The Book of Life

When you want to be with no one else but silence, when you like nothing but loneliness and when you feel nothing but pain. It’s when you hear your heart beating as if it wants you to listen to it or it wants him to listen to it. How do you tame it? When it breaks the chains of patience and bulges out giving you the pain for life. No matter what stories you make or poems you recite, it’s not just good enough, really. To remove a page from a book, what can you do possibly, tear it, fold it or rub the content. But in the book of life, you can’t rub it because it’s your destiny. You can fold it but you know that if you will try opening the book, you will be directed to that very page only. Last is, tear the page. Yes, you might not be able to access the happiness and emotions scattered all over that page of life in future but same would hold true for the pains and misery too. Tear that page and write a fresh story, a poem or sketch and stick it there. Gradually you will learn to like it too. Gradually the page would turn yellow and you will be at peace, not because you won't miss the previous content but that you will have something new which will become richer than the earlier. When the book of life is not ready to direct you to the new page, you find yourself stuck at a point, don’t worry, go back to the previous page and read it carefully, understand it, solve it and the fresh page will soon be displayed. When you have difficulty in understanding the content of a page even after trying several times, please don’t stay, place a bookmark and promise yourself you will comeback later on and solve it. Sometimes lessons taught in the later chapters are fruitful to solve the questions of the previous ones. This is the book of life. 

Break Silence

Silence is not noxious till the time it's young. But as it grows it piles up that stack of questions and thoughts which might populate the minds of both, the bearer and the observer. It's better to loosen up your thoughts by the language of speech than to push them down your throat which after a lapse chokes you. Many of us often replace this natural language by the artificial and superficial language of writing. But one should understand that no matter how lucid it is, no matter how smoothly each sentence slides over the other and makes it rich and satisfies your inner war but still it might not fit in the space of your well wishers eyes. He who loves you and cares for you is incapable of searching hidden meanings in your portrayal. He looks at it as another reflection of your vexation which consequently turns him paler. He thinks that you are afraid of talking to him which has forced you to choose the other options to express your distress. Do not do this to him. Introspection of your inner world is as important as his interpretations regarding your gloominess. At least it wont be biased. Write, sing, compose your problems, whatever suits you but don't forget the language of speech. Remember, the least you are interested in speaking out, the more it is awaited. And if in the worst case where you have no one to talk to you always have one person. Its not me, its GOD. 

Public Private Partnership

After India’s independence in 1947, economic conditions across the country were devastating. The brutal effect of the British Imperialism on the economy was fairly evident by the frequent famines and the high fatality rates. Partition of India not only divided it on the basis of land but also in two economic zones. Therefore, the government underwent a hard time coping with the economy deficits and poverty in India. The period between 1947 and 1991 saw the pre-liberalization phase. During this period the public or the government sector failed to meet the demand of the nation to overcome its problems with reference to the poverty and bitter financial status. Jawaharlal Nehru, then Prime Minister of India, devised a method of Mixed Economy (capitalism combined with government intervention which consequently led to initially high growth rates but which by the end of fourth decade converted to low growth rates and a license obsessed restrictive state). License Raj proved to be unfruitful because the foreign goods were unable to reach the market and the private companies were restricted to produce and to make foreign trading. But the beginning of 1991 saw the post liberalization under P.V.Narsimharao. Liberalization eased the restrictions over the small scale industries, the taxes and other price controls promoting policies like foreign direct investment. This led to the expansion of private sector more than the public sectors with the prime motive to earn profit. But this policy of liberalization helped to improve the economic statistics of the nation. The public and private sector are often considered to be contradictory and sometimes complementary. Since both the sectors helped in increasing the country’s capital therefore there was a need for these two wings to join hands and work together which is now known as public private partnership. Under this relationship, public sector gives away certain cooperation to the private sector in terms of land and infrastructure and the private sector gives high capital profit by producing superstructure. Similar partnerships like BOLT (Built Operate Lease and Transfer) and BOOT (Built Own Operate and Transfer) serve the same purpose. BOLT and BOOT are long term schemes under which private party is given a certain area of land on which it can establish private firms and produce goods, capital and profit and after a certain period of time as decided by the Government, the private sector has to transfer the control of the industry to the Governments hands.  Public sector alone is a victim of Red Tapism that involves excessive bureaucracy and low efficiency in decision making while private sector is fast at decision making and is highly efficient. Gradually with increasing privatization, globalization also came to picture. Up till then the GDP of the country increased from 16% to 47% by the end of 2008-10. Globalization included the FDI which made India a preferred centre for the same. Public sectore kept major functional areas such as Health, Railways, Defense, Infrastructure, Land allotment etc under its control and the private sector gained access to the superstructure development, Industrialization, Globalisation in terms of export and import. But in the recent years the areas under Public sector have open handedly welcomed the private intervention, for example, infrastructure under National Highways Authority of India and Midday Meal scheme. In the field of Health concerns, various NGO’S such as C.R.Y., Transparency International, Common Cause, Naz etc have exemplary contributions. Corporate Social Responsibility is the policy under which the private firms are obliged to pay back the cost of profit in the form of welfare and developments. This type of relationship has not only bought the two sectors closer but also a shared the responsibility to take the nation to appreciably higher levels of economy and development so that India can rise as a world power in terms of Financial Stability by the end of 2025. Therefore the Public and Private partnership is proving to be a boon for the entire nation and world facilitating export and import, earning foreign currency, providing larger employment and developing science and technology and consequently taking the country to the higher summits of success. 

Beating down the heartbeat

She occupied the darkest patch of shadow, darker than her wounds, chosen intentionally to hide her dreadful nightmares which were all turning true. Pain has no face but has a voice. She sat on the floor where her emotions lay brutally assassinated and her self respect torn to pieces along with the pages of the stories that she was told before marriage. She shied of her reflection not just because the facial and bodily marks gave her a sympathetic look but her eyes flashed the memory of the painful encounter. The marks on her face were still better than the cuts on the heart, the bleeding of the wounds had stopped but the heart was still oozing out the entire bloody twinge. It was killing her like a slow poison. Chhavi always analyzed the past picture and tried locating her fault but when she failed to find any she simply made one and convinced herself that she must have been wrong somewhere. She consoled herself and started collecting the broken vase that Vipul threw at her and a part of which gave her a new scar pattern. It was more like a routine now. Every problem has a solution then why the constant vituperation and violence ruled the house? The consequences turned the walls of the house opaque to any ray of hope or happiness. Erstwhile they were THE happy couple. Retrospectively, this was never meant to be this way. Vipul was jobless, soaked his days in alcohol and nights in blood, everyday he returned stained with a new rejection and tried washing it off with Chhavi’s blood. Using manly musculature to dominate a woman only predicts his spinelessness. Women in India are taught to worship their men, they are taught to realize their commands and desires. But the two genders are comparative and women remain a bitter competition to men in all attributes except physical power. This weak point is often manipulated and used so well that it completely changes her art of living. Chhavi is not the only one but she is just another such woman who is fulfilling even this command selflessly. When a man cannot defeat her on any of the sensible grounds, he beats her and tortures her to get hold of her intellectuality which turns her insane and cracks her spirit to live. When will this practice find a full stop? When will the status of a woman rise up from the levels of slaps and kick to hugs and kisses? Only when he wants to? Only when he is unwilling to sleep without a woman besides him? Does violence makes them believe that she won’t run away with any other man and remain a part of his kingdom not as a queen but as a vase on the table which looks lively but is after all dead? Some stories are exposed and some torn pages still hang from the sides of an old diary which no one is interested in reading. Domestic violence is one sided and is unfair. I wish I could save such women from the abuse and take them to a heaven where dead entries are not mandatory unlike the one we have heard about.

Can I wear this?

Can I wear this?

Whenever the seniors of the house want me to follow any of the new rule from their “BOOK OF RULES TO MAKE HER LIFE HELL” whose status always says “work in progress”, then they avoid making ‘me’ the subject and very cleverly portray an example for me. The most recent story is the most interesting too and for that I can bet even my last penny on it. Guys join the fantasy.

A fair plump middle aged woman, hair well styled and her perfume filling the smoky and stinky premises of the local Gajiwala Police Chowki, is continuously playing with numbers on her cell phone and her wrinkled eyebrows perfectly display her anger. Her sari reminds of the Mannequins draped in some similar fashion that you must have seen through twinkling windows at an expensive Mall.  Staring her was a multitude of constables, some local thiefs and the respectable Daroga Babu. I am not being chauvinistic but I am categorizing men in two- men and policemen. The difference being that a policeman can appreciably fall to even lower levels of cheapness. Daroga Babu aka Shyam Prasad Pandey busy caressing his moustache is scanning the lady through the scanner software that only men have but policemen have a better version always. After a long standing silence Daroga Babu lifts his right leg and places it over the table between some dusty files and says in the peculiar crisp policewala style

“Madam, jab tak dikkat nahi batayiyega tab tak report kaise likhi jaaye”

The woman already drenched in sweat and anger, notices the body language of the GENTLEMAN and gives an unpleasant expression.

She avoids it and decides to open the Pandora box.

“I am the wife of the Principal Secretary…” and this introduction compelled our Daroga Babu to recollect his manners and straighten up his backbone for a while.

“… and I want you to write an FIR against some boys who molested my daughter and harassed us in the middle of the street while we were shopping. One of them even tried touching her. I want you to arrest them now and to kick their asses as hard as you can. And if you don’t take any action now then am afraid you know the consequences better.”

Rising from the dead, Daroga Babu asked his constables who were busy measuring her curves, to take action and to bring the hooligans right away. The place where the incident took place was not too far and the culprits didn’t expect a FIR therefore they didn’t attempt to escape either. Four of them were brought held by their collars. The lady took a deep breath and said “yes, these are the ones”

Daroga Babu rose up and clapped their cheeks.

Now, what else was needed, Daroga Babu’s government pen was still resting in the government pen stand.

“Madam, jara peedhit ko bulayiyega? I mean (putting all his efforts to speak in English), your daa-ter (daughter)”

The Lady signaled the driver to do the needful.

“Baby… come here. They need your statement”, the Lady shouted.

The door of the white ambassador wide open and a 5 inch heel pricks the ground. An equally fair, slim and beautiful girl, 22 or 23 stepped out and her silky hair rolled down her shoulders. She waves her hand in front of her face to show her annoyance over the scorching heat and the whole sequence. Her blue shorts and pink blouse added to her beauty and charm.

Daroga Babu’s scanner speeded up and the same multitude of glances crossed each other. After a deep analysis and process of thought, Daroga babu stands up and says, “Madam, bura na maniyega par jis tarah ka Baby ka dress hai, shukra hai ladko ne SIRF CHHEDHA”

And that was the end to it. Her face turned red and she felt ashamed when few constables exchanged smiles over the statement. The company left.

The idea behind telling me this story was to make me understand what to wear and what not to wear. The dogmas of the society, changes are always a part of a girl’s routine. My wardrobe is supposed to change if a group of boys can’t control their hormones and molest me just because I tried wearing something I like. Another moral is that “Boys harass only those girls who wear short clothes”. Isn’t it bullshit? May be that’s the reason they rape a 2 month old because the baby also wears short clothes.

Our clothes will decide our vulnerability towards being raped or just being harassed. That is an excellent logic. Well, now they will say that SOCIETY says so, therefore I ask them what the society wears. Then I will decide whether I should F*** it or just let her go by.

………………………………………………

Give me red

Peeping in those smoky streets of the city where the life is said to begin at night under the red light, where alcohol is the only liquid permitted and where the word ‘sex’ doesn’t make you turn your eyes away, has always been on my list of dark temptations on some number 3 or 4. Though I haven’t seen the picture too closely but it surely has some promising entertainment. I guess may be that’s why our Bollywood movies can’t resist repeatedly using the same idea of brothels, what else!! Dumping behind the logic of good and bad, the red life cajoles me to unveil it shamelessly and to drape oneself in the same. Taking a clue from the movies, I can fancy ladies who have overdone their styling and one of them steps ahead with a peculiar glistening shade of crimson red covering her lips, a crisp language dipped in a hot seductive tone that collectively causes all men’s reproductive elements to collapse in a moment. Though a GOOD girl is tabooed to enter even the outskirts of the red canopy, still my wild side dominates the good. I want to spend such a night life, if am not interpreted the wrong way. I have a keen desire to interview the club of flamboyant yet poised SHES and learn from them the art of bewitching the HES so that I can always be sure of him. I may be mean but I will definitely be pleasant. After having imagined so much about the secret untouched corners of life, I sit in disappointment because even my man can’t make this happen and men are definitely powerful!! (Chuckling). As I earlier said, am not too curious to know about the hows and whens. If I had to choose between the two attributes i.e. chaste or taste then I am quite sure of the answer. These ladies may not deserve respectable adjectives from where the society looks at them but they are definitely bold. But as usual, one question will always question my wit that is “DOES FORTUNE REALLY FAVORS THE BOLD?”

Your heart or ours?

Ambience within the house maintained a perfect pH balance when I noticed an acute acidic inclination as soon as I turned 22. Ladies in the house adopted a unique mode of communication-whispers. Before I could have figured out the reason behind this weird and suspicious behavior of the 35+ gang, they gave me the blueprint of the plan and soon I was showcased in a peculiar art gallery where different breeds of men examined me, be it the way I walk or the way I talk. The procedure was very conventionally followed and finished. I walked in with a tray full of Samosas and chutni etc which were bought from the old Dhaniram’s shop at the square but the credit always landed in my hands. Solacing my little innocent heart which had no idea about the match making festival being celebrated in the house, I tried numbering the trail of questions hitting my head bang bang!!! I remember my mother congratulating my elder brother on his 22^nd birthday as “you are a big MAN now”. My conjecture after hearing and silently repeating the phrase in my mind is that the word MAN in our society (the typical Indian society is what I would like to mention) is quite enough to represent adjectives like Brave, Hard working, Powerful and moreover DOMINATING. After analyzing the events more closely I am compelled to doubt the justice of nature that boys grow powerful with time and girls grow weaker or at least the SOCIETY thinks so. Family then makes an imperious set of final statements about the marriage things ending into a luring male dominating party where the bride is the only one who is prohibited to dance on her own wedding day and feels intruded. From the time when she is wooed by the metallic luster of jewelry to sign the bond till the time she enters his new possessions list, she follows their heart. She is deprived of her right to cross examine her MAN whether he can walk and talk equally well. The word rejection lies in her dictionary only if she is the one who is rejected. Why doesn’t this society realize that though the outer appearance of a woman may reflect a certain amount of weakness but her soul remains the same and as powerful as her MAN’S? She has the right to reject and refute. She has the right to choose and again reject. Why the norms of the society are still made for male convenience? Why isn’t she allowed to follow her heart and moreover one question is almost impossible to answer, WHO IS THE SOCIETY AND WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE? 

Commitment without marriage-he says

Commitment without marriage??

Commitment sounds like any other word from an old pocket dictionary but often causes one to sweat even on the coldest day of winter. He liked me although he did not love me. I loved him and I liked him. He said that he loves freedom then where did I read that love is freedom? Men want to exercise their natural assets on women without marriage but with commitment, is that the whole idea about?  Preposterous and outrageous. He says I want to get along with you but I can’t marry you. Get along with my similar assets or get along with my feelings? He decides it for us because am in love with him and he just likes me. Once am laid and once my assets are shared between us, I become futile. He says we are partners until we get married to different persons. Is he not trying to convince and entice me to satisfy his manly needs until someone else takes upon the charge? This is commitment without marriage. Commitment to hurt me and then say –“I didn’t ditch you, cuzz I had already told you”. Would this mitigate the consequences of THE commitment on me? Am a woman and I should understand. He tells me that I am an emotional fool. He might be just right because he has proved it. He tells me that his family is not easy with our relationship. Is he not hiding behind the unquestionable opaque veil? Today for the first time I have been given the opportunity to dominate because what I see is a feeble MAN who is by all means trying to solicit his false love and who wants me to forgive him? Leaving me in the middle of a maelstrom, he slides away from the sides. He tells me to be reasonable and practical. Shouldn’t I be reasonable about the breakup? Wasn’t I practical when I fulfilled his lasciviousness? He leaves me in the lurch and lulls me. Now am interrogatory because earlier I was intimidated. He asks me to live the same way as I used to. Is he not asking me to die in chunks? Is he not asking me to stop hurling questions at him and to become cold? Men never understand that commitment means life and life is one. He tells me to move on. Is it not a cliché? Can I someday conjure him to love me for once and then forever? Commitment without marriage: he did the dirty on me. Any of you who are suggested this way: BEWARE. Someone’s playing dirty. 

BREAK-UPS

Why break ups are so hard? Relationships once heartfelt are aborted within a fraction of second. Where people think 100 times before buying a dress from a shopping mall, don’t even think twice before calling off their affair. What is that peculiar imponderable factor which causes the fancy to burn into ashes? The victim starts to believe that all those sad love songs were actually always meant for them. The original heartbeats resonate within to produce a painful cacophony which penetrates to the deeper corners of the poor broken heart which has no further capacity to endure it and soon the eyes get flooded. No matter what is the reason behind a breakup, it is surely disastrous. Sometimes one party loses strength and the other gets strengthened or vice versa. Life has phases, some darker than the other. But the one suffering of this love failure as I would call it has nothing to do with life for that period of time. After a week or two, he/she wants to run back and drown in the bosom of his/her so called better half. Dreary, dull and boring (being out of choice), the victim tries to discover if he can bear the pain of a suicide. But everything is meant to get him back. Friends and family give away examples of those who in past had recovered from the disease called love and they suggest the same medications or at least the similar ones. But they don’t understand that LOVE might be a single category but varies in species from person to person. Everyone has his or her unique trouble regarding love and sorry to say but no similar effective medications are applicable or helpful. Breakups are meant to be faced and dealt in a unique way as per the victim choice. This article may sound practical but breakups happen when practicality prevails. Earlier when things are limited to the exchange of kisses and lovey-dovey good night messages nothing sounds or appears dangerous but as soon as the sparkle fades away, the real print comes into picture. Those who like the print lead a “happy ever after” life and those who find it ugly undergo a BREAK UP. Discovering the ugly face of your relationship is not wrong only if you do it as soon as possible. To all the broken hearts and brimming eyes- “IF YOU HAVE FINALLY BROKEN UP THEN THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO BREAK ANY FURTHER, SO START RECOLLECTING AND STITCHING… THAT WOULD HELP”

Destiny of a woman

“I wonder it is harder than I thought it to be” she sighed with a faint smile after having failed even her ‘3^rd’ attempt to suicide and probably the last one too. Malini was not a person to sign it off with a lose stroke but still she couldn’t let it go out of her hair. Her swollen eyes and pale lips clearly painted the black and white phase which she was through and tentatively explained the reason behind this melodrama; she had been missing Sahil again.

Her breakup with Sahil was already a week old and was growing out to be a typhoon in her heart, juggling her emotions up and down and causing her to pulsate to a fatal frequency when she was required to put up a brave front. What was she missing the most? Well the answer to this question would end up in rolls. Why a woman who is good enough to warm a man’s bed, good enough to be a patient kisser, good enough to satisfy his highs AND lows is NOT good enough to marry him? What lets him sum up to that opinion about her when she had been filling all the ugly patches of his life? What gives him the nerve to breakup with her when she had already dreamt of a baby girl and a boy a year later than that? What gives their heart that concrete shelter where her feelings are barred and seem pointless and blunt to an extent that even a tiniest hole appears impossible? It would have been better if these questions were ever answered back.

Looking at the mirror each day, she sunk into the dark circles around her eyes and blended in her grays. The rain seemed to be unstoppable that night unless her doorbell called her attention. Briefing her grief for a while, wiping away the colorless stains off her cheeks she headed towards the door. She was too tired (of her life actually) to be a genuine good host that night and to entertain some really frolicking half drunk friends who would like to stay over to avoid being confronted by their parents. Still she dragged herself to the door. Holding the door wide open, she was trying to figure out and scan the faces through her teensy- weensy eyes which had left almost no option to see through due to their bulging edges.

“What do you want?” she carelessly questioned her guest-to-be in a fashion to bang the door on his or her face the very next second.

“We are the ones whom you would have welcomed with open hands if you had been in a condition to even recognize the face of your best friends” broke in the first female voice.

“Three shots less and you would have!!!” tore in the second.

The atmosphere inside the house was as if they have gatecrashed a funeral and have shoved the dead to step out of her coffin. The two women were horrified by Malini’s poor craggy facial topography. They were left to themselves. Silence was impossibly growing around them and making it hard to believe that a room consisting of three women was quiet. Venesa decided to unlock her chest of questions and Sambhavta decided to join after when she initiated.

“What is this suffering meant to be Malini or meant for? Are you supposed to live the rest of your life swinging in the feeble swings of dreams that he showed you or you are waiting for a magic wand that will cause him to call off his marriage and get to you? You, I and Sam, all three of us know that he is not returning back to you, he said it in your face and ours too, do you want to grind yourself to a state that you cant even recollect your remains even if you want to someday? And how long am I supposed to yell at you at this high a pitch when you know that I am expecting?

“Relax Ven, let me handle this”, Sambhavta intervened her then turning to Malini she continued,

“Look Malini, we are really worried about you, your unresponsiveness towards our calls, bunking your work and to top it all, the pile of newspapers and mails outside your doorstep really hold me hard and plead to me that you need a psychiatrist. This is not what you are Malini. This is a phase and you know it’s easy to get over; you helped me to get over my depression after I broke up. No one could have been a greater help if you wasn’t there…”

Sambhavta continued framing effective and convincing statements and Malini continued to drain into her pain and to blackout.

“Are you paying even slightest of your attention to what Sam is explaining to you?”, Venasa kicked her out of her fantasies.

It wasn’t really her fault. Love sets you daydreaming.

“Look guys”, Malini finally broke the ice, “I broke up with Sahil, or, let’s face it HE broke up with me, or even better he DUMPED me, and bearing a broken heart is like a flower without sunshine, is like a sleep without dreams and is like a cold fire. I am living an unusual life; I have lost the last fullstop and I don’t know where I left and where to start off. So I would like you to leave me to my own world where no living thing is meant to be-at least for a few days”, and she busted into tears like a helpless child.

Venasa already plunged into her childhood friend’s puzzled life took a tour to the kitchen and thought that a steaming cup of coffee would warm her colds for a brief period and Sambhavta tried calming Malini down.

After a minute later…

“Sam, just come over here”, Venasa cried out from the kitchen and after a pause she almost screamed and repeated impatiently. Sam rose up and rushed to follow Venasa’s scream and ended up in a sight of blood at the kitchen counter, Malini’s blood spilled over and a few suicide committing tools spread over out of which they weren’t quiet sure of what she might have used. Horrified, the two couldn’t resist visioning the consequences when they ran back to the drawing room where they had left Malini. Before they could have uttered a word Malini carelessly said “Don’t worry, I failed” and she fainted.

Though the series of catastrophic acts were not in favor of the wounded lady but still her chances to survive were up high. Why a strong heart like hers was under the heavy foot of fate which was crushing it over and over again? While driving her to the nearest hospital Sambhavta examined Malini’s wrist where a baneful yet curable cut was indented using a sharp tool. Malini didn’t faint of the wound but she switched off due to intensive depression.

The two ladies were anxiously waiting outside for the Doctor to detail them with everything. And the wait was over when a lady doctor came out undoing her mask. She looked up to them in a non friendly way and didn’t want any of her upcoming words to go unnoticed. They established a tough connection between each other’s eyes and then she said,”The frenzy she is in is not good. She needs a break. It’s dangerous for both of them”.

Everything was understood and well unless they heard her last part of the sentence, “Both of them”, now what was that supposed to be? Several question marks haloed their heads and good news knocked the wrong door. Malini was pregnant herself. The moment was blithesome, blessed and undoubtedly a boon for any woman but not for a 33 year old spinster who is shattered to a limit from where her integration is turning out to be impossible.

Who out of the two had the courage to tell her? Rehearsing the scene even 1000 times won’t give them the audacity to walk up to her and tell the unfortunate mother that her child will grow without the name of his actual father. Who had the guts to go and tell her that despite being a sex toy for Sahil she now possesses a part of him that will never let her get over him but to want him even more than before? Well, like earth has to face the rains with no options to close eyes, like rainbow is out of options for a color change, like the sun has no options to switch off during the day, the same way Malini had to know about the boon (or the curse that was left for her to decide).

She was brought home. She was at ease. The disturbed landscape of her house was tidied to better by the other two ladies. Now the house smelled better. That was the right time to shoot.

“Mal, you have to hold our hands while we tell you this”, Venasa initiated

“Yes Malini. Remember you are a tough woman, a lady of metal, a lady who has been inspiring 100’s of others to lead a happy and satisfied life no matter how much pain they were through. I remember once you quoted Sir Washington Iring, “There is in every true woman's heart, a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity, but which kindles up and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity.” It’s the time Mal you fearlessly face the reality. You are pregnant.”

The last words of Sambhavta drilled into her ears and she stood up straight within a second.

“What did you just say?”, she was amazed at Sambhavta’s hilarious attempt of humor. But then her own life turned out to be a joke for her after she realized the truth.

How painful it is for a tree to let go off an unripe fruit which needed more nourishment, how unfair it is to blame the sound when the hands that clapped were yours, how insane it is not to believe that deeds pay back and how in a fraction of second Malini realized that keeping an affair with a married man can possibly result to this and also that the wrong she had been knowingly doing to an innocent has been replied to her by GOD in an other but in a more painful way?

As if every minute dilated to an hour and every second to a minute. She was caught up in the moment and the trauma caused her activities to cease, to end up to a big zero. She became as cold as the ice and curled into a baggage.

As you sow, so shall you reap?

No one could explain it to her that inspite of conceivably using all the known devices employed to avoid pregnancy when she completely gave herself to him, how did this happen.

Venasa had something to say, may be something that left Sambhavta’s argument incomplete.

“You are HIV+…”

Crushing her knees with her fingers, gripping around her bent legs Malini finally fragmented into unidentifiable flakes.

A woman is scrupulous towards her true love. A woman is rigid when she makes up her mind. A woman is the most desirable mixture of virtues. But how a woman is so stupid to fall for a man who is already married, who is already ditching another woman and who can also ditch her for another in near future?

Was this Malini’s worst luck that had hit her or really she was starting to pay back to God?

She remained cold for another 30 minutes. Neither Venasa nor Sambhavta tried to interfere her measurement of thoughts.

After a long killing silence Malini made a word, ”Am happy”.

She smiled and asked the gals to stay over if they wished to. She took a shower and went to a relieved sleep. Her wrinkles eased, her eyebrows found a plain and her smile widened as she relaxed. Venasa and Sambhavta were confused at this behavior and were bound to stay over.

A few weeks passed. Malini regained control. She was a single mother yet satisfied. But the reason behind this happiness was still under question. What was on her mind? Did she chose to live single and to fight back death and leave her child to a pitiable destiny?

5 weeks after THE day…

“Yeah…did you get it right? It is 6/34 Saraswati Villa, Spark Road..yeah..yeah. We need the ambulance as fast as it can. No…No there is no motion. Yes…”

The phone disconnected and left Venasa and Sambhavta to wait for the ambulance to arrive. A regular Saturday evening which was tossed off to life and fun by the band of ladies at a country club was all set to be enjoyed when again Malini’s phone blanked out. Venasa and Sambhavta ended up at her door when her doorbell went unattended for over 10 minutes. Seeking the help of some neighbors they unlocked it or rather broke it. And they couldn’t believe their eyes. Malini lying on the carpet shivering and with a foaming mouth it was clear that it was her 4rth attempt.

Randomly one of them called 102.

By the time ambulance arrived, Malinis pupil dilated. After a quick examination they declared that she rested in peace and what she really did.

Malini a poet by profession lost it and said it in her own words.

“You were a fantasy, a desire to be,

My heart my love a fire to be,

I cheated her, you cheated me,

This agony has somewhere heated me,

To melt down to death, This is meant to be,

I regret, Like a current to be,

Passed on to my heart from your,

But believe me my love was pure”

A friend in need is a friend indeed. Venasa and Sambhavta turned up to MY DOORSTEP with the story and the truth was fairly evident in their eyes. Though Malini never asked her Ven and Sam to do that, but it would have been unjust if they didn't have. Though Malini was wrong but she was in love and I was in a fool's paradise. Sahil equally deserved what she did. Both of them stood at the ends of a weak chain compelling her to commit suicide and also a MURDER.

I the author of this story, Stuti, who was earlier known as Mrs. Stuti Sahil Shah has regained her identity and I no longer share his name. The word DIVORCE alone cant reflect the factual distance between us. Malini chose death to save a life. So did I, but my death required living.
Now he is lonely and sick. His life is his punishment where he is desolate and companion-less. I think I will be forgiven for this or punished for leaving him in a broken state when he needs me the most. I broke all my vows. Who's hard luck is it? SAHIL, MALINI or STUTI?

I thank god it wasn’t hard for me to decide.

There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women.  

                                                                                                           -Madeleine K. Albright

AM GLAD I DID MY BIT.