Write Tribe contest # 1

I peeked into my son’s room to let him know he had received a postcard from his friend.  I saw him lying on the bed, idly watching television and flipping a coin.

“My my, aren’t we tidy!”  I said sarcastically.

His room looked like wild horses had galloped through it.

“Maa!” my darling son bleated, “instead of being so sarcastic, you could help, you know”

I walked into the room and straightened a calendar that was lying face down.

“No dear! Your room is your responsibility.  You must learn how to keep it clean:  Now pick up the stuff, change your sheets and PLEASE dust everything.  If you want your weekly allowance on Monday as usual, that is.”

I marched out of the room mindful of his indignant looks, but not caring.  I leaned against the door and heard him scurrying around the room, tidying up.

“Yessssss” I said to myself, triumphantly.

This post is written as a part of  write tribe initiative.

The rules are:

1. Write a piece/a story/ a poem incorporating the following  7 words in random order :

•   postcard
•   coin
•   tidy
•  wild
•  help
•  calendar
•  responsibility

Write Tribe - Wednesday Prompt - 10.7.2012

Little feet patter

Rain soaked grass softens her fall

Sweet baby laughs

L

Write Tribe Prompt # 4

 

 http://sarabbit.openphoto.net/gallery/ 

Ths lovely picture of a girl holding red rose petals and her red sweater reminded me of a poem that my daughter wrote when she was in Class V, which was perhaps in 1996 or 1997.  It is a sweet little poem.  Just for the record, it has not been published before.

Here goes in her own lovely handwriting:

Live life on your own terms

“You live only once” seems like such a clarion call.   

Get up and do things you like. Enjoy yourself, burn a hole in your pocket, dye your hair blonde, go off to climb Everest, watch every movie, get drunk, snort cocaine, in short, be conscious of every minute that passes you by. 

I feel life is all about being less concerned about what people think of you, and being more concerned about what you are comfortable doing.

I once read an interview with Bapsi Sidhwa in a magazine.  She said, “Women are under scrutiny all the time.  It is difficult for them to be natural.”  It was such a deep thing to say.  I have never been able to forget this sentence of hers.

Women of my generation were constantly watched for what they said, what they wore, how they walked, how they sat.  It was very stifling.  It impacted your decision making ability, if you were allowed making decisions at all.  Alright, I won't go into a feminist mode on this.  But, under these circumstances, doing things that you really liked was hard.  Even if your choices were as innocuous as watching a movie or reading a book, forget about having a boyfriend.

I have come a long and a hard way to earn my right to live my life on my own terms.  There was a time when I was in a bad situation, a bad marriage.  At that time, I had to make a life altering decision. To stay in the bad marriage, or step out of it.  I wasn't really thinking of this line at that time, but I think it was at the back of my mind when I took my children and stepped out of my husband's house.

 

You live only once.

A house of her own

Sarita stared at her landlord in silent horror.  She had been dreading this moment for a while now – yet when he uttered those words, she was not quite prepared for them. 

“Please vacate the place”.

He looked at her kindly and said softly, “Take your time.  One month, even two months.  I wouldn’t have asked you to vacate but my sister is coming to stay in this town and she has asked me to arrange this place for her.”

She remembered him being all fatherly when she began living there.”You are like my daughter.  I just want good people living in my house.”  What a fraud he was. If she were to visit the place again in six months’ time, she’d find another tenant living there happily.

She noticed that landlords in Punjab seemed to get extremely agitated if a tenant were to stay at their place for longer than two or three years. As it is, the whole renting process was vague. There was hardly any rent agreement, or any other kind of paperwork involved.  The rent was paid in cash, so no transaction could be claimed.  And of course, there was no receipt provided.

She sighed – she knew what lay ahead of her now. Finding another place, with all its attendant difficulties meant starting the process all over again. And that, just when she was beginning to get comfortable in her current place. Finding another house in a decent locality, facing the questions the new landlord asked. “Where is your husband?”, “How many children do you have?”, “What is your salary?”, “Do you get many visitors?”, “No single males allowed to visit you”.

Apart from that, she would have to contend with steadily rising rents, having to cope with fitting her furniture into a smaller or a larger house, removing her electrical fittings and fixing them in a new house. Packing. Unpacking. 

Her heart sank.

That night she spoke to her mother. “The landlord has asked me to vacate this house, Ma”

Her mother started her usual tirade.  She knew Sarita could not come and live with her in Amritsar because her job required her to stay put in Ludhiana. Ever since Sarita’s husband had died, her mother had worried about her living alone in that city. Sarita’s only brother ran a flourishing business in Amritsar. 

 

“Ma,” Sarita said, a tad impatiently, “we know all that. I now need to leave this house and that’s that.”

Ma was old now and getting on.  She could not help rambling.  She exchanged some more news and put the phone down.

On Sunday, Sarita was pleasantly surprised to see her brother Ashok land up at her doorstep early in the morning.  

“Baby,” he began. (Sarita’s nickname was Baby and that is what her brother and mother still called her)  “That land that we have in the village. Ma always talks about transferring it in your name. I told her, let us sell this land and buy Baby a house in Ludhiana. What do you say?”

Sarita could feel tears forming in her eyes.  Her spirits rose.  She was to have a place of her own. 

She looked at many houses along with her brother, trying to find something that suited her requirement as well as the budget. When she saw THIS place, she knew she had to get it.  And she did!

Thank you Fotolia

Emergency

Walking into an emergency ward of a hospital is surely the most harrowing time of one’s life. I could see the anxiety plainly on the faces of other people who were rushing in along with me. Some were rushing out, slip in hand, going off to the chemist to fill a prescription.

Thank you morguefile

I kept my head down and willed myself not to cry. It was difficult. Just this morning I had left my wife at home, eight months pregnant, her belly swollen beautifully. Her hair in a disarray, face glowing with happiness. Everything was fine, doctors assured us. The baby was growing just fine, all we had to do was to wait for a month to hold our darling in our arms.

Shortly after lunch, I got a call from Suman, my sister-in-law, her voice was high-pitched. “Didi has fallen down the stairs. Sudha-didi and I are taking her to ___ hospital.”. She did not need to say “Come immediately”. I spoke to my boss and was out of the office in 2 minutes. I drove anxiously towards the hospital. Within an hour I was in the parking lot. I called up Suman and barked:

“Where?”

“Emergency, Bed 32”, she was equally brief.

I looked frantically around at people in various states of illness strewn around the emergency ward, searching for Bed 32. Suddenly I spotted Suman waving at me from left corner.

She was smiling.

”The baby is fine.” She said. “Didi has a hairline fracture in her left shin. She has to wear a cast for a month”

I looked at Sona, and brushed the wayward hair off her forehead. Her eyes were damp, and her face still bore traces of terror. But she was smiling.