The Shadow

It came to my house.
It sat on my shoulders.
Your shadow is yours. I told it so. I said it was yours.
I have carried it with me too long. I give it back

The Shadow

I AM BEAUTIFUL!!! I AM beautiful!! I am beautiful! AM I beautiful?? Am I?? Am I? Am I…..

The affirmative phrase was slowly wearing itself down to an interrogative.

It was supposed to work as an affirmation. The self-help book Sandhya was reading had prompted her to follow this technique. The writer instructed her to stand in front of the mirror and repeat this mantra aloud many times. She tried it honestly, for many days but to no avail.

She was standing in front of her dressing table in her room. It was a sparsely decorated room in black and white. It had an array of lotions and cream tubes and jars but strangely no make-up. Dad didn’t allow her to apply even kajal in her eyes. “You don’t need more shades of black on your face”, he had said, once.

Sandhya was dark, with curly short hair. Not fair. Now twelve years old, she had a dialogue with God every day. She always asked, “Why didn’t you give me mom’s complexion and hair?” Her mother was fair with smooth black hair. Relatives and friends who saw either of them for the first time unfailingly commented, “You haven’t taken after your mom.” It just broke her heart. Why didn’t they look beyond her complexion? Her features resembled her mom!

In this modern city there were mostly north Indians who had migrated from small towns and brought the traditional concept of beauty with them. Fair was the ideal definition of a girl. It didn’t matter whether she had the brain to do anything worthwhile or not. Sandhya didn’t fit the mould. She was smart, articulate, intelligent and a good student. A topper, a great athlete, loved to read, knew how to play the sitar and was extremely good at dancing. But did all this even matter?

All she wanted was to be called pretty and that she was not because she had taken after her father. He was dark. Dad had been dazed by her mom’s fair complexion. That the halo was affecting his daughter was a fact oblivious to him. Every fairness cream in the market was promptly brought home and rubbed on to her poor face even if she hated it. She knew that it won’t make her fair…nothing could. Bright colours like red and yellow were banned from her wardrobe. Apparently they made her look darker.

Time passed; she grew up quickly. Now sixteen, she was still dark, that wouldn’t change, but now she was tall and slim and had a neat plait. They had a wedding to attend at Agra- city of the Taj Mahal. Man, was she excited! She had new dresses stitched for different days, matched her shoes and jewellery and this time she was determined to style her hair and also put on makeup.

She hoped in her heart that she would meet someone who would find her attractive. Times were changing from Cindy Crawford to Naomi Campbell and she hoped that at least some people would look beyond this deep set complexion bias.

They reached Agra and from the word go a handsome boy was shadowing her…she was thrilled. Absolutely surprised at the attention. Those three days were a breeze. She was in the throes of ecstasy. But she never responded to the advances. Wasn’t it enough that she could attract someone? That she was not ugly. Maybe it wasn’t enough. She needed THIS affirmation in more concrete terms. So she didn’t take any risk.

Over the years she met many admirers but none of them whispered those three words in her ears. None of them told her that they found her pretty. She kept wondering why these words eluded her. “Maybe I really am ugly”, she thought. She had tried to grow up normally like any other girl. Had a developed shapely figure and kept fit. She had learned to put on some make-up and refined her dress sense. Outwardly she was smart and confident but the longing to be called pretty was still burning.

Then she met Rajeev. He was so handsome! Fair, with a Greek God face and big, deep brown, expressive eyes. All the girls in the locality swooned over his good looks and wanted to have a glimpse of his smile. If he condescended to talk to one of them, it was an achievement to be touted about for months. It was rumored that he had at least six girlfriends.

He teased her on the road and she reacted with a cutting phrase. He wanted to meet and talk. He conveyed this through a friend. They didn’t have Facebook and cell phones those days. She was floored. ‘The God’ himself wanted to meet her!! She dressed with care and applied lip gloss and kohl. She lied to her father and went to meet him in a nearby restaurant. They had a quiet conversation about mutual interests and hobbies, normal chit chat. Just when they were about to leave he asked, “When can we meet again?” “Anytime”, she wanted to answer but she didn’t want to appear stupid so she said, “I’ll call you” and left.

They met off and on and had long chats over the phone. It went on for two years but Sandhya was always cautious. She didn’t want to be overwhelmed by anyone but the attention was exhilarating. He professed his admiration and love again and again.

Then one day she asked him casually, “ Why did you fall so hard for me?” He smiled and said, “Because you are beautiful Sandhya and I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I always wanted a pretty girl like you. You are smart, intelligent and pretty, a complete package."

Now she could moult.

Now she could come out of her cocoon of darkness and go out on her bright wings.

Those few genuine words lifted the veil of darkness from her mind and heart. Now she could stand in the room and not have to repeat those affirmations. She had heard of simple words having profound meaning, now she understood.

Now, after twenty years,  she could get out of her mother’s shadow and see her own self in the mirror and believe the words, “I AM Beautiful!”

The Hand That Smoked - A Short Story

Boom! There was a loud thud from behind the house. A crunching sound came from the backyard.

 Vijay was reading his favourite Alistair Maclean novel sitting in the front porch. The weather was cold and dry. It was relaxing to read in the afternoon sun. He was feeling lazy and sleepy. The rented bungalow where they lived was just below the highway. There was a forest sloping down the back of the house full of green tall trees laden with plums and pine cones, a natural playground with ample scope of fun and pranks.

He instantly knew that his little brothers were up to some nuisance again when he heard Beeji shout his name at the top of her voice, “Vijay! Vijay!” she screamed on the top of her voice. He was sure now that something was wrong. Beeji never disturbed him when he was reading! It must be something those pranksters had done again!

They were six brothers. Vijay was the eldest. He was good at studies and was always absorbed in either his course books or the novels he loved to read. He liked to watch movies and listen to film songs. The ones younger to him were also staid and quiet but the youngest two were very naughty and destructive. They kept Beeji, their mother on her toes all day.  There was always something to be repaired in the house and there was always someone hurt needing first aid.  The other day the carom game heated up and Daman bust the board on Shekhar’s head.

Vijay loved his little brothers but was always worried about them. “Why can’t they be a little bit calmer?” he said to himself often. No amount of scolding or beating helped. The two were incorrigible.  

Vijay wondered aloud, “what is it now? What have they broken?” Thinking about going to the bazaar again and getting whatever was broken repaired. It was a long trek to the bazaar in this small hill town. He hoped it was not his new pocket transistor that had faced their wrath. He had bought it from the money he earned by giving tuitions to Kamla maasi’s little girl. Maasi insisted on paying him on a monthly basis. It was good to be able to earn some extra cash. He could now listen to his favourite Mohd. Rafi songs on the new imported transistor he had bought with that money.

Papaji, their father was a clerk in the Accountant Generals office. He had eight mouths to feed and six of them were boys growing everyday and an emergency was always an added expense. Papaji always had his ears full of complaints and laments when he returned home from office but he was a patient and proud father along with being a strict disciplinarian.

All these thoughts were pushed back from Vijay’s mind when he saw the scene at the back of the massive house they lived in.  Dinesh was lying twisted below the big plum tree in a heap of squashed fruit. His clothes were stained and dirty with the fruit juice and dirt. Clearly he was not able to get up. Beeji was hitting both him and Daman with a branch of the tree and shouting her choicest invectives on the top of her voice. “It’s the routine pandemonium again” thought Vijay.

Then he saw it! Dinesh was not able to get up when Daman coerced him to run in order to escape the thrashing. He was nursing his broken leg. They had been trying to climb the tree to pluck some plums. Vijay asked Beeji to calm down and Daman to get water for her as well as Dinesh. Then he carried Dinesh in his arms and took him inside the house.

They lived in Shimla. In 1960s it was a small town with very less vehicular traffic. People preferred to walk. Their home at Sanjauli was at least six arduous kilometres form the nearest hospital. They didn’t have any vehicle and it was out of question to call an ambulance! That was an additional, unaffordable expense. The only option was to carry little Dinesh all the way to the hospital on foot. Vijay knew it was his burden. He was the eldest son after all.

He asked Beeji to stay at home and took some money from her. Asked Shekhar the one younger to him to wear his shoes and accompany him and sent Daman to inform Papaji who was in his office at the Mall Road.“Daman should also pay the price of his naughtiness!” He told Beeji. He had the longest distance to cover. The Mall was at least 10 kilometres away and the route was steep incline.

They reached the hospital and Papaji came. He was a sweet natured man; he didn’t shout or curse anyone but his wife. He was proud of his sons and expected one or the other to cause some mischief in a week or so. After all that’s what all boys did. How else did you expect them to grow big?

It was evening by then and Dinesh was very weak with exhaustion and still in pain. The doctor asked Papaji to stay back the night as the boy was under observation. Shekhar had gone home as soon as Papaji came from the office and taken Daman back with him. The government hospital didn’t have a bed or bedding for Papaji to spend the cold night in. It fell on Vijay again to fetch the bedding and a quilt from home.

Now this was the part he was dreading most. He wanted to be the one who stayed back. He didn’t want to go home alone in that cold winter night. Papaji scolded him mildly and asked him to run along. He didn’t understand why his eldest boy was avoiding going home. He was his most responsible and unspoilt child.

Boy! Was he scared! His native friends had told him so many stories and folk tales about witches and ghosts wandering about here and there in this small enchanted hill station but no tale had stuck in his mind like the one that Ramesh Thakur his best friend had told him. This wild tale had been circulating since last 10 years!!

One day when they were walking back from the school, Ramesh had warned Vijay to never go along the Snowdon Hospital –Sanjauli route at night. He said that along a stretch of the maidaan there, a hand severed from its body and dripping blood asked for a cigarette from the passersby. If you have one on you and a light too…You were lucky because ‘it’ will then politely thank you and go away taking the cigarette with it. But damned you were if you didn’t have it...because it then followed you and pushed you in the khud.

Vijay was scared to death now. He had avoided that path since that story day. He didn’t smoke and there was no chance in eternity for him to have a cigarette on him EVER. He was not a coward but why take unnecessary risks. He had a life to live and simple dreams to chase. He didn’t want to end up in a khud. Sometimes a dead body was never found in there, what with the leopards, foxes and hyenas dragging the half live men for their dinner deep into the forest.

But today he had to take that dreaded turn and cross the maidaan where the hand would appear and ask for a cigarette. He thought of buying one and a matchbox but no paanwallah will give it to him and if Papaji came to know about it, then he would have had it- not the cigarette but the dreaded spanking. He didn’t hit them normally but when he did it was all hell turned loose. The dilemma was looming large now. Papaji would tolerate no more dithering. He had to go!

He started the long haul home, sure that Papaji and Beeji would lose a son today. His every step was slow and heavy. He wanted to invoke all the Gods these native hill people worshipped. But no prayers came to his mind. He was so frightened that he could not even remember the school prayer that they sang every day in the assembly. He was doubtful though that it would help.

He was also thinking about Papajis discomfort. He will have to sleep without bedding and quilt today. Vijay knew that he was never going to be able to get back alive to the house. Even if he did- maybe someone else would give a cigarette to the hand just a moment before Vijay reached the turn and it will be gone and busy smoking giving him the time to sprint across the maidaan-he still had the return journey to make. No one could be twice lucky; he will certainly be down the khud on the return trip.

It was October; a cold dry month and the night was starlit. The sky seemed so close that it looked easy to reach for the stars and grab a handful. The breeze was whishing through the tall deodar trees and the woodsy smell of pine trees was exhilarating. Nature was at its beautiful best but Vijay was oblivious of this dark beauty. All he could see was dark lightless paths and dreadful shapes in the dark night which shadows of things cast on other things. The sound of breeze was not sweet to his ears, it seemed to give him a warning that his dreadful end was crouching behind that wall where the maidaan started. There was no cover to run for. The hand will certainly grab his neck and throw him down the crevice when he would tell it that he didn’t have a smoke.

He suddenly remembered that Papaji had taught him the Gayatri Mantra and told him to recite the same whenever he was scared. Then a strategy came to his mind. The maidaan stretched 200 meters only. He would walk slowly to the turn, start reciting the Mantra and dash across the ground in a sprint without looking behind. Certainly the hand will follow him but it will be repelled by the  force of the chant and he would run for his life. Once he was around the bend he would be safe. Thakur had assured that the hand never crossed the bend. The key would be to run very fast and not look behind. He looked ahead and behind him.

There wasn’t a soul around who would offer a cigarette to the hand and make it busy, it would have certainly helped. Nobody not even a ghostly hand could smoke two at the same time.

Vijay started the Gayatri chant.

Aum Bhoor Bhuwah Swaha,

Tat Savitur Varenyam,

Bhargo Devasaya Dheemahi,

Dhiyo Yo Naha Prachodayat!!

Repeating it aloud constantly, He looked all around and made the dash across the maidaan. His heart was beating so loud that he could hear it go thud-thud in his chest. His mouth was dry with fear and pulse racing beyond normal. He was chanting the Gayatri Mantra on the top of his voice and didn’t realise it till he reached the turn where after the hand always turned back according to Thakur.

He was ALIVE! Safe and on the path not in the khud! He thanked his God and started walking home. A sudden calm washed over his being. He reached home and told Beeji about Dinesh and Papaji’s stay at the hospital and asked for the bedding and dinner. He ate his dinner and started the return journey, not afraid anymore. He knew he could make any number of trips now. He switched on his pocket transistor and listened to Mohd. Rafi sing his favourite song!

“That story spinner Ramesh!” Vijay thought…he certainly was in for being killed tomorrow at school. Vijay had chanced a look back when he was dashing across the maidaan; nothing or no one was behind him. No ghost and no severed hand. No such things ever existed, Vijay was DEAD sure now.

.

Why do men have double standards?

Why do men have double standards?

Why is it that when they are promiscous, its STUD LIKE.(Really?!?!?) but the women they use are termed sluts.Or does this term only gets in use for women.In todays modern times women having more than one sexual partner should be looked down upon and men still beconsidered "players" for having sex with more than one woman

It’s just one word… but it is sexist, discriminative, and extremely powerful. Being labeled a ‘slut’ can destroy a woman’s self-perception, irrevocably tarnish her reputation and even drastically alter her destiny. The male equivalent – stud, player or stallion – though often equally fictitious, can be a ticket to respect and admiration. Even with the prevalence of today’s, booty-shaking videos and the numbing impact of Sex in the City, “slut” still has the power to insult and degrade like no other word in the English language. If words are to be banned based on the power to inflict harm, then slut should be near the top of the list. But the focus instead should be on how to remove the power from the word itself.

All women and men who really respect women (not just for the Rhetoric) please contribute and comment!