1.1 Rocks and waves- “He knew it when he saw her”

The position of “Namaste”

Before going through this it is suggested that you go through the first part of the story Rocks and Waves (Part 1)

“Wake up, Neharika”, mom called from the kitchen.

This was the 4th time she was calling and Niharika knew that she has to get up this time otherwise mom would barge anytime into her room. Groggily, she gets out of the bed and walks towards the window. Somewhere in the distant a koel is heard singing in her melodious voice. Her class teacher, Mrs. John had told her that a koel sings very early in the morning but is now an endangered bird due to the mushrooming of the mobile network towers. She had said something about waves and signals that Neha could not grasp but at that moment she makes a silent vow to herself to never own a mobile phone. Silent vows like these, taken by a child hold immense power. If everyone keeps at least a few of them the world could be a better place. She enters the washroom and places the toothpaste on the toothbrush in exact quantity as the size of a “pea”, as she had seen her mom do the other day.

 “Come on, hurry up! you need to be given a bath too”, mom is at the door and that is a sound of alarm. It also signifies that the clock has hit 6:30 and she has just an hour before the Morning Prayer starts.

“Alright mom”, she screams with the foam still in her mouth.

After 15 minutes she is ready in her school dress with her shirt tucked in and bag on her shoulders.

“Which one is your first class today”, mom asks as she pulls the comb with both of her hands to brush her hair sideways and clips them.

“It’s the writing class mom by Miss Molly. She is going to teach us the cursive writing today”, said Neharika.

“Hope she learns it well, the curved t’s and I’s just don’t run well in the family”, Mrs. Viz tells herself.

“Okay girl you are ready to go to school”, grab your water bottle and come downstairs for your breakfast. It was always milk toast for breakfast. Neharika climbs down the staircase skipping a step as she reached the drawing room of her house located in one of the most fertile countryside of India.

The family resided in a small accommodation provided by the company Mr. Viz worked for. Their colony was nestled in rural backyards . It was a self-sufficient space with its own parks, temple, school and numerous open spaces. Away from the jostling crowd of the metros this was a perfect place for children like Neharika to thrive and learn about life. There were around 600 families and each were give their own quarters. Every house had a similar façade which lent certain uniformity to the appearance and which certainly to the way of life.

Neharika’s school was 5 blocks down the road, “All the best princess,” said her father in his gravelly voice. She smiled at him and ran after her mother who was already at the gate. It was a 10 mins. Walk to school which Neharika usually took with her mother. 7:15 am is an unsually busy hour in the colony, with parents accompanying their kids to school and milkman with his daily visits, the world around seemed to be in a hurry. Neharika rushed after her mother with hurried footsteps. They pass the colony’s Laxmi Narayan temple and she raises her hands to the level of her chest holding the palms of both hands together in the shape of a lotus, in order to do offer “Namaste” to Lord Narayan.

Her mother raises her eyebrows and looks at her daughter disapprovingly “What did I tell you Neharika?”

She rolls her eyes and raises her elbows to bring them in a straight line forming the perfect age old “Namaste”, just like her mother has always told to do.

They walked for about half a mile until they passed the Sports Club where Neharika’s father used to come during weekends for his game of Table Tennis. She looks at the Basketball court where every evening she would longingly stand with a hope to grow as tall as the other players to be able to play the game on the court.

They walk along the road and take a right on the next turn where they could see the school’s gate clearly. The school gate is a hub of commotion with all the parents stopping by to drop their children. Majority of them being mothers who have come in groups after completing their early morning chores, it was the time of 90s when women were expected to chalk out all their daily activities around the schedule of their husband and children. Somehow it does not matter to them as this was a way and their smiles told the rest.

Mrs. Viz kisses Neharika and bids her goodbye at the gate. She could see all the mother’s going till the classroom with their kids but Mrs. Viz wanted Neharika to be independent and if it has to start from here, so be it. Neharika’s spots her friend Gautami and waves her, Gautami runs towards her and whispers something in her ear, they both giggle and run towards there classroom.

Gautami was Neharika’s best friend, these childhood friendships have an air of innocence about them, devoid of any motives or agenda childhood friends take solace in each other’s well-being. Keeping their bags on their respective seats Gautami and Neharika are greeted by Komal there neighbour. The three friends go for the assembly prayer.

The atmosphere is serene with kids singing “Vaishnav Jan to” with enthusiasm at the top of their voices. Suddenly, Mrs. John pats Neharika’s back. Neharika opens her eyes and looks at her class teacher. Her teacher was signaling her to go forward to the stage. Neharika trudged towards the stage, with the principal’s eyes glued to her she could sense an air of positivity in her smile. Her graceful eyes signified that it was not a punishment but something more that had prompted them to call her to the stage. As she climbed up the stairs, the principal said “ Stand on the chair and keep your hands folded in prayer just as you were”. Neharika joined her hands in the lotus position and raised her elbows in a straight line. She was still feeling a bit shy to be standing at a 4 feet high stool, she could see all her friends from here. She spotted Gautami who had her eyes half open. She rejoiced in this sudden stardom. Neharika closed her eyes, remembered her mother and started to sing “Vaishnav Jan to” in a low voice.

Unaware of this a small boy of medium height and wheatish complexion was standing at the back of the prayer hall, trying to catch a glimpse of the kid who was standing on the chair on the front. He craned his neck and stood on his toes with all his might until he spotted the fair girl standing in the front. The boy thought of doing it himself and who knows joining his hands in a similar fashion would earn him a place “beside the girl”. He could never do that and the prayer ended. However, the boy remembered the face of the girl and that day, it lived in his memory forever, until………

1.0 Rocks And Waves

A few days back someone who holds just as much importance in my life as before and with whom I had no contact for quite sometime now  accussed me of being partial to “men” and “boys”. That someone read all my blogs and found my stories soft on male. She texted me “Is it your sordid past you write about mister or are you really that selfish, if it is so stop accussing and prophesizing your sorrows. I wonder if you would ever tell the other side of the story”. So here it is, first time I am trying to write a story with a women’s point of view. I Hope it does justice to her thoughts:

The story begins:

She walks back towards her house in the uptown area of New York. The weather is good and summer is what every New Yorker looks forward to after a harsh winter. She decides to walk towards her house which is 6 blocks down from the next right from the upcoming signal. The gentle breeze blowing across her face forming swirls on her perfectly ironed skirt as if caressing it with a gentle pace that is not too fast and not very slow either, just perfect so as not to destroy the pleats formed on the front clothe. The momentary pleasures tend to wither away as soon as they are formed like a lover’s touch or the early morning glow of the rising sun, which leave you longing for more. Today she was in no mood to go home early. There is nothing expecting her at home at this hour anyway the kids won’t be back from the evening tuitions until an hour and Ric had already called that he would turn up late. So she decides to make the most of this opportunity today which is hard to come by her. She used to be a regular visitor to the beaches during her post graduation years at the NYU until her kids and husband took the better of her.
The gentle wind was threatening to gather some speed, with the met department already sounding an alarm of an approaching storm she knew the timing cannot be perfect. Coincidentally she found her legs turning towards the left instead of taking the right which was her usual way to home. A force pushed her towards the direction that she had stopped taking since that fateful day 16 years back. She knew she had to turn back from here, the way to her home was not so sandy, it was hard. It can’t be so irregular after all New York doesn’t have space for irregularities, here people and things are alike, perfect. She wouldn’t have been where she was if it was for the irregular. But today it was different, she thought. She stopped thinking right there “let me see where this force takes me“, as someone from her distant past echoed “you need to go with the force , at least sometimes, you always try to be so very hard“. Maybe she was hard but hardness was the weapon of a woman, a woman can’t succeed if she is not hard because this is the only attribute that God did not bestow a woman with, He made her soft and supple so that she could be caring and loving. “She” made herself as hard as a rock and pointed at the edges so as to succeed and make her mark. In her mind she knew she had succeeded after all her life here at New York was a testament to that, but what about her heart, well she never cared about what her heart felt as long as the mind had a control over it. She kept walking until the sounds of the violent waves hitting the shoreline rang in her ears. She found herself standing at the perfect spot, for others it was a rough weather but for her it was a perfect time to visit her favourite pastime of those childhood days of her life in Cochin, India.
She stared at the vast expanse of the raging Atlantic that was hitting the rocks with all its might. She stood at the little opening of rocks inside the ocean just when a shower of sea water hit her face thus enabling her escape the thoughts that were beginning to overpower her and snatched her from the past, the past that was grim, a past that was not so distant as the date suggests it to be. She lies down on the rocks and looks above towards the sky. The night was falling on her in the form of little coloured openings from the sky . Even the sky has openings that are only visible at night, she thought. The sun had set down and it appeared as if the orange was the new black. A little strand of hair was hindering her vision of stars and the. She does away with the involuntary thought of removing it and kept her gaze at the place beyond the dark among the stars and the memories of her sordid past begin encompassing her her vision , her mind …………to be continued

1.Choice: A short story about a decision

Its still dark, the sun’s rays haven’t still dispersed the darkness as he rubs his eyes and looks out of the window by his bedside, it’s time to leave. The silence outside captivates him for a moment it feels like yesterday. Was it last month or was it last year, the memory has surely blurred maybe he should really go back to his old habit of having walnuts regularly. It seems age has really caught up with him or is it the memory so blurred and nascent that he shudders to think about the times gone by.

He takes a deep breath and rises from the bed. It has been his routine for the past few years, the first thought in the morning isn’t about the meetings, work or children, it’s a question that is as unanswerable as “the life on mars” it’s the question “What if he had made a different choice 20 years back?”

For him life was not about relaxing, waiting or looking at nature. These were the things he used to scoff at, he wanted to reach the pinnacle, run as fast as he could, grasp every laurel and cherish every success. Yes he wanted to be a tycoon.

He wears his “chappals” and gets ready for his morning chores. By the time it’s 5 he is already in his running gear. This habit of running is more of an addiction for him. At first he used to run ahead of life, that was a run for marks, concepts and big scores, then he ran from choices he made be it choosing career over love or the choice of shifting to USA the place of his dreams away from his parents and the past that reminded him of her, and ultimately after 20 years that run has become an addiction that coaxes him to run until his legs can take no more.

The run gives him a high, a high that addicts crave for and smokers smoke for, something that makes you drift away towards a mirage of bliss. After one hour he comes back home does some yoga. Yoga gives him a feeling of completeness, that was forged and knitted in a cocoon of success and aspirations, long back, and it gives him some time with himself. After a quick shower, he eats his cereal and starts to leave.

Just when he is about to embark on another of those long days of work, his wife gives him a kiss on the cheek and his children give him a hug, he surely has a nice beautiful family for whom they have so much to offer but for them he has so much less. He ,makes his mind to take them on a holiday this summer,  but he falls short of translating this thought into words lest he fails once more like he always had thus breaking their hearts partly because of his work and partly because he has a habit of never taking a leave from work. Marriage was a pact he had entered into at his mother’s behest 15 years back, he doesn’t remember the conditions of the pact but this bond a result of that pact has given him two little kids and a life to look forward to. If being a husband was all about being a companion and a supporter and being a father was about being a protector, he was a good husband and may be a good father too but when it came to sharing the proximity with his wife he found himself escaping. He had never imagined anyone sharing his private space with him other than her old love because he had promised ‘her’ that, and maybe ‘she’ had done the vice versa, but he still adheres to the commitment. This way he still prides in his devotion to something that was never desired in the first place, he fails to understand that true love does not have desires nor is it a choice, he is somehow clinging onto the past waiting for  something that is long lost and gone, a relation that always had perforated contours that he failed to see or realize.

His wife whispers ‘congrats ‘ in his ear and hands him an envelope with the seal of the business committee of the city. With a wry face he opens it and reads , he takes a deep breath and says ‘thank you’, he has won the businessman of the year award  and he has been invited to collect it with his family at a function this weekend. With this he turns to leave.

But while opening the door of his car he looks back, his wife helping his daughter with something she has picked up from the garden, and waving at him, they are happy for him. This makes sense may be this is the only thing that makes sense, for the past years while he has been elusive of them, they had been always there for him. He turns back and walks towards them, today he won’t go to office, he picks up his daughter in his arms and walks back inside. He had made a choice 20 years back and he has made a choice today, the only difference is he is sure of the choice made today. Be it 20 years back or now, surely choices do matter in life.

A book review of P.S. I love you – by Cecelia Ahern

“sometimes it’s just about living one letter at a time”

This is a story that starts where most of the contemporary love stories end. It’s a story not about the characters but the bond that binds them. The author could not have devised a better way of portraying this one more expression of undying and sometimes vaguely unjustified love and this time the expression portrayed in this novel is ‘dedication’. Whether it’s the dedication to live for the loved one or the dedication to savor each one of the memories so as to resist forgetting the lost love the message is clear ‘true love is hard to come by, even harder to live by its standards, and hardest to let go’ .

The story is about the girl Holly who losses her husband Gerry and is left alone in the journey of life,  hoping to cross the tide of time by tethering onto the letters left by Gerry for her. Completely devastated , a forlorn Holly makes up her mind to never go out with anyone again leave alone, the question of marriage. In the midst of all this there are her friends who try to coax Holly to realize the truth and move on. But Holly’s months pass only to bring her closer to the time when on the 1^st of every month she would get to open Gerry’s letter  for her, one letter for each month. These letters are the only incentive for Holly to pass the time. These letter’s are also a medium by which the reader gets to know about Gerry and his life. The author successfully creates an apt image of Gerry in the mind of the readers. In between Holly’s family problem and the story of her big brother Richard and sister Clara is what engages the readers till the end. But the question is what is in those letters that Holly is so desperate to read?. And will Holly remain committed to Gerry or will she be cajoled into that thing called ‘love’ once again. Will she remain tied down to Gerry’s memories or does she take a more practical approach towards and move on.

The novel although showers you with the colors of love but it fails to engage the reader. The story is interesting in parts and the tempo goes down with each read letter. The vivid description of the characters is excellent and it actually lets you recreate the happenings in front of your eyes. The novel is a delight for anyone who wants to engage in a simple, relaxed and enjoyable reading time. The predictive nature  is the  only let down in an otherwise tragic  and emotional love story .

“Some people wait their whole lives to find their soul mates. But not Holly and Gerry”

Were Holly and Gerry really soul mates? Are love stories eternal as they say or is it one more decision or relationship gone wrong. Read the novel to know the answers.

A book Review of “The Best of Me”- by Nicholas Sparks

The novel excerpts

“He was a solitary figure in a vast landscape while she was a face in a nameless crowd”

 This morning I finished reading Nicholas sparks “the best of me”. The novel is a conventional Nicholas sparks love story that has everything in it from sacrifice to selfless love. One more thing that this novel teaches us is this common but most misunderstood concept of ” logical love“, and not some “phatehaal ashiqui ” that our Indian authors are quite versed at portraying.

The story ” the best of me” is a story of Amanda and Dawson, who fall in love in their teens. The usual hangouts and loveish gestures follow. But like every other love story they too are separated before they can even experience the full idea of this thing called love. Well no love story is ever complete without the lovers being separated for at least once. It adds this flavor of pain and longing you see and readers tend to enjoy these different flavors. But the author just as well knows where to put the lid on these feelings, after all you can’t expect the reader to go on lamenting the loss of other’s lover, and that’s where the novel wins your heart. So after this Amanda and Dawson are separated for a period of 20 years only to accidentally meet up at the funeral of a common friend and then the drama continues. One of them has moved on with their life and the other still feeling the pangs of separation and guilt. Then once again the sparks fly and the story continues.

The sheer pace of the novel is engrossing. Neither very fast nor very slow, the novel moves at a constant pace thus giving its readers time to mesmerize, feel and absorb each character. The characters in the story are although few but you never feel bored. Instances such as when Dawson tells himself  “ it is easy to live while expecting that she has moved on and it is entirely different thing to live while knowing for certain that she has moved on”, are quite a few which linger in your mind for quite some time, thus giving you a blissful time. The plane and apt nature of love expressed in the novel is mesmeric. In one of its lines it says “Love, after all, always said more about those who felt it than it did about the ones they loved”, which more or less defines  love in  a sparkling way.   Like every other spark’s novels this one also gives one more definition to love.

The narration wins your heart and is explicit in reciprocating the subject. But towards the end the novel seems to lag a bit, it becomes quite predictable and anyone who has read even those trashy love stories can easily guess the end. Although, it is this predictive nature that keeps the reader on the edge throughout the story because that is what the readers really can relate to.

So in my view this is a typical love story that portrays one more of the numerous colors of love and that is “sacrifice“, albeit any twist and turns. Thus for anyone who wants to experience this color of love, this is a must read, and for others who want some thrill or suspense it’s simply not your cup of tea.

As  Dawson tells Amanda:-

“You have the Best Of Me….”

Well to see  if  he truly  stands by his words do read this epic and may  you have “the best of it”.