Magic in the Mundane

Hello guys :)
It's one of the short stories I wrote a long time ago which never really got posted due to some reasons. But it has been really close to my heart for the simple reason that it is so simple. Many of us while growing up harbour these over the top, elaborate fantasies about love and romantic gestures that can't really come true and we often go through the motions of life with a sense of disappointment and longing, a longing for some magic in our own lives, often skipping the little things our loved ones do for us. This story was written to remind myself, and everyone who reads it (however small that number might be) to appreciate those little things.
As Roald Dahl once said, "Those who don't believe in magic would never find it."
So, keep looking, just a little closer.

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Shraddha got up for yet another usual day of her usual, routine life. No, correction, Mrs. Shraddha Bakshi. The baggage of Mrs. Precisely defined what all her life was right now. Her beloved camera had been gradually replaced by the frying pans and other kitchen appliances, her precious pen, the special platinum edition Parker replaced by crayons and home work lists, her freedom and zest for discovering as much as she could, finding places still hidden from over exposure and exploitation by man replaced by the shackles of monotony brought by marriage and a settled conventional life. Although she sometimes longed to go back to that place, go back to being someone she was; yet she couldn't, rather, didn't dare to find the shadow of that girl in herself any longer. Seven years back she was Shradhha-the wanderer, the magician with words, the great story teller, the discoverer. Coming back to the present, she is a wife, a full time mom, and just another housewife in the city of twenty million people. Now thirty five years old, middle aged, and struggling with the monotonies that life traps people into, she often looked back at her past, almost in each waking day of her life.

Shraddha quickly set the water on the stove, preparing to make tea for her husband, Pranav, and hurried to wake up the kids for school, Sidhharth and Aabhas, the bundles of bliss she had with Pranav. Now, five years old, the twins were the reason of wonder and joy in her life. They were at a stage of inquisitiveness and endless questions, something which often marvelled Shraddha. Questions like, “Ma, why do I have just five toes, why not ten? I would have been able to walk faster.” or “Ma, why do girls wear these things in their ears (earrings)” had often brought an ear to ear grin on her face.
She gently shook them, and after futile attempts of calling their names to wake them up, she started tickling them, the only way which ever worked, and which made them spring up from their beds, laughing. She laughed too, the mirth of the kids only too infectious. After blowing kisses to them, she went off to the kitchen once again. The kids’ and Pranav’s lunch was still to be prepared. After toiling for an hour in the humid kitchen, she quickly set the table for breakfast. The kids wanted sandwiches, sprouted salad for Pranav. Pranav entered the dining room, talking to someone on the phone, presumably his boss; the work load was quite a lot now a days, he often told her. His bespectacled eyes were crinkling with humor, and after settling down, talking on the phone and simultaneously eating his breakfast, he got up to leave for office, calling out a precise good bye to his wife of seven years. She felt a pang of disappointment at him not having time to even properly saying good morning to her, or even good bye, and just like that she was brought down the memory lane.
She had met Pranav eight years ago, on her trip to cover the majestic fort of Chittorgarh. She was the reporter for Good Times Travel, covering the sprawling structure, and he was just another tourist, coming to be awed by the beautiful fortress, like thousands earlier had. He looked like just another next door guy, with reasonable looks. She had stumbled towards him, while trying to find the perfect shot to capture the magnificence of the fort. She had looked at Pranav in surprise and agitation alike, for being interrupted from her thoughts, and instead of apologizing, she had reprimanded him saying he had interrupted her sightseeing tour while he simply kept looking at her, his eyes crinkling with mirth and said in the sincerest of voice, “But you just gave me the most enthralling sight I have seen in my life.” And just like that she doubled up in laughter, simultaneously taken aback and amazed by the man standing next to her. There was something in his eyes, the subtle intelligence, or the way they crinkled, she had no idea, but for a split second, she forgot everything around her. And that is how it happened, their first conversation, which lasted for eight hours, at the end of which he surprised her once again, by telling her he loved her. And she was taken aback once again. Who fell in love with a person within just eight hours! But the more she thought about it, the more tempted she was to reciprocate his feelings. Maybe it was the magic of the place, or maybe it was his eyes which crinkled with mirth, or maybe simply the beauty of the sunset before them, but she was more and more convinced by the second that she was falling in love with this unassuming yet the most interesting man she had ever met. It wasn't that she hadn't been in love before, she had had her fair share of romances, but this was different than anything she had ever known. She had a feeling he was the man for her, the one who she could see herself settling with. And she had been right, they had been married within an year of knowing each other, even though it was too soon for today’s times. But she had not told her she was in love with him too, no, she was not so easily attainable. She bade him goodbye and kissed him on the cheek, saying she hoped she would see him soon. And she had, right after two months of their first encounter in Chittorgarh. She had just returned from her trip of the splendid Iguazu Falls of Brazil, her second overseas assignment, and their he was, standing right in front of the door of her apartment, with a bouquet of white roses in his hand, and she had no idea how he had managed to get her address or what was he doing there. She just ran  upto him, saying that she loved him too. And just like that, they were married, and what a splendid union of two people it was. They were a perfect match, he matched her passion, intelligence and intensity like no one ever could. They were different in many ways too, she was impulsive, impatient, ambitious, while he was calm, laid back and easy going. But the differences only just complemented them more than ever. The love was boundless, and they were happy, in both their respective lives, as well as together. Then the twins happened and Shraddha resigned from her job, deciding to do free lancing instead, in order to be closer to home. And just like that, in a spur of adjustments to make their marriage work, take care of the kids and work to earn a living, the passion, the excitement, the intensity was lost. Shraddha let out a long sigh, and came back to the present, the kids needed to be dropped to the school, and then she had other things to do for the day, the cleaning, the maid had taken an off, yet again; buying groceries, giving clothes for laundry, reading that book on parenting, and all the things she had thought she would never do.

She dropped off the kids, waving good bye to them and reversed the car around. The cleaning was calling her. Far off, in the corner of the street, she saw a little girl playing with a bunch of balloons with her dog, and thought what a beautiful picture that would make. Yet again, she had another pang of loss in her heart. Shraddha had come to Mumbai from Varanasi fifteen years ago at the young age of twenty, with dreams in her eyes, but not much money in her pocket, like millions of others. And the city had welcomed her with open arms. She had her fair share of challenges initially, in finding a job, of her liking and moreover which paid decently enough for her to sustain in the city. But her grit, intelligence, determination  and hard work along with her exquisite looks had worked in her favor and she had soon moved up the ranks from an office boy doing petty jobs to the Good Times travel host. She loved her job, seeing the enthralling, enchanting places, summarizing up her experience, clicking great pictures for herself on the way, everything was way more than she could ever ask for. Then, when she thought life couldn’t be better, she met Pranav, and she had never been happier. And the kids took her happiness to just another level. But sometimes she wished for more, things which brought out her passion, her flame which even though  latent, was not not extinguished yet.

Shradhha had just finished with the laundry, and was about to go for her half an hour nap when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID, it was Pranav. She looked at the clock. Four o’ clock, there were still five hours before he returned home and the kids were not due to be picked for yet another half hour. Pranav didn’t call to talk when he was in office either, what could be the matter then? She picked up the phone, confused and said an uncertain Hello into the speaker. Pranav replied curtly, not even bothering with the greetings. “Meet me in the coffee shop where we had our first date in about half an hour. Don’t bother about the kids, I’ll pick them.” and with just this statement, he cut the call, giving her no time to ask for an explanation for his strange behaviour. She complied as told, and rushed towards the café, Coffees and More. It was right in front of the old apartment she lived in, and served the best coffee she had ever had. Pranav had her brought her there for their first date and she had smiled, saying it was her favourite café in the whole world, and he smiled, saying he knew that. And she had fallen in love with him even more, if that was even possible. Going back to the café brought many bittersweet memories back to her, and she smiled, opening the door of the café. Her smile was quickly replaced by a gasp, and she dropped her purse, looking all around the café with just one emotion playing in her mind, surprise. The whole café had been done in red and white balloons and scented candles, and in the middle of it all was Pranav, standing on one knee in front of her. He smiled, and she still was confused, and he smiled again. “Shraddha, I love you.”
She replied back hastily and was about to ask a million questions about the whole scene in front of her when he shut her up, by placing his finger gently on her lip, and she was transfixed, an emotion she had felt after a really long time.

“I love you, I really do. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, I have always known it is only you. But somewhere along the way, we became so busy in handling our marriage and the responsibilities that it brought that we forgot to make time for each other, we forgot to show each other how much we mean to each other. You have made me the happiest man in this world by loving me back, and giving me this amazing life we have together. But somewhere along the way, you sacrificed too much, gave up your dreams to build ours, and I somehow turned a blind eye to it.” she wiped back a stray tear and he squeezed her hand tight, “Here is a surprise for you.  Arnabh, Sidhharth!” He called out their children who were hiding behind the chairs. Both the boys came running towards their mother and she welcomed them in a warm teary embrace. The boys brought a shabbily wrapped package to her and she opened it with excitement. Inside was a brand new camera with a note  “to the world’s best mom” written on its side. She laughed, hugging the boys even tighter. Pranav hurried to her to hug her, and she felt the warmth spreading inside her, her flame, her light.

And then again, right in the middle of an ordinay day, life gave her a fairytale. 

Dilli DIL(li)Walo ki

Why I love my city

In the beginning when I sat down to write this article, the first thought that came to my mind is how would I ever be able to pen down my feelings for this city in which I have spent 20 years of my life, sometimes cursing it and sometimes (however some it might be) basking in its charm. Many people view Delhi as this overtly boisterous city full of sprawling bungalows and all the pomp show, the “tu tadaak” and “tu jaanta nhi mera baap kaun hai” hurling brats, using and abusing this dialogue whether they are in a plush Merc or on a scooty pep plus. Then, there are the infamous profanities for which we are world famous in India! What to say, we have immense love for our maas and behens.

And now, since more recently the city has come into light for its cons (read being tagged as the rape capital, the pollution capital, the traf(fucked) city etcetera etcetera) it has become all the more important for me as a true blue Delhiite to bring out the reasons why any pakka Dilliwalaah loves this city.

 Our Khaas Aam Janta

Delhi being the national capital, has flocks of people coming in from every nook and corner of the country. And even though people claim they wouldn’t want to live in this city (due to safety and other pish posh factors), they still don’t stop coming into the city; we have people from all sorts of backgrounds. From the rani from rajouri to the too cool for school ‘every brand in your face, stilettos clacking, smoothie drinking’ Def Col chick, with shopping bags filled with vanity fair costing enough to feed an entire third world country; from the dreamy eyed autowallah hoping to join the army to the languid thulla hoping to catch one erring driver to grease his palms for the day. We have all types of mango peeps, from the aam to the khaas to the aam who think they are too khaas. From the pompous fat aunties to the sweet ganju uncles, from the too loud chandni chowk waale to the quiet scotch sipping gentlemen in Lutyens’. From the gujjus to the maraathas, from the surds to the bongs, from the ammas and appas to the papajis and mummyjis. This delicious cocktail of people is what makes Delhi, Delhi.

Life in a metro

It goes without saying that we the people of Delhi are immensely proud of our metro, the gleaming statuette of development in the city. Any metro commuter would agree when I say how easy travelling has become after the incoming of the metro; and how difficult it is to travel in it, what with, aunties elbowing each other to be the first one to get it, how you are never able to find a seat and how people are running on the platforms all the time. But no matter how crowded the trains are and how many times we have been pushed by the crowd to unwillingly get down at CS or Rajiv Chowk, we are  proud as punch when it comes to our beloved metro.

The food- from golgappas to dosas, we have it all!

Being a foodie, it is probably my favorite part of the city, the unlimited feast to the taste buds available in this mini country. From Kashmir’s Yakhni to Kanyakumari’s idlis, from Tokyo’s sushi to Paris’s pancakes, you name it, we have it. From the twenty rupee chhola kulchas from the road side, to the two thousand rupee per plate buffet at a five star, you can fill up your stomach irrespective of the depth of your pockets.

India Gate and the patriotism it fills in our hearts

There is hardly a Bollywood movie ever made in Delhi which doesn’t show our stoic India Gate, standing tall and stoic reminding us of the several soldiers who have sacrificed their lives to ensure our safety. Ask someone new to the city on what they would like to do in Delhi and a visit to the India Gate at night like in Rang De Basanti is a definite item in their checklist. And such is our love for the monument that whenever we are overwhelmed with emotions of discontent or rage, or outcry over a tragedy, we run to the monument with candles of hope and determination in our hands.

(but the venue is quickly shifted to Jantar Mantar, security issues they say.)

Political class

Delhi being the capital is the hub of political gimmicks as well, with 4-5 netas in every mohallahs moving about with loudspeakers in their hands but not much ideas in their brains, being unapologetically politically incorrect, trying to woo voters with their jhaadoos, kamals, hands, and all sorts of voodoo.

From Humayun’s Tomb to Cannaught Place: Everything reminding us of our glory

Delhi has some spectacular monuments, which attracts hundreds of tourists from all over the globe. These splendid pieces of architecture remind us of a glorious past, even though they are now covered in the writings of fools who deem it fit to carry a blade around with them in order to mark their transient love at least somewhere where it would remain forever. More than reminding us of our great rulers, these monuments reek of urine and alcohol. But regardless, one can’t help but marvel at these magnum opus structures and often wonder how idle must the craftsmen be, to carve everything and everywhere. Or maybe, it must be the lack of internet and television which spared them so much free time!

Dilli-dilwaalon ki!

The last factor, and truly the most important, that makes me love the city so much is how it opens its arms for thousands of people from all over the country. No matter whether our own students get admissions here or not, or whether there are enough employment opportunities or not, the city makes you feel at home, and embraces you, as it did to my father fifteen years ago.

These tit bits of goodness make me love this city so very much.

Till eternity and beyond.

It might seem like a frustrated rant, or perhaps the whining of a broken heart disillusioned with the concept of forever, or even the longing of a battered soul still hoping, against all odds, that somewhere there exists someone who is actually meant to be hers. Someone. Somewhere.
But Here, right here, right now, feels like a void which can never be filled again. You met this wonderful person, fell in love, learnt they had flaws, loved them even more fiercely if that was even possible, and then slowly it just unraveled, fell apart. You loved them, truly, and it still didn't work out. You gave them everything they deserved, and everything more than they deserved, and it still didn't work out. Then, how could one hope anything else could work out? You remember the promises, how they feel empty now, you remember the sweet nothings, how they feel like poison coursing through your vein, how every warm embrace feels like a cold dagger piercing through the heart. How you would give everything you have to forget everything you remember. How there lies a tree in that park which meant everything to you because it has your names enclosed in a heart. How you could tell all the moles decorating their body with your eyes closed. How you could tell when they entered a room because suddenly your heart would start beating just a little faster. How you thought you were soul mates because you completed them in ways you thought no one could; eating mushrooms off their plate because that is one thing they detested and you loved, loving the same actor, eating the same chocolates, hating the same people. All those shared memories feel empty now. The term 'soulmate' seems like a farce. And you feel cheated, robbed off the innocence of believing that some people are meant to stay forever. They would still stay with you though. Like a ghost you want to rid off but can not. They would still occupy your heart, But not as you had hoped ever since you had heard your first love story proclaiming a happily ever after.Some people are meant to stay with you as scars, lessons learnt the hard way, Lessons you would always remember. Till eternity and beyond.

May the ODDS be 'EVEN' in your favour!

From 1st to the 15th January, the rather unconventional chief minister of Delhi, honest AK churned out a car policy which reflects his temperament to the T; the decision was made hastily, without much deliberation or consent from the parties involved, was poorly implemented and caused more inconvenience than the problem it solved. Nevertheless, the decision was welcomed, even though with much reluctance and scepticism, like an unavoidable distant aunt who comes for a short visit and creates havoc in our well-accustomed schedule. But the question is whether the aunt brought enough 'laddoos' or went away with just a fruitless stir?
While the ever growing pollution has created an emergency like situation in the city, critics have often voiced that the odd-even policy is a rather ineffective measure which would actually add to the existent pollution levels in the city. The rule failed to pass the test in cities like Paris and Beijing where the pollution actually increased in the long run with people hoarding cars of both the odd and even number plates for convenience, thus increasing the number of cars on the road.
The Delhi Government fortunately thought better than to repeat the failed policy in the city and instead brought it as a short term experimentation for a fortnight. While the short run effects were mostly positive, with the traffic on Delhi roads reducing by almost 30 percent, there is a difference of opinion regarding the reduction in pollution levels. Some environmentalists pointed that the government changed the index of pollution to show a rosy picture of the city which is covered with smog.But the overall consensus is that the situation did improve, albeit sparsely. Now, the question is whether we want this aunt to stay for the long run or not? No matter what the outcome, there is no doubt that the policy was inconvenient for the general population. The slight relief during the fortnight was that schools had been closed in the city for the winter break, and AAP appointed its own volunteers, which definitely can't be a permanent solution. Bring in the precarious relationship the 'mango' party shares with the Delhi Police, and we have a raita we would rather avoid. Also, with inconvenience comes it's step sister in the form of a perverse incentive, the incentive here being purchasing two cars, which would further deteriorate the situation. Hence the better thing to do would be to say goodbye to the aunt and bringing in the well endowed 'Nani' in the form of well defined public transport, pedestrian facilities; and stricter green norms by curbing the purchase of diesel cars and stopping those god awful trucks from entering the city just to save a few worthless bucks.
Alas! The distant aunt can't stay for too long, the laddoos weren't worth the price!

The picture above isn't an impressionist painting, it is the traffic in Beijing after the long term effect of the odd even rule. This is a mistake which doesn't have to be made to realise that it indeed was a mistake!