If I were A Baby Again….

Posted on November 7, 2009 by Guria

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 4; the fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


“Ouuuuuuuccccchhhh”, I gasped, well, of course as silently as possible, without opening my mouth, as one couldn’t do so without choking on water, in here. And anyway, when you hit a guy there, the yell ensuing is hardly audible.

Damn, I hate this life, stuck inside this, this bag full of icky sticky fluid and Sid always punching mom’s stomach, and somehow always manages to find that part. So what if I am protected by thick layer(s) of fats, it still hurts. And it’s not funny. I keep moving, changing my position constantly, as much as I as allowed to, but try living in here for a change. No room to stretch out at all, what was this bag-maker thinking? God, please take me out of here soon, I can’t take this any more. 


Life is painfully pathetic in here. It is barely what it is hyped to be, trust me! I have to have all kinds of food in one state, and no taste! Mom hogs so many dishes, I cannot even smell them, but I have to keep hearing about them, alright. I keep hitting on her walls, with so much space in here, it’s hard not to, and she giggles thinking that I am listening to her and understanding what she is trying to say, or craving for something to eat. It is so very frustrating.


Only today I felt something pressing against me, my stomach and I couldn’t control. I have reflexes too, and yes, I farted, I had to. And the result? Well, Dad actually started dancing gleefully and thought I responded to him and spoke to him. For God’s sake, it was you  pressing against me, and I was the one who ended up bearing the pathetic stink! God, when will you make these elders wise? Will they never grow up?? Send me out, I will make them wise enough for sure.


Thirty Two years later:

My wife Neha, she is expecting our second kid in another month or so. Within a  few days, we will be blessed with our second child.  When my first child Guria was born, I was abroad on a tour working, and was back only after she was a week old. Oh, I so used to miss those precious moments when Guria was inside her womb. The first time when Neha had felt Guria’s kicks inside her stomach, I had felt like leaving my job behind and running back home. Everyone around had rejoiced. And I was slogging in the foreign land unable to be with Neha when she needed me the most, unable to share those cherished moments of our life. But this time I am where my family needs me, Neha needs me, with a promotion to the boot and a comfortable, teetering on luxurious, life, happily waiting for the much awaited, joyous moment together.

Our three-year old Guria keeps patting her Mamma’s stomach wondering why it is so big. These pats are a bit hard- almost like a slap on Neha’s stomach- though it does make Neha a bit uncomfortable, but they are not hard enough to hurt the baby inside as he is well protected there. 


This morning I rested my head on Neha’s abdomen, and was it my imagination or the baby did make a sound, as if he knew, it was his Papa? But whatever it was, the feeling in my heart was incomparable, my hear felt as if it would burst with happiness. I’d never felt so very content and blessed in my life before.

I laughingly told my brother that, I so wish I were a baby again, enjoying all this attention and pampering even before birth, with no worries about feeding the family, work, the future, and only getting mother’s protection, warmth and everyone’s love, all the time. Sid jokingly retorted, that all this love and attention was going to make the baby spoiled even before he is born.


Guria suddenly left her toys and came running to Neha. The usual hard pats landed on Neha’s stomach, and we were all laughing again.

“Eeeeoowwwww” I gasped silently inside Mamma’s stomach. Guria always has to hit me there! Damn you! On the very day I come out, I will kill you, Guria! Just wait!!
P.S. Nomenclature: 
  • Neha and Guria, the blogger masterminds behind this write-up. 
  • Sid, the one who wants to kill them both. 😉

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Posted in BAT, Contests, Laughs | 67 Comments

I love My Name… I think!

Posted on November 1, 2009 by Guria
This is a very strange thing to write about I know, but I felt compelled.

Does anybody know how it feels to not only have a common first name but an equally common surname?

In my school, there was a girl in my year I was never friends with because our names (both first and last) were the same right down to the spelling(!) and as a result we were never put in the same section for our 14 years at school (starting from KG)!

I don’t know, how you feel like (if you have the misfortune of a common name) calling another with your own name, but I feel weird! I keep wondering how should the name should be pronounced, what is the correct intonation, after all Your Name is something that belongs to you but others use it much more often than you do!

I love my name, don’t get me wrong! I love it when they call out my name in a prize distribution, as a winner, as a performer, i love it when —— whispers my name in my ears (:P), somehow it sounds perfect. And he says he loves the way it rolls off his tongue, how could I not like my name! (But to think he calls out to one of the other of my namesakes in the same way!!! Aaarghhh!!!)

But my patience runs short when I can never make an email account with my own name without adding 352565768749899…. after it!!! Like I am the millionth sample or something!

Sometimes I think what were my parents thinking!!!

The worst of the lot is when I have to patiently stand up and ask, ‘Do you mean the one with an H or without it?’.

See, recently in my post-graduate classes there were two of us with the same name with the only distinction that I spelled my name without the ‘H’ and that’s how we had to be recognized! Then we started being called by our roll numbers, I was #1 and she was #41. Our class mates actually had a lot of fun cooking up methods and nicknames to distinguish between us but trust me, we hated all of them. But finally all the creativity went out of the window, she was simply Micro’s S***** as she was originally from Microbiology (in her graduation) and thankfully I was simply “my name” as I hadn’t changed streams and was stuck through the same in both my grads and post-grads. Even though it was one of the stupidest methods, I was secretly glad, as at least once I got to keep my name as it is! 


I just hope my wedding is more hassle-free, and people don’t ask “which S**** is he getting married to?”, after all, the other girl is his friend from school. And his friends still have trouble relating the correct face to the lovely name.


As long as “no wrong number” or hilarious-for-others-only mix-ups (if you get my drift) happens, I am happy! 

And when I have kids I am going to find, or make up if necessary, the most unusual combination of letters resulting in a unique name, even if it is of just passable intonation and much less erotic…


Anyway, at the end of the day, after all grumbling and mumbling, I still love my name, after all it is my name, also… *sigh*  

What’s in a name? Only my pride. And my dignity. And self-loving respect. And unlimited namesakes…

P.S. Guria is a nice name isn’t it? And not that common. It is my favourite public pet name, christened when I was umm… won’t share! 


Posted in Friends, Laughs, Life | 46 Comments

Crammed in One Post: Second Part

Posted on October 31, 2009 by Guria

ANNOUNCEMENT: Oye, even whoever cannot bear to come over here (MM), Please Do even if it is for only and only this post. You may not regret it. And you have some things to collect whether you like it or not. Others, do I have to invite you?

Bring your snack…
I have this cartload of awards to give away. No, I am not that awesome a writer that I got them all together but I do have the grave responsibility of passing them on, but (as many of you already know) I am a bit too lazy. So, the awards have been collecting on my rack (I clean my rack everyday though), and now I have to pass them on. The beauty of it is I also get to keep it. So, umm, lemme count… TEN awards?!! Man, I must be doing something good, somewhere.


I will be giving out five today and let the next opportunity to give out the next five. Simply because, too much of a good thing gives you…err… indigestion?
The first one comes from Shruti and Sid, separately.
Psych Babbler
Sourav
Tharangni(the youngest blogger I know)

This one comes from a very sweet and simple girl (no one would believe otherwise) pra. Thank you so much! 🙂 
This awards comes with the rules: 

“Honest Scrap” Award, is given by bloggers to other bloggers who express themselves and write/blog from their heart and soul.

List 10 honest things about yourself — and make them interesting, even if you have to dig deep! Pass the award on to 7 bloggers who you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap and whose blogs you find brilliant in design and content.

So, I am so honoured that pra, one of the most honest and heartfelt bloggers I know thought of me as an embodiment of those virtues. I guess, since I do call myself ‘Misfit’, I can’t get more honest than that.
So, to list my 10 (T E N !!!) honest things about myself! And since I already have got the award, I can lie now right? Err… No? Okay, I’m scratching my grey cells… 

  1. I have a problem in believing that I am actually brilliant, I keep telling people that, I’m just barely above average.
  2. I love showing the thumb to people, literally and figuratively, and in most cases, only when they deserve it. Otherwise when they are irritating (do not ask what it means).
  3. I hate empty words (not the words meaning ’empty’) no matter who they come from, worthless and undeserving accolades.
  4. Sarcasm helps me to keep people at an arm’s length. Though, sometimes I just like the feel of it. After all, it is the language I speak best 😉
  5. I want to learn how to ride a bike very badly. By hook or by crook.
  6. I am an idealist which doesn’t mean that I am not practical, or a realist but that I always aim for the stars, and believe in the best of people.
  7. One of the most difficult questions that can be put to me is “What is your favourite colour?”… I love colours, including black (lack of all colours) and white (mixture of all colours) and everything in between, asking me to choose one is akin to torture.
  8. Family will always be more important to me than career. Career I can manage any time (remember, I am brilliant) but building a happy family is something that only a woman can do. For me it’s not a case of ‘either-or’ but of priorities.
  9. I am rarely satisfied.
  10. And whatever my nosey relatives say (me being the eldest daughter in the family and all) every time they see me in a saree (while in jeans it’s another story, the usual question then is, “which standard are you in?”), I am NOT getting married before (at least) 28. *i am actually sticking out my tongue* 
So there, did 10 really honest things, in the ultimate maverick-ly misfit style! 

Now to do the honours… these are literally the most honest bloggers I know. (some obvious ones have been left out because they already have been honoured) 
Maverick
Naveen
Neha
rimz
Samadrita
soin
This was given to me by Sammy, this is her own award. Doubled by Sid, again! Thanks, guys!:)
This one, I am passing on to all those bloggers I have come across who are honestly few of the better writers around, poetry or stories or 55F, they entrall with each and every piece they spin!
Aditya (a profound writer, and an honest reader) 
Avada Kedavra (a thoughtful and talented writer)
Amit (the most mesmerising writes ever)
Frozenwell (a poet of deep thoughts, though is really a pranskter)
Harsha (captures the ordinary and changes to extraordinary)
Hopeless Romantic (who has stopped writing, but still…)
Indian Pundit (you’ll be made to think by this intelligent writer)
Kay (her poetry talks of every hidden emotion)
Neha (insightful and gifted, look out for the thrills)
Maverick (words that spill over feelings, never told before)
Pawan (a feel good writer, churns magic)
Pramoda (of values and thoughts, vibrantly profound)
Rahul (an observer, and an engaging one at that)
Rocksea & Sarah (creates magic out of the most inane, enthralls)
Shilpa Garg (food for thought, and re-evaluate)
Shilpa Sharma (she’ll have you hooked, nice and proper)
Shruti (Queen of 55F, brave and true heart)
Stephen (makes writing an art, gregarious)
Suga (thoughts and words to stay with you long after)
Vipul (the master at writing and making others write)
Yellow Tulip (poetry that you read with bated breath)

This comes from a very dear girl, Rohini.

This is “A Good Blog” award that I am passing on as a “Great” blog award to all those blogs that I regularly click-through the most. The contents are always much awaited, and when they are infrequent, the Misfit behaves like an addict, low on dope… Here goes… (I am choosing twenty only)
Indian Pundit
Neha
Rahul
Sid
Shankar
Shruti
Stephen
Vipul
And this one comes from the renouncer of blog awards, Sourav 😉
I am passing this on to all of them that I enjoy visiting all the time. Few of my favourite blogger individuals, brought together by our common hobby, set apart by their own unique styles. I do love your blogs! My recent addi(c)tions!

P.S. For several of you I am definitely not the first, nor the last, to recognise your worth as a blogger, so kindly don’t yawn when you see that you have been given an award you already have, but accept it as a tribute to your AWESOMENESS from this poor Misfit girl… 😛

Again, several of us, unlike several others, will be oh-so-bored at another awards post, and only blink a half more on seeing your name. you are most welcome to neither display, nor accept, nor even acknowledge the award. No obligations. 😉

Have I linked to all of your blogs? If not, could you please leave your links at the comments section for better visibility? And please, please, please forgive my laziness 😛
I think I may have linked everyone at least once…

Hopefully I have not left any one out. I have a tendency to be forgetful, as is the case with most genius. If you are deserving and I have missed you (meaning I know you and then missed you) drop a word. (As if people wait all their lives for recognition from me…)

Posted in Bloggers | 33 Comments

Just because I’m Female…

Posted on October 26, 2009 by Guria
…do I have to be a Feminist?

I am honestly puzzled.

All the opinions expressed and arguments presented are mine, no one has to agree to them. This is not written as an amusement for the men, or for ridiculing anyone but an honest approach to try and bring clarity to what I consider a very muddy subject. I am keen to know what You think. Any mistake, please feel free to mention it, and I’ll try to rectify it immediately.
I have been reading/hearing the word “feminist” expressed in so many places in such varied instances that I felt compelled to look up its meaning. Yeah, I don’t know what it means, after all hearsay is inadmissible in the court of law.
My beloved Google came up with such immensely controversial explanations that I ended up more befuddled than before. So I sought refuge with the age-old method and reverted to my dear ole’ Oxford Dictionary.
feminism :

  • n. a movement or theory supporting women’s rights on the grounds of equality of the sexes

Is that what it means???
Now I am even more puzzled.

I’ll tell you what I found to be the standing meaning of “Feminism” is/was.

#1 A woman should have the freedom to do whatever a man can do.

Last I knew there were only two sexes amongst humans, then who are the women asking the permission from? But I am digressing…
So, according to that statement, I’ve seen women want the freedom to smoke outside, get drunk out on the roads, just like the men, you see! I mean, I have to do whatever a man can do. No choice about whether it is good or bad, I just want to be allowed able to do it. That’s one form of feminism I have actually seen. I do not know whether it includes giving up all those a man cannot do, and only a woman can. Don’t you think there is something wrong with the statement? To me, it sounds to be a case of inferiority complex and nothing else.

#2 Feminists have become synonymous with man-hater

I think this probably the worst interpretation of the word “feminism”, a personal vendetta against men. I cannot talk about the validity of being a man-hater because one shouldn’t talk about what one doesn’t understand. But to use the pretext of achieving equality for women to provoke or try to convert other women into hating men is despicable.

#3 As a woman and feminist you should always choose another woman

Scenario: Elections of United States, 2008
Case: Hilary Clinton put her hopes into her being a woman to get the votes of the female population when vying against Barack Obama for running in the Presidential Elections.
It is funny how being a feminist forces you to choose or support another woman, just because you are one. I thought feminism was about freedom, but here it seems the freedom comes with the price of being shackled in exactly the opposite way. Choose a woman (no one’s asking about your choice) because you are one. I was happy Obama ran for the President instead of Clinton, that was my choice.

So with all these points in mind, do you think I was wrong in saying I am NOT a feminist?


~What I think~

Why should I want to be like a man when I am born to be different? Why should I ask for permission from anyone, man or woman, just to be who I am? Feminism is required to show the women the way to believe that they are also worthy human beings. It should be there to help them gather the will to break through the shackles of that society that undermines women. For you can do everything for an abused, but if the abused doesn’t help herself, or doesn’t have the will to free herself, no one can help her (this just an example to stress the point). Equality should be stressed in letting a woman play to her strengths, accomplish what she is capable of acheiving, of pursuing her hobbies, her talents, of giving a woman a chance at her dreams, her wishes. Being a feminist doesn’t mean you give up your role as a nurturer, as a mother, as a wife, as a daughter-in-law or as a daughter. Feminism should teach other women to enjoy their difference from the men, to never think less of themselves and be who they are. As a woman, one should have the freedom of choosing whatever she wants. I can want to have a son or a daughter, I can have a man as my best friend, my choice will be as an individual, unaffected by any kind of forced gender bias. And others, especially men, should also understand that. Everything is not decided, or even affected, by what my gender is. That is what, I believe Equality entails. The first thing that equality requires is to understand there is no one superior, and no one inferior, and know it yourself, and know it in your heart. The movement starts at home.


What I believe I am or always want to be is a woman (and not be like a man), as feminine as I have been created to be, with the freedom to think, decide and choose independently. If being a feminist means just this and nothing else, then yes, I am a feminist.

P.S. Read this wonderful poem and feel the beauty of life. It’s my favourite. And somehow is so right here. Feel it: Menstruation by Rocksea. G. 🙂
Posted in Man and Woman, Me, Observer, Society | 60 Comments

The Morning After

Posted on October 24, 2009 by Guria
An imagination allowed to run wild about a woman’s perception (and descrption) of her Morning After…

~
The mist was clearing, the dawn breaking
A moment in a lifetime slipped through,
In the morning after, revealing a bliss, anew.
Turning over to face the remnants of ecstasy,
A feeling of deja vu and one of wonder
That all of it was real, that it did happen
The nuances of pain, mingled in pleasure-
A pleasure, unsurpassable by any in all worlds.
Content and sated, an unknown warmth crept over,
A feeling of wholeness, that I could live with forever.
I wondered and wondered, rapidly filled with elation,
I lay my head on his shoulder, saw the rising sun-
A small smile stole its way, with dawning comprehension
That Morning After I knew, he was in me- our Son.
~
N.B. Do let me know what I need to know… 
Awaiting your views Reading After! 
G. 🙂
Posted in Creations, Happy, Life, Verses | 35 Comments

The Final Expedition

Posted on October 21, 2009 by Guria
At that first glance, she just looked reed thin but then that was expected. If at that, one would hazard a guess and decide that she was barely in her mid-teens, the error in judgement would be huge. It was only when one looked on closely, a trait imperative in his profession, that one noticed the curves that could never belong to just a teenager.

His first impression of her was the dirty, yet poignantly lovely child-like face lit up with simple joy that was so incongruous with her surrounding that it had the combined effect of him being sucker-punched in the gut. It was not the attraction for the fairer sex, though Lord knew, no one appreciated them more than he, neither was it the thrill of capturing a captivating subject through his lenses, a thrill that had directed him to be the celebrated photographer that he was, it was something much, much more potent than that. Dusk reflected in her eyes, with the falling sun’s rays rapidly being overshadowed by the storm clouds, but could not hide the childish yearning of frolic and merry in them.

Age and experience hardens everybody, no one escapes it or so he believed. As a photographer he had travelled places unreachable and unthinkable to common man and had pictured first hand what misery could be. The effect of his wanderings had resulted in contempt, bitterness towards the elite social circles in his personal life, women who thought themselves abused if refused another fur or trinket by their husbands, men losing thousands over a game of poker or a race-horse in an evening’s recreation, children who threw tantrums over any single thing that didn’t go their way, all in all people who had everything in life, and yet were not happy at all. Husbands kept mistresses and wives cheated on their husbands, money spent recklessly and lives were empty.

He hadn’t chosen disdain but it was impossible to sympathize when he had seen children fighting over one morsel of food, teenage mother scavenging for food against the abilities of her body for that child which wouldn’t live for long anyway. He had seen ten people residing in a single room which would have been too small for three people, families braving elements to live under the open sky for want of a roof, women selling their virtues for nothing just to live another day, children travelling miles in a day just to get water to drink. What he had seen in each of the remotest part of the world that the common man knew naught about was, despair and disillusionment. Hope and happiness were aliens where men and women struggled just to see another dawn.

And he had thought he had seen everything.

In that moment suspended in time, he could only stand and stare at that child-woman. For a blink of an eye, he could forget that the woman with the musical laughter, running about in the field chasing the snowflakes, was one of the refugees of the camp, who had no place to live, no food to eat, no warm clothes to wear in the cold weather. She seemed totally unmindful to the fact that it was fast approaching zero degrees and she was wearing just a long skirt and blouse that would be better described as rags. Her eyes were alight with joy and she was running and skipping over the rapidly-turning-white grass, her long, unkempt, dirty black hair flying behind her. She was the widow of one of the men in the camp, he found out. She had lost both her husband and her child to famine and drought, he learned. And he couldn’t help gaping in awe. She had lost everything but he saw in her what he had never seen before, the spirit to live.

He watched her play around like a small kid from afar, till late. As she made to return, he scurried back to the camp before she could spot him watching. As with every place he had been to, he was an intruder in that camp too, and he was treated with polite courtesy and caution. Every expedition he had been to, capturing essence of human lives, the job had been done in exchange for mere money, a few dollars were riches for them and it had been no different here. He sat around a fire inside a tent with his expedition team, along with few other refugees of the camp, talking and learning. A little later, the woman came forward tentatively. He could see her longing for the warmth of the fire. He invited her to join the group and she acquiesced with a slight nod.

Conversations went around the fire for hours in the tent, with a slow storm raging outside. The food and fire provided by the expedition team went a long way to help eliciting answers to his subtly prodding and sensitive questions about their lives in a light-hearted banter. But all the time, he could feel the woman’s eyes on him, slightly bemused and wondering.

The next morning, the last of his trip, he woke up early as was his habit and wandered out of his tent to explore. The grounds had turned white overnight, the sky was still grey with a hint of blue near the mountain peak which was barely discernible in that foggy morning. He was startled out of his reverie when someone called out to him. Somehow he was not surprised to see that woman standing there.

Up close, her quaintly pretty face was lined with fatigue and the long years of hardship. Her voice had a high timbre and an abrasive edge to it which somehow was more endearing with the image he had of her in his mind. She spoke haltingly and uncertainly in the native language he understood, and this was the gist of it.

“I heard from the others, that you are a big man and very famous. You take pictures and write stories about us. But I think you are taking wrong pictures.”

He was taken aback. Whatever he had expected from her and he was not sure what, it was not this. She continued hesitantly.

“You take pictures of our camp and our suffering but you do not see the Nature. They make happier pictures. Then when you will think back, you will think good things. I will be your guide and show you where you can take nice pictures.”

He knew of the lake near the foot of the mountain where she took him to but hadn’t visited. It wasn’t a part of his expedition. She took him to the lush green, now snow-capped forest and to a cliff from where they beheld the panaromic view of the camp below. He wasn’t a nature photographer but his stills that day surpassed many of those who excelled in nature photography. They made it back even before the others had woken up.

He tried to show his gratitude and his inner celebration of her spirit in the only way he could, by taking out a couple of hundred dollar notes. He knew it would go a long way in abating her plight as a refugee. But she just shook her head, smiled lightly and turned away saying, “Give it to the children.”

As she walked away from him, in an unprecedented show of bafflement, he shouted after her. “How do you do it? How are you so content even… even… in midst of all this?” He asked her gesturing towards the slowly-stirring camp.

She turned back to him and earnestly replied.

“You see, you just live one day. I take one day and live. So, no matter if I see another day or not. After all, some see many ‘one day’ and some less. Then why live the day sad?”

He stared after her as she walked back to her camp and stood there for a long time.

He had thought, he knew everything there was to know in this life, but he was taught what it is to live by a woman who lived in that part of the world where suffering was a way of life, who had lost everything and had nothing to live for.

He never saw her again.


—————————————————————–


In the opulently decorated home of a renowned globe-trotter and photographer, there only hung a single life-sized photograph- a wide-eyed, bereft-looking woman with arms splayed wide dancing in the snow in falling sunlight. People knew it was his picture symbolising Life and Hope, as he had told many. 

But no one knew the story.


____________________________________

This story is very close to my heart, a completion of a thought, a revival of sorts, a favourite with a few of my favourite readers. Republishing on request. Neha, you listening? G.
Posted in Creations, Happy, Life, Non-Fiction, Novelette, Philosophy | 20 Comments

Bittersweet

Posted on October 15, 2009 by Guria
Their love story had had a clichéd beginning, the usual first sight thing. And now their love story was going to have a clichéd ending too. He was dying.


She sat all by herself in the vinyl chair outside his hospital room. The doctor had just been around. The others who had been with her, had followed the doctor to his chamber, talking incessantly about things that could still be done.


“Why don’t we try that new medicine in market” 
“What about further chemotherapy?”

“We think, we’d like a second opinion” 

And on and on it went. 
He’d contracted one of the most popular diseases of the time. Cancer. All of them could talk and plan and ask, but she knew there was nothing more left to do for him. Just as she knew in her heart that his day was fast coming to an end.
What was she going to do, she thought dully. Follow after him? Or go with him maybe, together. A whole and healthy life was spread ahead in front of her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of it. 
May be the people she had detested, those who took away their own lives, were after all not the gutless she had judged them to be. And even if they were, she didn’t mind belonging to that group of people. At least the pain would be less. But it wasn’t an option for her.
Her eyes were painfully dry as she stared unseeingly at the opposite stark, white hospital walls. 
He had known. She hadn’t. He had secretly braved through the diagnosis and the initial treatment alone. And then he had known there was no hope. His eyes had revealed the end of their story when he had finally told her. No more words had been necessary. She hadn’t shed a single tear. It was as if something inside her had shrivelled up and died.
And now she was the one who had to be brave. And alone.
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting like that, when she heard Mark call out to her softly, “Clara!”
She broke out of her trance and hurried inside his room.
“Hey! You are awake! The doctor’s just been around.” She smiled softly into his eyes, laying a hand on his chest, as she went and perched on his bed. “Are you hungry, darling? We can have pizza, if you like, with lots of olives…”
Mark kept smiling faintly, and didn’t say anything as she kept talking. 
“…Or may be you again want me to cook, you always do that! Just because it gives you a chance to laugh at my culinary skills…”
“Clara…”, Mark spoke softly.
“…Or may be you want those greasy fries you love so much. Or may be I’ll ask your Aunt to do the cooking, everything boiled, it would serve you so right…”
“Clara!”, Mark interrupted again, forcefully this time, touching her flushed cheek with his unfettered hand and bringing her babble to an abrupt halt.
“I’m sorry”, he said, “I am so very sorry, darling.”
She breathed deeply, forgetting that she had to be brave, she turned away her face and nodded, not trusting her voice, afraid of what was in her eyes.
“Look at me, Clara. Look. At. Me.”
She looked at that once-handsome face, now gaunt and wasted from the rigorous treatments but still so beloved, and unconsciously tried to memorise every plane and every line.
“You have a whole life ahead of you, make it beautiful, live it wholly, marry again. Don’t shut yourself from the world, love.”


She shook her head, not angry but tired.
Mark, however, retorted angrily in his weak voice, “Dammit, Clara! You’ll do just as I say. If you can’t listen to me, at least, honour a dying man’s last request!”
She looked at him, smiling sadly, her eyes full of love, for several endless moments.
“How can I marry again when I still have you? How can you die when you are alive in me?”
Tears spilled over from the corners of his eyes, “Clara…”
Clara shook her head and placed a finger on his lips. She took a deep breath, smiled vibrantly and said, “I have something to tell you.”
She lifted his hand, held it next to her heart and then placed it lightly, palms-down on her abdomen.
They looked at each other, in that interminable moment of time, in silence, with increasing wonder, and endless love. And together they started laughing and crying all at once. In joy, this one last time.
Posted in Creations, Life, Love, People and Relationships | 50 Comments

Lions: My Pet Fascination

Posted on October 14, 2009 by Guria
Lions and tigers are my favourite animals, I wish I could have one of either (I am not choosy) as a pet. Recently I went to Assam. In a certain tea garden, the manager, his wife and son had rescued a dying five-days-old leopard cub who had been forsaken by her mother, nursed her, trained her and had her for several months (with the Forest Division’s permission). Next time they get one I will surely make it my pet.
I was sad that very few people understood the last fiction easily. I realise, not every one shares my craze for tigers and lions. For me, what is common knowledge, it might not be for several. So here are a few snippets I have written in a hurry to share. Because these animals are the most fascinating creatures to walk the earth. Here are the lions as I saw the, as I know them.
This is a snap of the lion’s den or hideout, where the family was having an afternoon siesta. There were in all about four lions, and twelve lionesses along with several cubs frolicking about in the den. These many numbers we could see, there may have been more around, hidden among the long grasses. The hill is known as “Lion’s Hill” because of the huge pride staying there. Lions are also very territorial, though relatively much less than tigers.
The lioness had got on the alert the moment she smelled zebras in the vicinity, the smell carried by the light breeze. Since the breeze was towards the lions’ den, away from the zebras, the zebras had come very near the foothills of the den while grazing, unaware.
The lionesses usually hunt in pairs or small groups at breaking dawn or very early morning. A single lioness may also be the lone hunter when she is hunting to feed her cubs but usually most lionesses of a pride (lions living together, or the family) hunt together. 
Lions are usually very lazy. They only hunt by themselves, when they are hungry and the wives (a lion usually has 3-4 partners) haven’t or did not hunt. Or may be simply because the lion doesn’t want to share. The lionesses are the ones who procure food for the family. However, for taking down the big animals, like buffaloes, the lions often accompany the hunting groups.
My observation was, as much the lions are beautiful with their golden mane of hair, the lionesses look much more stronger, muscular and aptly look like a hunting carnivore. The lionesses are much more regal, and it shows in their walk. The lions really move majestically but watching the lioness’ stately prowl in their slow pace is most fascinating.


In the above picture, the lioness came down from the top of the hillock, and sat next to our Jeep, waiting for another lioness who was coming. The lionesses usually stay within a few kilometres radius around the lion in all directions, and usually keep a look out.A lion/lioness can see seven times the distance than a normal human eye.
This is another picture I took, that of a lioness and her cubs having a meal. The lioness had just killed the zebra all by herself for the family, especially her cubs.


A zebra lasts for the family for about three days, so it can be estimated that this lioness did not hunt till the fourth day. The lioness uses her sharp canines to cut out the stomach, and then the cubs can feed on it. They mainly feed on the stomach and some surrounding muscles. A deer lasts for only a day or so for the lions, and the rare buffaloes longer.
Here’s another snap of a lion and lioness, at 6 o’clock in the morning who crossed in front of our Jeep, possibly tired after a whole night’s work. They went behind a large bush and sat down in the shade. The lions with their yellow-brown coat colour are barely discernible when they stalk in the grass. The lion went to sleep at once and the lioness kept a vigil for some time before lying down next to him.

We saw them get up from their slumber and prowl back into the darkness at around half past six in the evening of the same day. Just check out their gait, and the grand bearing. No wonder lions are called the King of the Jungle.
I hope you enjoy these photographs as much as I do, and hopefully, now you know a bit more about these wondrous creatures, the lions. For me, they are simply amazing!



N.B. All the photographs were taken by us (my sister and I) in Masai Mara, Kenya, October 2008. G.
Posted in Nature, Passions, Photography, Travel | 22 Comments

A Matter of "Pride"

Posted on October 12, 2009 by Guria
I had killed him unnecessarily. 
It was not needed.

I was at a loss about what to do. Hide it? Or tell her the truth?
Before I could decide, or even think, I heard the soft, lithe footsteps of my wife. She appeared out of the darkness. She always knows where to find me.
She looked puzzled for a moment on seeing the blood on me. Then she looked at the body at my feet, and paled visibly. She looked back at me with her big, dark eyes, full of reproach.
“I didn’t know, you had so little faith in me.”
I tried to tell her, I didn’t kill him because I lacked faith in her. I tried to nuzzle her and  tell her, it was just an act in the heat of the moment.
She just shook her head and stepped back.
I didn’t know what to do or say. I knew I had hurt her terribly.
She sighed, and started dragging the body towards our hideout without looking at me. I followed her at a distance, reprimanded by her silence, her loyalty and ashamed by my own loss of control.
After all I wasn’t hungry, and in our prides, the females hunt. 
It’s a matter of honour.



N.B.  I need to stay away from the blog to get my work done but dammit, I just don’t seem to be able to do that. I’ll be here off and on, just to stay sane, with occasional snippets. Do tell me, did you understand this one???  G.



Addendum: May be I am too intelligent for my own good, or utterly hopeless… ever heard of the phrase (or the collective noun) “a pride of lions”… the lioness is the one who hunts animals for the lion family, to eat! The ‘faith’ talked about here is the lion’s faith in her hunting abilities…see here… better now? G. 🙂

Posted in Creations, Nature | 31 Comments

Just Like A Piece of Cloth

Posted on October 11, 2009 by Guria
Like a piece of cloth, it got
All admiration it was worth,
And he thought,
Let it me cut it out
And wear it around
Turn heads, double takes;
And people think
He’s rich, he’s talent,
Wrapped in a coat
Of sophistication,
No one could see
The veneer beneath
Of utter desperation,
To be who he never can be.
But any lengths he’ll run,
To hide the truth
And shoot the gun,
Power he needs
And ego he feeds.
The cloth got him all
Through bruises and cuts,
Ripped and shreds,
But the cloth didn’t know
That good time fades;
It kept loving, giving
Believing in his best.
Left behind with the ascent
Torn and tattered,
For no more it mattered
It was only a discard,
For higher, for better
Who his needs would fetter.
Only it wasn’t a cloth he cut,
But a woman’s beating heart.

N.B. If do not understand this piece of God-only-knows-what, you are better off.
Posted in Creations, Loss, Love, Verses | 12 Comments