I am an Indian women with suhaag

One Summer Vacation, my dad offered me to join him in his aunt’s home. My so-called Grand’s home. But as expected I was reluctant to it. I was behaving like a usual 21st century irritated teen, who was more willing to hangout with friends than to go to their grand parent’s place and listen to those same unseen stories. Genuinely, he was no less irritated with me. After a conversational fight, we agreed to a deal of four chocolates and one long drive on weekend. I went up, dressed pretty and came back with the whole assurance of our deal. My dad went out to get our car ready. I stepped out-of-door, a thought bubbled out of my mind “should I join or stay back?” but then I have to force myself because deal has been already done. we both got into the car and tied our seat-belt. we started with a crowd busted road with horns buzzing incoherent to traffic light and came into a solemnly narrow unstructured lane. I was continuously speaking and my dad could hear my words like w-w-h-a-t i-f-f-a-a i-i-e h-a-ed decid-e-d to s-s-t-a-y a-e-t hoo-m-e? not because I was stammering but because that lane was more made of  soil and less made of black concrete. My dad replied in his soft low tone, she is on regular dialysis, Be polite and humble with her she means me a lot” my curiosity got cold and I talked less after that. We reached her home. Her husband, my dad’s uncle and my grandpa (kind of) opened the door. He welcomed us with as much warmth as he could provide. I couldn’t see his enthusiasm but i could see his hope after coming us. I am not telling this because I was already known with truth of dialysis, I am telling this because anyone could see it. He was not happy but was grateful. He was up to his hospitality. They started talking to each other… asking how we are doing in our life…and so on. He served us biscuits and soft drinks…all I was doing is to keep quite and nod if he asks anything.

With the heights of curiosity I was continuously staring at an old lady (his wife) with Vigo plugged in her wrist, having painful body and shivering voice. She was old as antique. But fortunately she survived till yet. It was hard for her to eat and drink. She was lying on the bed with pillows around so to create a support to her body frame. In everyone’s eyes she was weak. She was incapable. But you know! she wasn’t.

She was beautiful. Her shrinked skin was golden brown like a pure Indian heritage. That innocent eyes that was ready to accept the reality of life. Her shivering lips was still in favour of her family’s welfare. She was at no urge of fabricated life. But the most dazzled surprise was the content that she was carrying all over her body. Sacred vermilion in between those white shaded hairs was as same as it was on the day she got married and honoured as the goddess of the home. I have noticed her weak hands adjusting that red bindi to be on place time to time in the name of wifehood. Although she was unable to get dressed perfectly in her style but she didn’t forget to wear that one Bangle for good fortune and prosperity of her husband. She was trying her best to be the pillar of her family but consequences  was against her. I was astonish to see how delicate it was. She reflected firm and faith, like a divine, a proper statue of the fact that believe is believe,  it is never right or wrong. She was no less worth as inspiration. She was like on the runway showing best roots of Indian believe.PicsArt_1498400823827.jpg A perfect example of commitment, faith and believe. She had a golden chain in her neck signifying proof of belongness to the man of her life. It was hard to accept that even in that critical situation where one thinks of her comfort and survival, she managed her contents through faith with an endless meaning.

I was gazing into her eyes trying to communicate that I can feel her. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she is. Everyone deserves to know the reality of his/her worth of existence. I wanted to tell her every time I saw her lying on the bed trying to convince her body that she will survive. But I was speechless. I was speechless into my own way. 

At last, it was time to leave. My dad reminded me to greet them. And all I said “bless me, I am grateful to see you”. She tried to smile and touched my head by her hand..

I met an Indian women with suhaag and I was speechless.

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A CUP OF COFFEE

3

While sitting next to the window, my hand was warm and easily holding the cup of coffee. My eyes were busy in finding beauty in between the rage outside the window. I can’t deny that I was trying to escape the reality. I took a sip, blinked my eyes and within second I felt the flow of adrenaline, I felt the warmth I was searching in my life. It was hard to believe that I was lucky having that sip (a perspiring touch at the surface of my tongue, that sugary taste & “slurp slurp slurp” ) but yes I was. There is a saying coffee makes things easier. One sip, one sight. ( First sight..second sight….mum calling “come fast we are about to leave”) ..”coming” I shouted. I fasten myself, fasten the sound slurp-slurp-slurp but again my eyes got stuck outside the window. My spec was divine to me at that time. I am grateful to that circular rim monocle that was making a way to peep at something which people usually avoid.

“Hurry up! You are always late” mum buzzed. “Oh I am always.. do it fast! pack your bag” cheering to myself. I forcefully distracted my eyes out of the window and started packing. I putted that cup on the table, stretched my leg towards Almirah and opened it. I was continuously murmuring to myself “fast fast fast”..anyone around me could feel that ventilation of getting late and flow of oxygen and carbon in-out of my nose…I took out my clothes and even at once I got confuse “should I take black one or lee Cooper’s” but then “do it fast dear, take anyone of it!”. I thrown all the clothes into my suitcase like a pile of scrap, but it was in need at that time. With the same pace I picked up my suitcase and ran off to the stairs, leaving that coffee smelling cup having my finger print at the table.

I came down, took a deep breath (as if I got first in a race) and adjusted my glasses. Meanwhile , my dad came and said we have to wait for half an hour because first he have to repair the tracker of the car, it’s somehow not working. And at that time my face expression was worth to see for anyone who wanted to LOL. As expected, I got annoyed. But I praised the idea of getting back near the window, as it didn’t fade away from my sub conscious mind.

I went up to the stairs where it all started. But this time it didn’t work. I sat down, trying to fix my pupil around those little things I was watching outside the window but I was unable to feel that same aroma of realization. 35 minutes ago, I was clearly able to see a boy with golden brown messy hairs with torn shirt of only one sleeve and a red pant stained with soil (seems like if it was borrowed from any school going child). His face was rough-hewn but all in between his dirty face one could see his pity glowing eyes. He was professionally a balloon seller, (not because he was surely but because I am narrating it to myself). He was less selling and more begging to get sold. He was roaming around people and knocking windows of all cars passing by the same street. In contrast I could also see people with ugly faces and brighter clothes running and moving towards their work place or destination as if the reason behind the displacement of the earth are these people, putting their whole strength to maintain the pace of the earth by their activities. From window they looked small but crowd. Near turning, there was a traffic police. Wearing his dress, he was extraordinary in his duty. A women passing through the footpath, maintaining her scarf, so that she could not get wind inside her ears. Pollution was overlapping population. Noise of any screaming infant was much soothing than the noise of vehicles. Street was much colder than the coldness of the weather. There was the dominance of human over that land because my window could weight it correctly. One could feel this rush and rage in compare to my still coffee, which was smooth and warm to the heart.

Absence of coffee in the cup let me understand how much I use to be in groove. Yes I was out of that rush. I was happy holding that cup and most importantly I was still with reference to the outer world. My heart was calm. Not everyone get this, not every time even.

(~sigh~) Breathing. Relaxing. Opening fist to the air. Breathing again, I appreciated the warmth of my life I am getting from these little things. Life is all about how you feel at your stillness, and I feel hopeful.

And then I putted that cup at its right place.

“Everybody come now, we are going to leave..it’s gonna be a perfect vacation!” … Dad’s calling.