Elbow Room

She was ashamed she felt that way. I mean..they are your parents for God's sake!You cant bargain on your parentage, now, can you? But there was a difference in perspective here. The question was not about parentage...but of marriage..and a yet larger question of existence and individuality. And it was not just her subjective consciousness, it was her mothers'.

She wrote in her blog, "Have you ever dared felt that your mum married the wrong guy?"

It was a thought that sometimes struck her as a kind of blasphemy. At other times, She felt as if she had risen above the immediate context of her relationships and the world, as if she was floating above her own house and looking down on these people....not people....characters...right out of an Absurd play! And wondering, if her mother..nay..this woman....married the wrong guy? And that if she deserved better? If she ever wondered that life hadnt turned out the way she had planned or dreamt it would be...and that now there was a cul de sac. This was the flow chart of her life...and she was analysing it with a feeling of ruefulness about lost dreams...about that empty idealism that instills each one of us when we are at the prime of our lives!

And now Elvis had left the building and the show was over. For her.

The other day she found a handwritten paper from her Mom’s cupboard...lying forgotten with some other old stuff at the back….she opened it and saw a letter to the principal of a local school in Rohini. It was a job application. Dated 1990. She felt a thud in her heart. She got reminded of the fact that her mom held an MA B.ED! The paper was tearing at her heart. A scroll from history-a yellowed dream of the past-lying crumpled in a ball-in an old cupboard.

And as she wondered whether her mother looked back on her life and thought all this--she felt sick. She felt that all the novels and all romantic poetry that she had read till date...was nothing but an expression of that same idealism that is nothing but wishful thinking. All the stories of Romantic possibilities and endings…of Elizabeth Bennett finally overcoming her own prejudices and finding her true love.....of Jane Eyre sensing Rochester's cry from miles away......of Celie's brave movement from a site of domestic violence and racist past to a life where she 'wore the pants' and sewed 'em too…….! Everything...all feminism-dripping tales of revolution--suddenly seemed bland to her.

It inhabited a world of fantasy...of far-way realities and unique cases of rebellion.

Then again she wondered, if it was too early for her mum to ask that question about her life to herself. That How has my life ultimately turned out? Why did she feel that her mother felt she had hit a cul de sac? Or if she would rather have married some one else...?Did she ever think that she deserved better? Or does she think that that's what she deserved? The latter was still a solace-but the pain and unfairness of the former could be suicidal.

No, her father was a good person. Her mother had spent 22 years with him and there were things her mother knew that could be boasted about in him. But over the long course of these years-things had changed. Life had become a routine.It was as if she was on auto-pilot. The hope that she entertained a decade ago-did not come to her as a saving illusion any more. She thought she knew now, that it was not going to change. She thought she knew that the only way to survive was to fall on her tired knees and bow down to it.Whatever 'it' was.

She poured her feelings on the anonymous blog of hers, in an effort to empty herself or at least exhaust herself so she could think no more. She was crying a little but she was not simply sad-she was pensive. It threw everything out of focus. She didnt feel like going to her literature class tomorrow.

She remembered once when she was watching this romantic movie on TV with her mom. She remembered dreaming-replacing the heroine with herself-feeling the kiss of the dashing hero on her own lips-blushing at the thought of ever having some one for her own with whom she could share the endless love that this couple on the silver-screen depicted. She had her whole life in front of her-she sighed-there was so much to happen to her-she wanted to fall in love-she wanted to become a lecturer-author a bestseller--conquer the world!

As she got lost in the crystal ball of her own future, she forgot the presence of her mother on whose knees she rested her head. She was chewing the gum,carelessly blowing bubbles which kept bursting as the air ran out of them.--Suddenly she felt her mother's presence as the love scene ended .Her mother cleared her throat. Then followed the awkward but subtle fidgeting that follows the discomfort of having seen such a display of affection on screen--with your parents. There was certainly nothing vulgar about it (she wouldve changed the channel immediately otherwise)-but there was an under-text of the union of two people in love-which does not necessarily have to be expressed in the word 'sex'-but which still made you uncomfortable in company of your parents. But there was a class, a beauty in it.

Like a slap in the face- she wondered if her mother felt the same emotions she felt. How can she not? She's a woman. There might still be some residue of a girl inside her. A frivolous, carefree young girl. And why not? Who said anything about feelings getting old??

But there she was feeling unsettled again. Its your mom.You cant look at her in that way! She cant have such.. fantasies... for heavens'sake! ewwww! and theres DAD! But does mum still feel that way for Dad? Ohhh...she needed to get this feminist streak in her to shut up! Because if mum doesn’t feel that way for dad-then what comes off the feeling that the romantic movie ignited in her? Does she feel it for the moment and then brush it off from her head so she could go back to her dreary dry world again? Or does she inwardly laugh at the silly youthful days of desire and love--long lost! Is it at such moments that her mother feels the cul de sac?

She heard her mother calling her from the kitchen. "what will you have for dinner, sweety?" She was joking away with Dad who had come back from office-It wasn’t like the days they fought —It wasn’t ugly or bitter today.

She went into the kitchen, looked at her mom...she seemed happy- --she looked just fine!

She went up to her-took the knife from her hand with which she was slicing the onions-and said, "Let me make the dinner tonight...."

She is restless and unsettled. Whenever she feels like this..these are the two precise words she uses in her diary to define her state...restless and unsettled.but at some level even words fail..they can give a vent.. but they cant soothe the tempest inside her.And to think she was so blissfully unaware of this impending sadness yesterday when she was on best of her moods...makes happiness so fleeting...and all the more illusory!

She is not unhappy though.She is sad and yes..unsettled...She sighs more often than she should..and it only establishes that something grips her heart ..something that she wishes to unbutton..unscrew..so she can breathe again.What will lift the heaviness?

she pens these words in her diary--they just flow...falling into rhyme..even though her mind and heart refused to do so...

My eyes explore but cannot find..
The pre-occupation of my mind
Who has entered the grove of my thoughts?
What has unsettled my calm recline?

What will soothe my tempted nerves?
When will the ripples cease to quiver?
why am i lonesome and disoriented
Not a sight my state does mirror..

Everything has lost its value
The times when a spade is not a spade
When your heart beats in your throat
What will gulp it down to place?

They say hunches, portents and omens
My troubled monster will exorcise
But would i indeed recognise
Were it to hit me between the eyes?

The swish of wind comes like a sigh
The rise and fall of breathe, a game
Why does the air smell of sweet wait?
Why am i feeling so lame?

The soul turns inside the body
The mind grapples with new invective
The inside is boiling and seething
The surface apparently, inactive........

You know…there are countless experiences we undergo in our lifetime...how many of those stay with us? For instance, I faintly remember- when i was very young..may be 5-6...i went to Shimla with my family. Of course i dont remember a fig of what that trip was all about but i dont know why i remember how when we were driving back in our Maruti Van-DBB 5014..we got stuck on the way with a herd of sheep. And there were so many o 'em! I remember , we halted--Dad picked me up and made me sit on the top of the car along with my elder brother and both of us were rejoicing in the obstruction --listening to the sheep go "mehhhh" but too afraid get near 'em!

And there is this other inconsequential incident i remember of my childhood (a lil irrelevant in what i am about to proceed with but now that i am at it, i might as well record this too!) I used to sit with my brothers on the stairs outside our kitchen with a glass of water...and a pack of uncle chips...and would dip the chips in the water till they were washed off from all their masala and till they were soggy and inedible-and then relish them...and i guess i once also tried tasting the masala-soaked water thereafter!


Anyways, There was this incident that left me unsettled ...as if i was slapped out of my reverie...and woken up to the reality of life and the way of the world! Not that I was unaware or even ignorant of it…its just that it had never ever unfolded in front me in the way that it did that day. It happened a few months back when i had arrived in Delhi after a wonderful vacation with friends in Nainital.

It was an exciting trip. All of us together,on our own in the cool hills of Uttranchal. There is nothing as refreshing, as rejuvenating as seeing new places! A slight digression here--

Sometimes I feel there is so much to see in the world! Great experiences to have and unique places to see...and here we are in our own cities, in our own states and countries and most of us live our lives in our own lil cubicles..our own individual cocoons! Of course I am aware of the impossibility of my suggestion here. Not everyone can afford or has the time for a world tour! But the thought of never being able to see the countless beauties and the exquisite wonders of the world! Of never having time off for an aimless exploration which is never bent on arriving! Doesn’t the prospect give you an adrenaline rush!!

And by the Wonders of the world and the countless beauties i don’t necessarily mean Egypt and Italy and China and Brazil...or a luxurious sunbath on one of the archipelagos of Zanzibar in Tanzania! Nay! Err…Yes… those too if we can arrange that...but making best of what we’ve got…optimum utilization of our resources at had…living in each moment of everyday wonder which we are too busy to notice…Stopping and Staring…and Pondering….Let me explain what i mean....

My friend and I visited Sikkim last year...any other tourist would make a list of 'places to see'-this waterfall, that museum, this river --and all the must-see tourist-crammed hang-outs!

Well we did visit all the landmarks. But what we also did (and what was more fun) was just explore, just wandered in our car and stopped at negligible places-small brooks, abandoned view-points, deserted dhabbas and shanties…. talked to local kids, went to the biggest monasteries like everyone else but didn’t forgo the modest ones...

There was this particular scene that we witnessed in one of such small old monasteries…which was a wonder in itself…..a bunch of kids were standing in a row in a garden outside the temple...and were engaged in this unique exercise!! A grown-up man was cueing them with rhythmic claps and they were performing what closely resembled a folk dance or a saltation...and it was mesmerising to watch them do it!



They were moving seemingly carelessly…but there was a pattern in their movements. With their legs wide apart ….they swept their hands up in the air…brought them in front turn by turn…took them to their back..slightly bending forwards and then bending backwards now and then …then with a slight jump…finished the routine to start it all over again….twas a sight…!

And then once we got down on this desolated creek..took off our shoes and laid our feet in the icy water and sat there- just chatting, not worrying that we will miss this noted 'Khola'(river) that tourists visit! We were blissfully secluded and had the brook for our own...!I can still feel what i felt then---aah...worth a thousand jacuzzies!

So you get what i mean, right? the paltry, the trivial beauties, the miniscule experiences and their effect on us-- such experiences that are hidden in the vast expanse of this infinite world…or even in our small cocoons and cubicles which we fail to observe! Isnt that worth vying for...isnt that worth dying for!

Hmmm..umm...i got slightly carried away...sommmme digression!...So I will quickly cut to the chase!

Or rather I’d make a new post later about that incident which I came to share in the first place…!

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
I'll draw a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use?
2B or not 2B?

--Spike Milligan

Bilkees Beghum from the Godhra relief camp told a tale that seemed to confirm a recurrent pattern in the atrocities severed on the women during the Gujarat riots in 2002. She was stripped, gang-raped, her baby was killed before her, and she was then beaten up, then burnt and left to die.
Before they were finally killed, some were beaten up with rods and pipes for almost an hour. Before or after the killing, their vagina would be sliced, or would have iron rods pushed inside. Similarly, their bellies would be cut open or would have hard objects inserted into them. A 13-year old girl, Farzana, had a rod pushed into her stomach, and was then burnt. A mother reported that her three-year old baby girl was raped and killed in front of her, while elsewhere daughters reported on the rapes of their mothers, now dead.

Kausar Bano, a young girl from Naroda Patiya, was several months pregnant during the Gujrat riots. Several eyewitnesses testified that she was raped, tortured, her womb was slit open with a sword to disgorge the foetus which was then hacked to pieces and roasted alive with the mother. A day before the massacre, Sheikh, Kausar’s father, said he had taken Kausar to a hospital in Kalupur for a medical check-up. She was complaining of pain. The doctor had said she was likely to deliver in a day or two.

(Source: Internet /The Indian express)

From the unborn daughter of Kausar Bano…

Everything was perfect, amma!
The tang of the pickle you savoured,
The essence of the mud you once had
All reached me…
The radiant sun
Filtered through your womb to warm me.

I was very happy, amma!
Before long was I to breathe my own air
Before long was I to sense my own hunger
The moment for me to feel my own sun was soon to come…

I was blissful, amma!
The shadow of abba’s palm blessed me on your womb
I longed to see his face
I longed to have my abba
I longed to see for myself, the world outside your cover…


I was very happy, amma!
But one day…I gasped!
Like a fish without water
What unfamiliar touch,
Oh what was it amma?
That had desecrated,
the holy waters of my shelter?

It pained, amma!
Were you being dragged??
And then, I, nestled within you, was torn…
Torn from the lukewarm dim of your womb-
Through a blinding blaze…into a boiling furnace-
Was this to be my first sunshine?

It was a huge operation, ma!

I saw from my eyes,
The eyes, amma, that could never see,
Doctors and surgeons with tridents …
Were bent over you…and then
They shrieked…!
Why did they shriek, amma?
Were they happy on seeing me inside you?

As I came out, they gave me toys!
Toys to play with, amma.
Toys of fire!

Absorbed in my first and final play
I did not see you…
But in your cry of death
You must have sung for me, my last lullaby.

I was never born, amma!
And thus, never died.
Like the unborn hospitalized child in coloured water,
I was immortalized…
But here, there is no coloured water
Only scorching, parching, and searing heat!
How long will I have to burn amma?