dainty wrists. 
She then carefully placed the bindi on the small patch of smooth skin between her eyebrows. She took one keen glance at the mirror. Like the wings of a bird, her eyebrows stretched across her forehead, finally merging into that small red dot. She wondered if her aspirations will also have to shrink into something as small as that.
She then took the vermillion from her mother’s shelf, dipped her ring finger into it and put a speck of it over her bindi. Perfect, she thought.
The door banged and the vermillion box slipped from her hand.
“What a promising sign,” sighed Rasika’s mother.
“You know the spilling of vermillion is considered to be auspicious. I hope everything goes well,” said Rasika’s mother pinning to her hair the fresh jasmine flowers she had just tied in banana coir.
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Outside, in the hall, Rasika’s father is trying to strike a light conversation with Harish and his family. It indeed is an efficacy that every father develops out of responsibility, to discover in a short notice the prospects of finding the best groom for her daughter.
“Like every girl, Rasika dreams to see the qualities of her father in her to-be husband,” laughs Rasika’s mother. Harish’s mother nods in agreement. And Rasika’s father gleams with pride of having nurtured a healthy loving family.
Harish is growing anxious inside but he tries to cover it up with a calm exterior.
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Harish watches as Rasika slips out of her room. She looks adorable in her simple green silk saree. Confident and smart, she appears to have an innate charm sitting inside her somewhere.
She walks over to Harish. He stands up to greet her. 
She steps on her saree hem and trips. She covers up the nervousness and pretends to be absolutely fine. Harish smiles at the pretentiousness of the whole thing.
She serves coffee to everyone and takes a seat across Harish.
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Who knows she was a fun girl when she was herself. But how could she be herself with someone who, the World has informed her, will judge every movement of hers. And how was he expected to judge her when she wasn’t herself.
They sit across each other in silence. Rasika takes a sip of filter coffee, purses her lips and looks over at Harish. They offer each other a conscious smile once more and quickly shift their glances.
Harish leans back in his sofa trying to comfort himself. In his mind, he steps out of this home. He turns around to watch Rasika and himself. Rasika is absorbed in her own thoughts. She is struggling hard to align her thoughts.
Their thoughts churn together over the steaming filter coffee. Over the delightful aroma of filter coffee, they both are brooding of the purpose they are here for. Why is it so tough to find someone perfect or possibly the one who is supposed to make the rest of your life simpler?
They take another sip of enriching coffee and do a bit more of enlightened thinking. Just like coffee that mixes up with water trying to bring out the best, aren’t we supposed to complement the other? Just like two completely different ingredients that they are, aren’t we supposed to blend thoroughly with the other to bring out something new?
And just like our parents did, when two people fall in love, change needn’t be forced. It comes out involuntarily as a reciprocation of love. Like water that generously submits itself to coffee, aren’t we supposed to endear the challenges? Life cannot be a bed of roses but when water and coffee are subjected to more heat, they combine with the other bringing a strong astonishing flavour.
And isn’t character something that we inherit and acquire over time? So, how can one even be judged by something that is not even theirs? And wouldn’t we mend and bend a little so that some 50 years later our children would want to find the perfect wife or husband like their parents? 
Harish gulps down the last of his coffee. He feels relaxed now. He walks over to Rasika and asks ” So, when are meeting for the next coffee? “
A shy smile stretches over Rasika’s face bringing out her dimples.
P.S – This is my personal view. For people who don’t like coffee there obviously exist other acceptable lifestyle.

THE COLD BLANKET

Like any other day, Swapna was obstinate of not going to school. As a responsible mother, Aisha was persuading her to go to school. It was the beginning of January and the nights were getting unbearably colder. The Sun would show up as late as 7 in the morning. Her heart melted when she saw Swapna hugging herself and wrapping herself in Aisha’s worn out pink sari. She wanted to hold her little innocent girl tight in her arms, caress and bundle her up in a thick blanket for which she was saving money. Nevertheless, Swapna was always a happy, contended kid. Graciously she adored the small and big holes in the saree like her favourite pink colour of it. In the summer, she would wrap it around her waist, carefully fold the shabby saree into pleats and drape it down from her shoulder to touch her feet. She loved it when the fabric touched her feet, she felt like a grown up. She would then wear those old glasses, the only memory her father had left them. He passed away when she was just 5 and Swapna faintly remembered how he looked and talked. Sometimes, she wondered why her mother never talked of him but she never pondered over the reason. She was a happy cheerful kid!
Being unable to lift her heavy exhausted eyelids, Swapna still lay on the cot.
“You are getting late “yelled her mother Aisha.
Swapna gave her a feeble look, her eyes filled with some expectation.
“Not anymore. I am tired of your excuses. If you go to school regularly like a good child I will take you to the exhibition” uttered Aisha.
Swapna secretly smiled at this excuse that her mom gave every day. Though reluctantly, she had been regular to the school but her mom never took her to the exhibition. She never forced her mom to. She understood how hard her mother worked in the neighbourhood, washing their dishes and clothes. Even if they did go to the exhibition, unlike other kids she would not have her father to take her to those scary rides and her mother could definitely not afford those fancy frilled Angelic gowns.
Early in the morning, hands in hands, they would tread down the narrow lanes leading to the school. This is the time they were the closest to each other. Sometimes, Aaisha would even churn up a cute story for Swapna. With big old trees on either sides and the chirping of birds, in the best company of each other Aaisha and Swapna would start their day this way.
“I have kept sugar stuffed parathas for lunch. Eat that fully” uttered Aaisha on reaching the school.
“Hmm. I will Amma” uttered Swapna in a low voice.
With hunched shoulders under the heavy backpack, Swapna slowly moved towards the school.
With a lot of dreams for the future and the unconditional love for the other, they parted this way each day.
Aisha, while doing the daily chores of different houses would often sink into some sort of day-dream admiring the education, lifestyle and especially the respect her malkins had in the society. She coveted (yearn to possess) Swapna to become one of those revered persons and more often than not her reverie broke into reality by either the doorbell or a new command from her master, sometimes by the clink of porcelain dishes or the icy cold water cutting through her hands instantly reminding her to get a new blanket for Swapna.
It had started darkening. Some weird calmness and wild chill in the air only added to the troubled atmosphere prevailing already. Swapna was missing. Missing for the past 3 hours!
Everyone in the neighbourhood had gathered at Aaisha’s rickety house. Men in the village were gravely searching and enquiring for Swapna. Aaisha was running to every place of possibility. Mercilessly, strange thoughts were coming to her. She was internally fighting them back and subsiding the fear with prayers.
Then, a painful wailing of a villager hit her ears. Huffing and unsteadily, she brought herself to the spot. In a deep deserted waterless well, Swapna was thrown. Thrown mercilessly like a waste after use. She lay there in a pool of blood, captured in the thorny bushes. She lay there naked, her body full of bruises. She lay there with her eyes closed!
This terrible reality broke over Aisha like a wave of terror, picking her up and thrashing her around. She stood paralysed! She thought of Swapna’s beautiful eyes, her innocent smile, flat noes and her ever understanding soul. She thought of her little soft hands and legs. She thought of her calling “Amma” again and she could not think anymore. She rushed towards her home, pushing away the crowd that had gathered around. She came back huffing with a newly bought thick blanket and covered up her little girl. The entire night she wept into her old shabby pink sari, the only one that accepted her with all the warmth.
The very next day, it became news. Just another one of its kind to be precise. It read exactly this, “VIOLENCE WREAKED ON THE 14-YEAR OLD GIRL IN A FERAL MANNER, WITH MEDICAL REPORTS STATING THAT HER LIMBS WERE BROKEN, HER ARMS DISLOCATED FROM HER SHOULERS, HER SKIN SHORN FROM HER BODY WHICH HAD BITE MARKS ALL OVER.”

Disappointments and Expectations

It is really hard to wake up early in the freezing cold mornings. I mean, who wouldn’t want to sleep for some extra hours especially when you have nothing to do? But I need to force myself out of the bed every morning. I bet anything is better than hearing the tantrums of my parents, howling and reminding me of being irresponsible. So, what’s the big deal, they all have a job. But they all have a job! It’s not that I didn’t try, even Shukla uncle who lives two buildings away interviewed me for his proprietary. He thinks I am too fragile to manage the workers at his brickyard. I don’t give a damn, it is always some or the other excuse!

I am here at the breakfast table for about 10 minutes already and my plate is still empty. Nobody seems to care! My brother, younger to me by 3 years is sitting across me. I see him spreading his favourite pineapple jam over hot toasts. He has two more toasts in his plate. He briefly looks at me and gets back to his newspaper. I am dreary and hungry, does he ever notice the lost respect for him in my eyes? My mom usually cooks sufficient but when she doesn’t, why is it always me? 

I slip the hood over my head, shove my hands into my pockets as I slowly go down the stairs and arrive at the pavement. I know a small eatery nearby. Cheap and best! They make delicious samosas. 

I need to take a right turn around the corner and walk for about 2 more minutes. I walk past a small children’s park. This is where I met Shanguftha. We went to the same school, in the same auto rickshaw. She is a small cute girl, very ambitious and good at studies. She was my junior in school. 

I heard from my friends that she has a new boyfriend. She never talked to me about that, why would she, after our breakup, she moved on! That is what she told me the last time she called me on my birthday. 

I had been to her sister’s wedding last month. Shanguftha graced the evening with her dance performance. I don’t know, neither do I want to know, whom that dance partner was! He was touching her everywhere, her waist, her hair and her backside. She never feels uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable that she never feels uncomfortable when some guy touches her.

Why do people disappoint other people? My parents disappoint me by ranting all the time. I disappoint them by not being a good son. Shanguftha disappoints me by moving on in her life. I disappoint her by not telling that I love her. Why do we disappoint each other? It is really tough to come clear with your expectations and depend on others to not crush them.

I reach the shop and order two hot samosas. Crisp and rightly fried! The crispy layers crumble in your mouth bringing out the potato-onion filling inside. Wow! They taste super awesome in this cold weather.

I see an old man sitting across the street. He is wearing a ripped dirty black sweater. His skin has gotten dry because of cold weather making white rashes all over. He looks at me and smiles. I smile back.

Should I offer him one of these samosas? He didn’t ask me for it. He doesn’t seem to expect that from me. I cross the road and offer him the snack. He smiles and grabs one!

P.S: Expectations bring Disappointments. When you are unexpectant and something is offered to you, it brings joy!!