Flash fiction - Twice the fun this time

A general feedback we get for our posts is that they are very long. We see this as an expression symbolic of the 'fast-food generation', which needs immediate gratitification. Gone are the days, when we troubled our parents to tell us long stories, enjoyed reading long letters from relatives and friends and when 'Shantaram' was the perfect companion for a train journey. But today all good things seems to be preferred in small packages and reading as a habit has also been  hit by this bug.

As a result we thought of experimenting with something short. Bhujji had already got her feet wet in writing 'flash fiction' and today I too gave it a try. But we did it in our on style. Bhujji wrote the starting paragraph and then we both improvised and came up with our own second paragraphs for the same opening.  For those who enjoy the short things in life, hope you like it. Now the fun for you is to guess who wrote which endings. You could leave a comment!!

First

It was a hot sultry, summer afternoon. Just the kind of day for the job she had in mind. She cleaned her flower vase, carefully pulling out the wilted flowers. He would have hardly noticed them. But she pondered if she should leave the half dead ones. Perfection was important to her, especially today. She decided to leave them for the day. She arranged her records in alphabetical order, but from the last to the first this time. Last time he had arranged it the other way round. She then remembered her disheveled dresser. She arranged her bottles according to their height all facing the west, West for today. The Yardley tin was almost over, but she wanted it to stay. He had promised to buy a new one and then she can do away with this one. She polished her shoes, one piece had a scratch. It was an unpardonable mistake; she wanted it all perfect today. If only she had two pairs of the exact same shoe as him. She tried waxing the shoes but then she lost som nail paint in doing so. When she applied a fresh coat, the other hand looked dull and needed another coat. But coat after coat both the hands did not seem to match. She removed them all and started afresh with a new colour. This time his favourite- Red. The flowers, the records, the dresser, the shoes, the nails - she tried recollecting her list for the day. Tom was chained tight to the ottoman. He could not move far freely but could pull the ottoman out of the front room window if he wished. The clock struck three and she rose from her reverie. She had slept more than usual. She was late by twelve minutes and that too on a day like today.

She should have been out in the garden by now, exactly under the window sill. She rushed to the front door hoping that the ice cream wagon was also late. She opened the door. The ice cream wagon was turning the corner of the street towards her house. She rushed down the stairs and just then the driver honked. Tom dashed to the window and with his jerk pulled the ottoman attached to his leash all the way, down the window sill and instead of her; D’mello got crushed under the weight. And then she remembered her last item on the list. She was to call to D’mello asking him if he could pick up her favourite flowers at twelve instead of three today.

 Second

It was a hot sultry, summer afternoon. Just the kind of day for the job she had in mind. She cleaned her flower vase, carefully pulling out the wilted flowers. He would have hardly noticed them. But she pondered if she should leave the half dead ones. Perfection was important to her, especially today. She decided to leave them for the day. She arranged her records in alphabetical order, but from the last to the first this time. Last time he had arranged it the other way round. She then remembered her disheveled dresser. She arranged her bottles according to their height all facing the west, West for today. The Yardley tin was almost over, but she wanted it to stay. He had promised to buy a new one and then she can do away with this one. She polished her shoes, one piece had a scratch. It was an unpardonable mistake; she wanted it all perfect today. If only she had two pairs of the exact same shoe as him. She tried waxing the shoes but then she lost some nail paint in doing so. When she applied a fresh coat, the other hand looked dull and needed another coat. But coat after coat both the hands did not seem to match. She removed them all and started afresh with a new colour. This time his favourite- Red. The flowers, the records, the dresser, the shoes, the nails - she tried recollecting her list for the day. Tom was chained tight to the ottoman. He could not move far freely but could pull the ottoman out of the front room window if he wished. The clock struck three and she rose from her reverie. She had slept more than usual. She was late by twelve minutes and that too on a day like today.

Tom was his usual vivacious self, barking and wagging his tail relentlessly, looking towards the door. Maybe he heard the faint sound of the opening of the gate. Dogs can do that, she knew it. She got up from the chair, momentarily looked at all corners of the room and walked towards the door. On the way she released Tom and he galloped towards the door. He started barking as though talking to someone on the other side. It should be him. They both could talk, man and his dog. She anticipated the bell would ring before she reached the door. It didn’t. She unlatched the door and opened it. Tom ran out of the house. There was nobody at the door and the main gate was also latched. She looked around. Not even today, she thought. She went back and reclined on the chair. The door was left open for Tom to come back, who would sniff at the gate, all the way back to the front door, then do the same all around the house, and once he is through with the garden, he would come and lie down beside her legs. She would then go and close the door. 

The politics of parenthood

In the light of moral policing and security issues of IIT Madras where media and parents are extremely concerned about the moral decadence of their wards I wonder- What rights does one have on one’s life? It takes me to even larger question, why are we being born? The leap of questions would seem large but my justifications will soon clarify your qualms.

From birth I was reminded I was a girl and hence my role is to study the basic minimum stuff that would help me be a wife material and my education would suffice to teach my kids and therefore save the tuition fare. My uncles still believe it was a mistake letting me choose doctoral studies.

 Why are we as a nation so obsessed with having children and thereby designing their lives? To the extent that we go frenzy when the biological clock ticks away and in sheer desperation get married to any tom, dick and harry. I believe we live in a marriage and procreation obsessed nation where the beauty and true meaning of both the institution of family and commitment is absent. We marry and procreate as casual as a high school kids graduates from school to college.

Many of my friends ( Not all) who are single with a Phd mourn their singlehood and freedom. The one’s married mourn their decision and chaos. And finally what was this race for? For the building of a new generation. What is it about parenthood that makes us so gleefully vocal? Why are  the single and childless shunned by this society? And what does being a parent mean? Isn’t this turning to look like a wasted life?

I fail to understand friends who tell me I have not learnt the true meaning of my existence as a woman Just because I don’t change nappies and feed a baby 24 hours does not mean my life is meaningless. Then of course I am told motherhood has more to it. And I am fed with the Johnson and hohnson dreamy ads. But, I refuse to listen to the sermons of these individuals who fret over their baby’s teething and first step. I refuse to be fooled by Karan Johar movies of parent child love, where duty and honour inter twines to make a melodramatic mis-e scene.I am bogged down by the endless mails from my alumni announcing the birth of their progenies and reminding me I am last in the race. I calm myself and ponder why would I want a child?

I love kids, I really do, but I am not a narcissist to believe my life and this world revolves around my romanitic notions on parenting. I, infact see this as the biggest threat to humankind. In this so called divine intervention which I would call parental engineering we are so obsessed that we no longer enjoy the process. My peers fret over their diets, choice of maternal care, future schools, names, careers for their babies and all I see is a meticulous project plan under process to welcome an individual into the new office called ‘family’.

 Our children become our quests. We procreate to rectify our mistakes, to make amendments, and with the ease of designing our interior décor we design our children. We save, starve, and lavish over our progeny in the hope of recovering from them what we have invested. And no matter how much we deny this to ourselves our true colours come out in the right situations.

So for parents who ask “How dare you decide what you study”? “ How can you decide you are gay?” “ How can you decide whom you marry”? these are those junctures, those right situations when you suddenly realize your children aren’t  shares, fixed deposits and  flexi bonds and you did create them with lot of calculations.And suddenly you lose your marbles, for your children failed you.

I don’t understand who gives a human being the right to decide for another just because he or she is older. After all we all make, have been making and will make mistakes irrespective of our age.  Why is a younger generation and their hormones often blamed for deeming them incapable and us as parents or elders to be demi gods.

In the current debates on alternate sexual preferences, drug abuse and related matters at IIT a voice constant heard is about how much the management owes to parents who have trusted their wards to the institute. Which again makes me ask why does a parent worry so much?  I see this mother staying back at IIT with her daughter over a semester. She is here to help her daughter complete this course while the poor kid is under depression. I wonder what this means. Instead of telling your kid go home and relax you are willing to be by her side to undergo this torture. Is this parental love and responsibility?

I would flatly say no. It is a calculative act. Because the IIT tag sells, the hope that the daughter gets a job, a prospective groom, the offers are endless. And this is not the first case. Many parents I have interacted to whose children are depressed asked me if their child would ever complete his/her degree rather regain sanity.

Lets accept it, we want children because we are bored, or want to strengthen our relationship with our spouse, or to compete with our neighbor, relatives, or to feel successful and get a sense of accomplishment in life. We want children because we worry what the society might tell us if we don’t have them, we want them so that they take care of us, inherit our property, carry our legacy, do what we could never in life. We want them because it is a natural human disposition to have a kid once you get married, as it is to join a college after you finish schooling.But maybe we forget that, they are independent beings in flesh and blood and we have no right to torture them constantly because we bore them for nine months and paid for their expenses. They never asked for any of it.

If this is parenting, I don’t regret being the last one in the race. For I don’t want to commit grave injustice to another generation to fulfill my unfulfilled desires. I am aware of the fact that some smart kid of mine will dig this up down the line to get his or her demands fulfilled but I hope I don’t stand on pedantic pedestal and lead him/her to the option of doing so.

If my child wants to be a homo, atheist, cycle mechanic, I want to be able to trust his decision and only when I can transform my mind to that level would I choose being a parent. And I promise I wont ever make the mistake of owning my child and would always respect his/her identity as an independent one.

And quoting from the tele show Satyameva Jayate I would like to end an age old debate on elderly respect Indian firmly believe in and is the foundation of every family. " It's not elders that should be respected and looked upto, it's the behaviour that should be respected and looked upto". So being a parent does not deserve respect perhaps we have learned from experience that not all elders show responsible and respectable behaviour.So why should they be respected blindfoldedly?

If anything should be respected it's behaviour and that would not give anyone the right over the other just because they are biologically older or hierarchically senior or at advantageous position to fund, curb and control your life.Perhaps we need to have perspectives and a decentralised approach to parenting where we consider children as individuals, where there is a scope for dialogue and a constant    reflexion that we don't do this out of mercy and every child deserves this from a parent.

Ramblings on Sunday

Sunday evenings upset me and it's been worse over the past two years. This weekend was no different. I guess it's because I slogged the whole week expecting a treat to myself on the weekend. I was in for a surprise when I discovered despite paying 2800 bucks the adapter and OS of my laptop doesn't do what it's supposed to. I have no net access in my room and all that thoughts I had to pour out froze. And on further discovery I realised it doesn't have a sound card so if I had to watch a movie I hard to resort to Charlie Chaplin days.

On weekends our hostel is like an open ground with loud speakers. People just ventilate watching movies and listening to music whole day while they clean their rooms, eat, iron, gossip or even sleep. I felt lonely though I did not tell it to anyone after all I had to be uber cool and show I was ok without any entertainment.

Firstly, noone would understand why it would make me lonely, noone seriously has time for all that. Secondly, when you have something and you take it for granted how would you understand the other? so I was silent the whole day. I was in rage and wanted to go down to ritchie street and abuse that bastard who cheated me but I was more upset with the fact that my friend who got my laptop repaired was away for 2 days and left all my calls unanswered. I could not go to the shop and fight without him and now when he's back our week at insti begins. I silently read ladies coupe by Anita Nair. An abandoned book in the department came my way and all the feminist thoughts chortled me even further.

I thought of telling 'Who' how I felt, but he was busy buying tomatoes to cook channa masala. I don't have such pleasures in hostel anymore and perhaps the semester break and luxurious pampering back home is getting to me. I need to restrain myself from getting used to good food, books and movies and accept "Arbeit macht frei"- that work alone will set me free , free from this place , free from depressing thoughts. Maybe I should not be around to experience this alienation and should run to Blore every weekend.

Have you ever tried explaining yourself all the while realizing noone who listened cared while putting up the understanding gesture? I thought of going to Marina beach not for the sea but for the books at Triplicane but once I am moody , I am lazy as well so I tried sleeping but could not.Life is making me a moron or something ghoulish than a moron. What was it about this place that made me like this? All work and no fun makes Bhuji a madwoman !!!!

It's father's day and I miss my dad or maybe I want to miss him to feel even more miserable.And I sit and ponder.... why do some people have it all the easy way? why don't their laptops crash? lightning strike their systems? their father's die ? their siblings suffer? depression haunt them?

And why dont they ever read all these ramblings?????atleast to increase the readership :)

I know its an incosequential,lengthy and confused post - but that's exactly what rambling means.