Author Archives: Anney Thomas

Call me absent minded but, I can’t find my way around no matter how many times I pass through the same way. It has always been that way ever since I could remember. The GPS in my head has some wiring issues. It can’t be programmed to save my life.

Kindergarten: Dad was late for work and 3 year old me, was in no mood to cooperate dressing up for school. After a big round of crying, throwing up of milk and eggs consumed with much distaste and a boxed ear, my father decided to pass the baton (me) to his brother ; the young chap with no hurry to get to work.

Landmarks and direction were given and off went Dad leaving me and my Appapan ( that’s what we call for a brother from Dad’s side) to get to school.  Appapan was an amusing person to be with. He loved to regale me, his only niece at that time, with tales of all sorts of animals. He was my favourite person and so there was no problem anticipated in getting me to school.

With a skip at every step, I skipped happily as he walked looking around for the landmarks. Ten minutes into the walk, Appapan knew he was lost. The landmarks were nowhere in sight and everything looked the same. Dad had told him to ask me in case of confusion as we walked to school every day.

“So Anney, which way to the school?’ he asked expectantly.

I screwed up my face and thought a bit… mmmm…Dad had shown me a leaf and a few types of birds every morning to remember my English.  I remembered them. They were close to school. With A big smile, I pulled his hand to the leaf I spotted….it was the same one….clever me “Appapaaaaaa…L for Leaf!!!” I said proudly showing him my find. There were at least 10 bougainvilleas in the vicinity with the same leaf on it!!!

Poor Appapan, he tried again….”Remember anything else?”

I looked around and pulled him quickly to the next thing… “Appapa…B for Bird!” I think his mind switched off at this point coz I don’t recollect a reply. The sparrow was a common bird and seen all around the villas near my small school. It was needless to say…we came home after 15 minutes of the hot sun and leaf and birds to a nice cold Pepsi and bunch of stories.

Quite recently, I heard him say that all his life, he had never found anything as hard to locate as the Nursery Anney studied in. No matter how he tried, all I could help him with was the L for Leaf and B for Bird.

High School: I was late for the first time and missed the school bus. Dad being the ever grumbling fellow pointed out for the umpteenth time that punctuality was a habit I had not learnt. Ignoring the dire warnings and verbal admonishing, I kept reading through my History text. The exam was really a bugger to have and I hated History…I could not remember dates or times to save my life let alone pass an exam.

“Which is the way to school?” asked Dad.

I stopped reading and looked surprised… Dad was good at location, why was I being asked the way?!

“The same way as always….Muroor road, Dad ” I replied still looking at my text.

“Give me the exact location” he said as the car stopped at a signal.

I knew where this question was leading. I had no clue as to where I was and if I pointed out on it, he would have my life for being inattentive. I decided to take a vague approach. “Well, go straight and…. then we see the school… to the right. Turn there.”

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” he asked.

There was no escape to a direct question. I shook my head.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You have studied for 10 years in this school, travelled the same way every morning and not missed a single day at school…and you tell me that you are clueless as to where we ARE?”

I swallowed.

“How is that possible?” his temper was rising.

“Well, the bus never made a mistake. It was always on time and on the same route, so I didn’t bother to notice. Besides, that’s what the bus is for. To take me to school and back…why do I have to watch the road? I got tons of things to do…homework, reading for test..(chatting, catching my breath after running to the next stop for the bus, putting my socks on….)..you know…am busy Dad.”

“So, are we close to the school now?” he asked trying to control his irritation.

I looked out and confidently replied ” Nope!…we have to go straight and then turn right.”

“Turn and look to your right….I believe that is the school you studied in since grade 1” he said drily.

Surely enough, there it was standing proudly to my right as always….what can I say….except “ Dad, you know I am handicapped location wise...”  with those wise words I parted leaving my Dad to wonder what he had done wrong.

Last week: Our car broke down on the Dubai –Abu Dhabi road. We were stranded. I had to hitch hike a ride to reach Abu Dhabi which was just half hour away. Being born and brought up there, I knew where home was. There was no need for my husband to be so patronizing. Packing the kids into a good Samaritan’s car we drive off to Abu Dhabi. He was also new to the city and needed directions to reach the final destination. I was confident on the roads and told him that I was an expat local (Expat born in the UAE).So we drive and I begin to direct him

“Take a left and to our left we will see a fountain in the shape of a cannon and another one in the shape of a coffee pot. That’s how we know we are on the right path.”

He nods happily. As he drives he asks  “Which left should I take?”

Good question….there were left turn all the way until the road disappeared. Darn! The car was still moving. We passed 3 left turns before i said “HERE” . The driver barely had time to put a signal and take the lane for the left. We hear honks and saw headlights being flashed in protest to the imprudent driving. The driver sighed “Well, at least we got the turn...” or so he thought.

To our left, the much expected fountain, cannon and coffee pot was missing. There was an alarm going off in my head.

“Are we in the right area? ” he asked.

Darn it! I think we are lost. I blink and smile… “A little further, we will see the fountain”…..15 mins later….no fountain. “Well, lets take a right turn…I can see Emirates Palace there. We can take directions from there…..”

Emirates Palace was at the other end of Abu Dhabi and 15 minutes later “ Are you sure that you know this road” he asked. I smiled.

The alarm in my head would not stop…I was hopelessly lost. I never knew that there were so many buildings in Abu Dhabi. So I make small talk…. “Is this you first time…have you been here before?”  The guy slowed down his car.

“ Only once….but am not sure on the road, I thought you said you were born and brought up here…..”

“ Yeah…take a left here…Abu Dhabi has lots of short cuts” I prayed that this one took me to the familiar road home….but no luck.

Needless to say, after 20 minutes of sightseeing, my dad calls up. I heavy a sigh of relief  and tell my tired Samaritan the correct direction to my house. This time the fountains were visible and I reached home safely in 10 minutes.

“So you are born and brought up here, huh?”.

I blushed when I replied “Actually, I am locationally challenged ”

Need I say more….?

I just discovered internet. It was great to just surf and make new friends.  I had my share of bad relationships and was done with the whole Boyfriend-Girlfriend thing. Chatting was fun and it gave me a release from my hectic work schedule. Life was wonderful with the internet at my disposal and complete anonymity.

And then, I met him online. Mystery Writer. He would not tell me his name and I dare not give him mine for the fear of having a pervert attached to me. We met every night at the chat room to chat on all sorts of stuff….fashion, movies, clothes, people….it was fun to share anything with him. I began to look forward to seeing him online every night. It almost felt like a secret date.

After a few months of secret dating, my curiosity got the better of me…who was he? Why did he not give me his name? He could not be a pervert….he was too decent for that…I knew what he worked as…an architect….was he gay…nah…I knew where he lived….I knew his love for colours and of his creativity…yet I didn’t know who Mystery Writer was. In his own words, he called himself an artist…and I felt so loved by him….yet I didn’t have enough courage to call myself anything other than Angel Girl.

One evening, he asked me “May I mail you…in the morning? My sketches may turn to doodles if I don’t rest. Our nocturnal chatting is making my mornings long and my evenings never ending….the only time that flies is the hour I spend with you.”

My heart hammered in me….a mail in the morning…for me…would he do that for some time with me….I blushed. This was the next step….we would have to exchange our emails. “Yes, why not” I replied. I had begun to trust him. That was the start of an email every day. It changes my life drastically. His mails were a source of inspiration; they became my Feel Good Factor. I began to smile at work. My colleagues were always asking on how I managed to stay so happy and why I looked so sleepy…Mystery Writer… I would whisper in my heart. And the mails flew in and we began chatting in the afternoon.  He shared his designs from work with me and I shared my work of meeting people and going places with him. It was always interesting to bounce ideas off each other.

“Don’t you want to know who I am?” he asked me one day. I thought for a while. I knew that we were half a world apart from each other… our paths would never meet… but my heart refused to listen.

“Can I ask you for your name?” I typed breathlessly.

“Yes, but it will be my looks that scare you…” he replied.

I looked puzzled at my screen. Why would his looks bother me? I could not understand… before I could ask, the topic changed.  The next morning, I was all nerves. I was to attend a party in the evening with some important delegates from out of town. My documents for the meeting were in place but I felt really shy in the wonderful dress I picked up for the party. Mystery Writer had assured me that it would look great on me … but I had laughed it off. He had not seen me in person, let alone seen a picture of me. He would never have guessed that I was a person with a problem figure and looked like a duck waddling around. We had discussed the dress and my skin colour and I laughed off his suggestions saying that I would look like a duck dressed up in peacock blue.

A parcel arrived at my work place that afternoon with my name on it. It looked like it had travelled half way across the world. I held my breath….who would send me a parcel? With trembling fingers, I opened the parcel. The packing was plain but twinkling inside was a beautiful bracelet that looked expensive. It looked carefully chosen. The stones were the colour of sapphire.

A dried yellow rose was also tucked in the filling with a note that caught my eye:

“A duck dressed as a peacock must have a beautiful accessory to match

Enjoy the party and relax…you will be quite a catch”

-Mystery Writer

I was totally bowled over. How did he find me??? I was so touched by the gesture… he made me feel special. Who was he? How did he know where I worked? I wondered. My party was a success that evening and I loved the way I felt when the bracelet twinkled on my wrist. It made me feel special. I wanted some answers. I waited for him to come online the next day…he never came. He didn’t appear in the night either. I mailed him twice and check my mail whenever I got a chance. A day passed by and then two, no reply. I began to despair. There were more mails from my end and a week went by with no reply. Mystery Writer had disappeared. He touched my life at an instant and then he disappeared.

To cheer myself I decided to try out a different set of wardrobe and went out for more parties. It didn’t fill the void I felt, Mystery Writer had disappeared.

Another party with some delegates from Europe was announced. I had to go. The peacock dress reminded me of Mystery Writer. I did not want to wear it. I decided to go in my latest craze-a black and dark blue net sari. As the evening of the party approached, my heart was full of despair. I felt out of place thinking of the sari and it was too late to change my mind. Dressing up, I realized that I forgot to accessorize and was stuck with just a pair of tiny black studs and the bracelet. The yellow rose peeked from the box that I preserved with such loving care. My eyes misted in the memory. Bracing myself to meet everyone and no one at the party I put on the bracelet, put my hair up in a neat French twist and took a last look at myself. The reflection I saw stopped me to my tracks. The bracelet made me look elegant…it looked like I had selected the perfect sari and spent money to look beautiful. I missed him. The party was lovely and the European visitors loved my presentation. But the bracelet reminded me of Mystery Writer, I missed chatting with him. It would have been lovely to share my success with him. Among the delegates was a young entrepreneur who walked with a slight limp and with a walking stick. He was taller than all the men in the room and had an easy smile. I liked his smile and smiled at him when he yawned at our Director’s speech.

All evening he was attentive to everything I said and presented. Occasionally, I caught him staring. Ignoring the fact that it made me blush when I notice it, I walked up to him during dinner and introduced myself.

He smile and asked “Why is it that you dressed in a sari when your colleagues have dressed in a Western fashion?”

I smiled. He has a great voice, deep and smooth. “I like being different. “ I said as I played with my bracelet.

“Different? …. Do you mean different like a duck among the peacocks?” he asked. A dimple appeared on his left cheek.

My jaw dropped open. How did he know about the duck feeling I had?

“The last time we met Angel Girl, you were worried about being different” he was touching my hand, the one that played with the bracelet.

I stared at him trying to comprehend…. a thousand questions raced through my mind.

“Who are you? ” I asked staring at him.

He was a tall man with a great voice, an easy smile and with a stick that made him stand apart from all the guests I had seen. Yet something about him seemed familiar. And then it struck me….he has a yellow rose embroidered on his shirt pocket. I had seen it when he took his dark jacket off. That was why I had approached him in the first place….the rose was exactly like the one I got from… Mystery Writer. It was HIM….

By the time I found my voice, he disappeared and his parting words registered.

“A duck dressed as a peacock must have a beautiful accessory to match. Enjoy the party and relax…I had to see you looking beautiful … See you soon.”

This post has been published by me as a team member of The Rodeo Writers team for the SUPER 6 round of Bloggers Premier League (BPL) – The first ever unique, elite team blogging event of blog world. To catch the BPL action and also be part of future editions and other contests, visit and register at Cafe GingerChai

College, a time for the blossoming of youth.  Countless youngsters have come through the mighty gates to meet at college a true love, a good friend, a mentor or a foe. Under the breezy trees of the wide mossy campus they sit with friendship, stolen moments and unspoken words weaving memories before walking out into the world unknown to find their destiny.

From: Sebastian t [mailto:mischief30@yahoo.com]
Sent: 26 May 2010 16:52
To: Jenny J
Subject: The Couple Contest Winner -1999

Jenny & Me

Dear Jenny,

It’s been 10 years since we met. How are you? Guess who? Am sure the title gave me away. How is Germany? How is your life there? I remember you saying that life with the folks was lovely until they talked about settling down. You always did hate the mechanical life that they led.

Are you enjoying your work? I heard from your uncle that you are into advertising. You did have flair for putting things in different perspective…it is an amazing talent. Do you still have the album that you made from the pictures you used to snap from college? The stone steps, the lone banyan tree, lovers point and the grounds where we used to sit and discuss the daily news and college gossip? Some how, I find myself drawn to these things. My visits to the college always found me walking up the stone step and to the banyan tree; we spent countless hours talking there. It always seemed like there was magic under those leaves.

Even now, sitting under the banyan reminds me of us. Remember our first argument? We sat for three hours before we went home. You began to argue of Women’s rights and I was adamant on how the Men’s rights were not even looked into. You refused to let me go home until I surrendered. You were such a bully! Girl power you may say…I say BS. We men are treated unfairly. We pay the rent, look after the family, earn the bread and are forced to come home to make chapattis, hold the baby and do grocery shopping to keep you happy!! I can already imagine your response. You will have your PC ready to refute, am I right? You will say that the guys needed to know all those things to be eligible to be called a husband.  I still stand on what I said.

Remember the first time you wore a sari to college. You tripped over it at the stone steps. You would have been sporting two broken front teeth and a displaced shoulder, if I hadn’t caught you! Do I see you smiling? You looked lovely. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You looked truly elegant, in the single gold bangle and a thick strand of plain gold pendent chain. It did wonders to the maroon silk that you wore. Yes, I noticed…you keep forgetting that I have an eye for quality. I wore that atrocious ‘Mundu and Juba’ that you had gifted,  just for you!!  I agree… we did look great as a couple on that day. You took me to the steps twice to say something important before we got interrupted. I wondered often as to what it was.

The steps still remind me of you. The perfume you wore…that sweet fragrance when you sat by my side. Our hands touched by mistake and you blushed. There was something different about the way your hands felt that day. It felt like something I never felt before. There were times when I silently willed my hands to be careless, to touch yours as we walked through the mossy rock road. I don’t know if you ever noticed those stolen moments. I wished you would just slip so that I could hold you one more time. I could sense your presence in a crowded room and could never loose track of you even when we attended thick college parties. There was magic when we were together. I searched your eyes to see if they would tell me of the things that I longed to hear. In the tiny notes and gifts that you sent me on the pretext of occasions, I felt you were trying to tell me something more. Something I couldn’t explain.

I have a picture of us framed at my desk. It was taken after winning The “Couple Contest”.  It brightens my mornings. I look at it everyday thinking of our times together. The other day, I spotted the cardigan that I wore at our college farewell. I can still smell your perfume on it.

When we parted….I wanted to ask if you would miss me. Would you miss ‘US’? Your autograph…. “Can’t forget the magic we shared…” said much more that what you ever said in person. Did you feel the magic I felt when you were near? Did you feel something more? You looked like you had cried when you last hugged me. I wanted to hold on, to ask you ….

Every morning, I smiled thinking that the Sun was lucky to have seen you before he came to see me.   I wished the Moon Good Night, knowing that she would see you sleeping after she left me. You were never far from me.

I heard that your parents were looking out for getting you hitched. I wondered at how you remained unmarried for so long. Was it a failed relationship that kept you untied or a lost love? I guess the conditions for the groom are still in place….must be a fan of Women Liberation, good at cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping and baby sitting as you once stated. Did I miss anything?! I must tell you that I took to cooking recently and gave my mother a heart attack thereafter by not cleaning up the mess. So much for cooking!  Baby sitting and baby baths are right up my alley as my little niece is staying with us.  I am sure some of these activities will put me in leagues with the unlucky grooms who lands at your doorstep. Are you blushing or ready to refute?

There is no need to get flustered and write a reply just now. I was just stating the obvious. I know you are smiling. I miss those quirky smiles. I am sure your parents are hounding you. Mine are doing the same here. It’s a picture for Lalitha/ Sarita/ Vineta/ and God alone knows who else is unmarried and at a suitable age. I can’t explain the type of girl I have in mind.

I met her at college. She is special and I know that the gap of 10 years is long, but my heart refused to forget her. I don’t know if she feels the same about me.

Write to me. I will wait for a reply.

Yours lovingly,

Sebastian

P.S> This post is an entry for the Love Letter topic of BPL.

Read the other Rodeo Writer’s team entries:  Pooja menon, Nethra, Swathi Pradeep, Anurag Yelkur, Arjit, Mahesh Kalaal, Pranjal

47 While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a large crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and the elders of the people.

48 Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: “The one I kiss is the man; arrest him.”

49 Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him.

50 Jesus replied, “Friend, do what you came for.” Then the men stepped forward, seized Jesus and arrested him.

51 With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

Mathew 26 : 47-51

That was the scene to take place during the stage play at church. It was a play on the betrayal of Jesus and was enacted from the point of view of Judas, the man eternally known for his deceit. Judas had regretted his action and committed suicide. The point of the play was to teach that each one had a chance to repent and that suicide achieved nothing.  To judge how the play went read on and judge yourselves.

As usual, we were all in the play.

Both my brothers were excited and nervous of their roles. Brother #1 was Peter (the famous apostle) and Brother #2 was a servant of the High Priest. The boy playing Jesus had missed some rehearsals and hence Brother #1 played both roles for the time being. The practice for the play went on all week and the boy playing Judas would pop in occasionally to rehearse his parts.

The big day was here.

All the boys went in for the last rehearsal and Judas was a bit confused as to who played Jesus.  He was assured that Jesus would be at the centre of the stage and close to the microphone. Everyone was confident about their role and went in for make up. The boys who were to play as the soldier and the companion had not arrived. Anxiety and nervousness filled the air. The stage director popped an antacid to calm her ulcer.

Everyone was looking at each other and giggling at the beards and moustaches that they were now sporting. A large crowd of parents and friends were seated in front and waiting with baited breath to see if their children would remember their lines and act well. The curtains opened and the first act went on smoothly with the Judas hurrying through his lines and barely glancing at Jesus.

Since the boys had not reported for the play, another boy and I were put in as replacement. As everyone knew the story, there wasn’t any need to explain the act in detail. We were told to arrest the boy with the beard who was at the centre of the stage and cut the ear of the one who is supposedly the servant. All set, the curtain opens and Judas proceed as mentioned in the scene. He walked up to stage and stood looking totally blank. There were two boys dressed up in similar clothing and having thick beards glued to them ‘ Who is Jesus?’

The crowd looked on wondering why Judas was not hugging Jesus.

Brother #1 sensed his friend’s confusion and tried to wave his fingers to signal. A relief crossed Judas face as he rushed forward to hug Peter ( brother #1) saying “ Greetings Rabbi”.  At this point my brother panicked and the real Jesus asked “What? I am Jesus!!!” The stage director began to flag her hands and wave to get their attention. The boys looked at each other totally confused. The crowd began to murmur. A few smiles were seen.

Taking this as a cue for entry, the soldier entered and saw that the Jesus was being hugged. He ran arrest him. This was my cue I rushed to cut the ear off my brother #2 only to trip over Judas and cut the real Jesus in the ear.  The teachers began to wave their hands to show the position of the servant. But the deed was done. The crowd watched with baited breath. Will Jesus cry out to protect the play? Nope!

The real servant, Brother # 2, was standing towards the front of the stage and knew that the cutting of the ear meant that a loud cry was to be cried. He yelled out ” Owwww my ear, my ear, he cut my ear!” and fell down holding his ear. The stage director nearly fainted. My sister was a part of the crowd that was to run to help the servant. She could not decide as to whom she was to help so she ran to the brother pretending to have his ear cut “Oh! His ear is cut!” The crowd erupted in laughter.

The status of the story was now as follows: Judas was confused and betrayed Peter , the soldier arrested Peter, the companion cut off Jesus ear, Jesus was absolutely fine with the ear cutting business , someone on stage felt the pain of the ear being cut off and the on stage crowd decided to sympathise with him rather than Jesus. We rewrote the bible. The play was brilliantly executed.

The pastor had to be revived with smelling salts while the stage director consoled herself with the fact that the crowd loved the play.

Need I mention that it was an interesting play?

A vacation is something one plans all year. We pack our bags to the extent of bursting. Every year one packs thinking, enough is enough. This year we are going to enjoy ourselves, we are entitled to it. We decided on the following things.

No handout to the coolie at the airport who decides to take your luggage hostage unless you pay him Rs. 500 for wheeling the trolley to the exit, all in a span of 15 minutes. Isn’t this part of his job profile??!

No extras to the driver who is already paid for the trip to the airport and back. What is the tip for?? Coming to work or giving him work???

No more purchase of lavish gifts from the gulf as you would inevitably find someone was offended by the sari print/ material/ perfume smell/ gadget/ etc that you gifted them with love and care. The general comment would be ‘Aunty got a lovely sari/ perfume/ jewellery but since am not close to him/her I got this low quality stuff’. Of course, if you brought them something from India…they would be offended again, this time ‘Aunty got stuff from the Gulf. I am not considered good enough for that type of gift…’. This is when one puts up their hands and look up to the skies for help.

No more handouts to the innocent looking, scrupulous,  neighbours/ relative/acquaintances  who come around every year asking for donation for their house that needs repairs, children who need education (since the last n yrs) and all sorts of medical problems that you can’t name but they will have. We have the same needs too, anybody interested in helping us?

No more discussion on trips planned after years of scrimping and saving to nearby hill station or foreign countries as this would definitely mean that some needy person was earlier turned away and not given a handout because ‘you were selfish ‘ , ‘wanted to enjoy yourself’ and  was ‘ without any concern to others who are suffering around you’. Good God!

No more visiting the meat shop, vegetable shop, textiles, etc without a local relative to haggle as in their absence you will be charged a hefty price as you are from the GULF. The last time we checked we didn’t grow money on trees!!!

No more shopping that requires you walk from shop to shop, haggle all hour long only to find out that the same item was available in a shop next door at a cheaper rate.

No more offering of more than one meal to uninvited guests who drop in on the pretext of seeing you and don’t leave. The usual routine involves two days of feasting and shopping at your expense. There has got to be an excuse to throw them out after one breakfast / lunch.

No to people who feel you must be woken up at 5 in the morning for a healthy living. Wasn’t that what you did the whole year so that you could sleep it off for one month?

No to well meaning folks who feel you must stuff yourselves at meal times which are just three hours APART! Think of your poor stomach people!

No to spicy curries that are tasty. It could burn a hole in your stomach and your A**.

No to Good Night coils that keep away no mosquitoes.  You look like you have come down with chicken pox the next morning coz there is a limit to what the coil can do.

No to agents who sell LIC, Fixed Deposits, Bank Loans, Resort timings, Chitty schemes, business ideas and God alone knows what else! For crying out loud, I am a pauper by now.

No to relatives who consider it an offence if you don’t  visit them by travelling hours on a bumpy road with babies, irate children, rain and luggage. We are suppose to enjoy the trip not endure torture.

Yes, every year one packs thinking, enough is enough and then we reach the airport and the coolie hijacks our trolley and luggage…. need I say more. Maybe one more sentence…..

I needed a vacation from VACATION!!!

Missed the story so far? No worries, read it here Part 1 & Part 2

I was happy to put distance between the folks and me, but Xander was a whole new ball game. I was really going to miss him. I hadn’t worked up my courage to tell him how I felt.  I didn’t have words to explain how dear he was to me. I was afraid to think of what would happen if he said that he was not interested in a relationship. On the eve of my birthday, I went to bed as usual after waving a goodnight from my window. My mind was full of the party and the people I would meet.

A knock on my window woke me up from my reverie. Xander smiled and waved. I was really surprised. It was midnight.

“What are you doing? What happened?” I asked in a whisper as I opened my window.

He smiled.

Taking my hand he pulled me outside and on to the rooftop. It was a clear night. I shivered. My sleeveless cotton nightgown stopped a little below my knees. I could feel a breeze on my bare feet. Xander was still tall and it was difficult for me to make out the expression on his face. We sat down on the parapet and enjoyed the moonlight night.

“I will miss you.” He said as he looked at the sky.

I had goose bumps listening to him. My hair flew in the gentle breeze and a strand touched his face. He looked so handsome and so solemn. I could not decipher what was going through his mind.

“I won’t be far, I will email everyday….” I said trying to console myself more than him. He gently touched the strand that caressed his face. I felt a shot of awareness shoot through me. It was nothing like what I felt before.

“Will you miss me?” he asked.

His hand softly touched my hair. I had left it open without any pins or bands. My hair was my pride. It fell like a soft sheen covering my shoulders and stopping at my elbows. I loved the way it felt when I twirled my head. But when Xander touched it…it felt like electricity was passing through it. Some thing had changed between us.

“You know, I will” I replied.

I raised my hand to tie my hair in a bun as I usually do. His hands stopped me. His finger locked through mine.

“Leave it as it is. It looks beautiful” he said as he came closer.

My heart stopped. I looked at him with questions in my eyes ‘what did he want to say?’ He held my hand for a while and then making up his mind, he took out a book which looked like a diary and handed it over to me.

“What is it?” I asked.

Was he going to show me a picture of someone he loved? Lately he had begun to quiz me on what a girl my age would love and what would be an ideal date and so on. With a heavy heart I would answer his every query with total honesty while wishing all that planning was for me.

With a smile he replied “A gift for you to remember me.”

‘If it’s a collection of poems on some babe….I will knock him off the roof’ I thought as I open the clasp and turned to the first page. Within it laid a picture of Xander and Me playing. I looked at him. His eyes searched my face. I smiled.

“Who took a picture of us?” I asked curiously.

“My mum” he confessed

“I didn’t want you to know, but I really valued our game every evening. I felt like I was looked on as a person. Not as someone who was grieving. You made me forget everything else when I am with you”.

He rubbed my hands. I shivered.

The next page was a typical scene at my house. My brother was playing on the sofa while I looked comical trying to focus on something which looked like algebra. Xander was standing behind me with a grin on his face while he was looking at me.

“Your mum took this pic. She wanted to capture the essence of a day when you and your brother were engrossed in things that didn’t involve broken furniture, loud words and brawls” He said.

“ So why are you in the picture?” I asked poking him in the chest.

“The looking good factor!”

I gave him a solid elbow on his rib.  “Oww!!” he cried and retaliated by pulling my hair. We laughed for a few minutes before browsing.

The next couple of pics were taken in from various places, parties, games, etc. One particular picture caught my attention. It was the last picture in the book. It was taken after a game between us.  Both of us were sweating and smiling at each other. Our profiles were beautifully captured against the backdrop of the wild green grass that was not mowed down. The picture suggested energy, attraction and affection.

There was a question written below:

When I close my eyes…I see your face and once again I am reminded of the fact I can’t help missing you …could there be more to this friendship?

I was at a loss for words….I felt shy. I looked at him and blushed. How did he guess? does he feel the same?  my heart pounded. His look said everything. The shy smile, the sigh of relief and the soft touch to smoothen my flying hair…

He took out a pen from his pocket and wrote below the question

P.S. I Love You.

If you have missed the story so far… click here

A noisy neighbour came to our house for tea one evening. It was from her that we learned that Xander had lost his elder brother in an accident and had not gotten over the loss. He was killed in an air crash the previous year and the family moved to our neighbourhood to help him. Being a gifted mathematician, Xander has joined a college nearby.  His family gave him the space he needed to grieve while they coped with the loss.  Rumour had it that his mother was also injured by the accident and needed home care. I barely slept that night. I could not believe that this was the Xander who played with me every evening for a year.  I realised that he would always have me talk of myself, and rarely volunteer any info on his life. I made up my mind to ask him the next evening.

At school, I was totally lost. I could barely concentrate and had no patience to listen to anything anyone said. All the girls were busy discussing the upcoming birthday party of the most popular girl in class. Not only was she pretty, she had a good looking beau from college to her credit. Not everyone was as lucky as her. The invites for the party was being discussed and I had not received one. Another day, this would have bothered me but today, I could care less. I could not wait till evening.  I ran home after school, changed to a summer frock and ran up to Xander’s house to talk to him. This was my first visit to his house.

I ran the doorbell. Soft chimes were heard in the house. I looked around. The house seemed to be tastefully done.  A small white kitten purred at my feet.  I picked it up and ran my hand over the soft fur while I waited. Xander opened the door with just a towel on his waist. The term Greek God suddenly popped up in my head. He looked awesome in wet hair, muscles toned like a statue and a dimple smile. I never thought I would be so appreciative at the male body…since I did have a smelly brother at home.

“Are you done gawking?” he asked as he smiled.

I blushed. I was doing it again. Damn him. I nodded.

He invited me in and went to change into something that didn’t make me ‘gawk.’ I forgot what I had come around for until I saw a picture of his family. They were a lovely lot. His mother was a pretty woman with straight hair and she sat in the centre surrounded by three men in wavy brown hair. Xander’s father looked handsome and it was easy to see where the dimples came from. His brother looked like his mother with a shy smile and kind eyes. Picking up the picture, I looked at it wondering how hard it was to lose someone we love.

The kitten purred again. I turned to pick it up and met a frail lady sitting on a wheelchair. She looked at me and smiled. She looked like tired and the vitality in the family picture was all gone. “ Misha” she called out to the kitten. I suddenly felt sad for my friend. Was this why he didn’t tell me….because he could not bear it? My mother told me that some people grieve silently. Was that Xander and his family were doing? “Come here...” she urged the cat. The kitten ran over to the wheelchair and darted up her knees.

“Hi….I am Xander’s friend.” I said as I introduced myself.

“Oh, Xander talks of you all the time….he loves basketball” she said as she smiled.

“I didn’t know about Xander…..I mean…of your loss” I tried to sound like a grown up. I felt lost. I placed the picture back carefully.

Xander walked in with sleeveless Tshirt carrying a tray with three tall glasses of juice.

“Mum, you know who this is, right?….my basketball partner. You saw her from my room the other day.”

I smiled shyly. I was at a loss. She nodded. Each of us picked a glass and sipped quietly.

“I have never seen you outside.  Don’t you go out often?” I asked, knowing it to be a stupid question as she looked tired. She smiled. I liked her face. It was so sweet and kind.

“I go out usually when Xander comes back from college. I prefer the beach. Xander loves to play and hence we both have a clash of timing when he has to play with you. He wouldn’t miss it for the world and I end up going out when he is free”.

I could feel a hot blush creeping up. Did Xander care so much to make his mother wait?

“Mum, You are embarrassing her!” Xander exclaimed when I blushed.

“ Sorry, Xander, I didn’t mean to” she said as she squeezed my hot hands.

“Anyway, I am tired. Take me to my room.” Xander nodded and wheeled his mother out. I watched her leave not knowing what to say. I heard him push the chair into a room and heard his tuck his mother to bed.

When he came back, I was at a loss for words. “I am sorry…” I said… ” about your brother. I didn’t know earlier”.

Xander sat down next to me without a word. “I should have told you earlier…..I couldn’t. I didn’t want pity.”

I nodded.

“ He was my best friend, so mature and honest. It is so unfair that he got taken so quickly…”

I didn’t know how to console him. I cautiously put a hand over his and squeezed.  We sat there for some time. He talked of how Brian, his brother, was planning to surprise him and how their mum caught a connecting flight so that they could travel together. The accident changed their lives forever.  We sat quietly until the sun set and I left for home.

Something changed that evening. I felt like I was a grown up already at 16. We never discussed the topic again as I understood Xander’s need to be left alone with his grief. Our friendship gave each out a shoulder to lean on. Playing basketball managed to get me fit and I felt more confident dealing with my peers. The inferiority I felt before was replaced with a quite acceptance. It was nice to have one person not expect anything other than my presence. My appearance changed in two years and ‘blossoming into a young pretty woman’ as my dad put it was something I didn’t expect. I personally called myself a pig.

It was time for college. I was going the next week.  A grand get together to celebrate my 18th birthday and going off to college.

To be continued… The concluding part will be published coming Wednesday.

When we first met…he was just a guy off the block. I was the ordinary girl next door. Plump, 15 years old and clumsy, I loved sports and was always disappointed when I was not selected to represent my house for any athletic activity.  It didn’t help that I was an extrovert who has no looks. Deep down, I knew that people liked me for my jokes and not for my looks. It bothered me that I was not considered for any dates or dances.

I took up basket ball when I realised that I could practice it at my backyard. I didn’t have to please anyone and it didn’t matter if I wasn’t a pro at it. It gave me a release to just play. I would braid my long hair every evening and tuck it in a cap before I played for an hour. One evening, after an hour of aimless playing, I heard a voice commenting on my aim.

“Aim more to the left. You have a good arm”

Not a soul in sight. The backyard had a few trees outside the fence.

“Who’s there?”

I asked looking around.

“To your right… Look at the tree house.”

The voice continued as I looked up. It was the next door guy. I had never seen him up close. He looked tall and his legs were stretched out in from of him. He was lying on a hammock tied to the tree branches.

“Who are you?” I asked, I felt conscious and started to blush. I was wearing a blue T shirt that had a Care Bear on it and I was sweating buckets. I looked like a lumpy mess. I hated it when people saw me this way. I felt angry that this ‘dude’ decided to watch me play without a warning.

“We have not been introduced…” he said as he sat up and climbed down to my backyard effortlessly. “ The name is Alexander, my friends call me Xander.” He appeared in front of me. He was tall and I had to look up.  His grey eyes had a piercing look in them.

I blushed when I realised that I was staring and muttered a “Hi…”

“I am sorry to disrupt you play….I watch every evening. You can be good at the play if you observe a few rules.”

I blushed.

“Am I embarrassing you? I am sorry. I just know the game. Would you rather I leave? ” He inquired.

I was tongue tied. I hated the way I looked. “No, show me how to play”

We spent the next hour learning new moves and playing. It was fun. Xander was quite a charmer. He played well and I loved the way he smiled. He had dimples when he smiled. His room faced mine and it was easy to climb up to my window from his tree house.  By the time the sun has set, I made a new friend and it was a guy. I felt thrilled.

Every evening he would appear to play and we played and learned all sorts of moves. I began to enjoy the exercise. I often wondered why I never met Xander at school. I was sure he would be every girl’s heart throb. I would be proud to say that I had his undivided attention every evening. Secretly, I was glad that he was not at our school. All the pretty girls would have all his attention. I hated myself for being selfish about him. I never spoke of him to my friends. My brother would occasionally join us to play and then disappear back to his books.  Xander began to come home during the weekends to play video games with my brother and occasionally look over my shoulder at some algebra or school work. He was always encouraging me on how to get it done better. Some nights, he would climb up to my window to share something interesting like a book or CD. It felt wonderful to be thought of and it made me happy. It never occurred to me that he was unhappy, not until a year has passed by.

What happened next? Continue reading here

Two brothers (boisterous) + One sister (sweet) + One elder sister (held responsible for all 3) = Disaster

As children, my brothers (both are younger than me) were a pain in the rear. The elder one was always wandering off alone and the younger one refused to be forced into any kind of action other than eating. My sister was a sweet child with a flair for throwing a bucket of tears at the drop of a hat.

Brother number one and I were always at odds with each other. He would get into all sorts of mischief and I would get punished for not being responsible. If I was on the bus, after school, heading home, he was busy playing in the sand and missing the bus. Who got blamed for being irresponsible? –ME, of course. If I had a new shiny toy, he was busy taking it apart. When the toy was on its last screw, dad would always see it and I got reprimanded. Who got blamed for being irresponsible? – ME, of course.

However, things changed once my little sister and little brother came into the picture. It was fun to watch my brother get himself into all sorts of scraps. The most notable one was on a Friday when all of us were dressed and ready to attend a church function. All of us were required to wear white. My parents had painstakingly hunted white dresses and shirts for us and a stern warning was issued on consequences of dirtying our clothes. As usual my brother (9 yrs then) could not resist. My sister (4 yrs) and youngest brother (3 yrs) loved to drink Tang and were having a cup full of it. They were being careful in not tipping even the smallest drop on their clothes. My mother had finished a round of cleaning up of spilled drinks and dropped sandwiches and was running to get dressed for church. We were late and Dad was in a foul mood at being late. He kept muttering about how we were all tardy, irresponsible and always late.

He was impatiently pacing around waiting for mum. All of us kept watching him while we sipped on the chilled Tang. Brother number one was bored after waiting for a few minutes. He hated the freshly pressed white shirt and the neat hair style that mum had insisted he wear.  Sneaking behind where the younger kids were sitting, he decided to have some fun. Seeing him behind them,  I ran to stop any mischief, but all in vain. He jumped on them with a loud shout.  With a rude start, my sister jerked and up went the cup full of orange juice to fall smack in front of the mischief maker’s new, white, freshly pressed shirt.  Brother number two spilled his juice on my sister’s stocking. It was the only good one that she had.  Everyone looked stunned for a moment. And then there was a loud wail. My sister began to cry over her ruined stocking and spilled drink. Brother number two was crying and throwing a fit saying “I want my Tannnnggggggggg……” He looked like he lost his best pal. I was running around like a banshee, with my hair plaited on one end and undone on the other, trying to locate a rag and a box of tissues. It was quite a scene.

My dad was blowing his top off like a pressure cooker on high flame and walked to my brother to take him to task. The mischief maker ran for his ears. My poor mother ran to wash the stockings and tried to convince my wailing sister that her white shoes would not be orange once she dried them. She also managed to silence brother number two with another glass of Tang. He decided not to waste any of the precious moments he got to spend with his beloved TANG and settled down quietly to sipping his drink. During this commotion, my dad managed to chase down our mischief maker and boxed his ears till they looked like that of an elephant.

My brother meekly sat with throbbing ears for the rest of the evening. He did not dare to trouble the younger children for the fear of a repeat on the Tang episode. To this day, we still laugh out when we think of Tang.

“Tang… anyone?”

It was a practice, and still is, to have a siesta in the afternoon. Children were usually put to bed with a stern warning that any interruption to sleep time would be hazardous to one’s backside. Such a warning would generally pass through unheard, unheeded and unthought of.

One afternoon, after a really tired morning, dad put us all to bed for a siesta. A stern warning was issued. Each of us silently vowed that we would not initiate a fight if the other behaved. The curtains were drawn, the room was dark and none of us could sleep despite the cool air tempting us. After half and hour of tossing and turning and hitting each other with paper planes, I sneak out and decide to turn on the TV at the lowest volume. Within a few minutes…. I was joined by the rest of the gang. All of us huddled together and sat close to the TV to watch the cartoons.

It is not in the nature of brothers and sisters to co-exist peacefully. As soon as the first cartoon was over, the boys wanted to see a robot cartoon and we girls wanted to see our favourite comedy. By then, my younger brother got hold of the remote and decided to watch Sesame Street which was clearly a baby show for the rest of us. A fight was in progress, three against one. Sofa cushions began to fly, chairs were jostled, my mother’s precious collectables became casualties to this Holy War and somewhere in between the running over and under the dinning table we all bump into dad.

Except for the TV….there was pin drop silence. Each of us looked dad and then at each other while thinking of an exit strategy. My dad looked like the rumbling Mount Olympus… someone has got to pay. His eyes were red and it looked like he had tried to pull out his hair. “ WHO?…” he asked …we didn’t wait for him to ask for a name, we began to point at the nearest person. Everyone was blaming the younger one and he was vehemently accusing each of us of provoking him in turn. Dad looked like he would explode. His face took to a darker shade of red. None of us saw it coming. In a second the TV stopped working and the main connecting cable laid in two pieces…. “No more TV. GO…TO…BED”  he roared. We scrammed for our dear life and burrowed ourselves in bed.

The next afternoon, after more tossing and turning I snuck out and turned on the radio. Though it had a bit of static, the station was clear if you turned it on a bit loud. Going off to the further end of the room, I sat down and tuned in to listen. Within a few minutes, the rest of the gang walked in and sat tapping their feet and listening. It was a lovely 15 minutes before the static started to interfere and I began to adjust the dials. Soon enough, battle lines were drawn and a fight broke out. Everyone felt that they personally could sort the static interference issue. After a bit of jostling, a few screams and jumping from sofa to sofa like Tarzan in the jungle, my brothers stopped mid way when they saw Dad. My sister and I were unaware and still busy holding up the cushions against the attack from the boys. The silence got us to cautiously lower our cushion guards. Lo behold! There stood dad with thunder in his face. He looked like a Volcano waiting to erupt. His hair stood up on its own on the top of his head. He had a cane on one hand and an expression that spoke volumes on the punishment yet to come. “What is going ON?”…

Each of us looked at the other. And then all hell broke loose. Each of us spoke louder than the other to explain how it was not our fault and how the other refused to keep quite. While speaking we were still yelling at the nearest person for not being quiet and for telling tales. One can only imagine the effect of the bickering on my dad. After loosing sleep twice in a row, my father was ready to blow and someone was at the receiving end. One moment he was angrily shouting and the next, the radio’s power cable went down the balcony into the crowded bushes below the 10th storey building. Each of us received a hot cane to the rear before he roared “No more RADIO. GO…TO…BED...” We scrammed for our dear life.

The third afternoon, we decide that it was just not in our system to go to sleep on a perfect afternoon. With the TV and Radio out of the picture, the only other thing that we could do was to play Antakshari. Careful to shut the door behind us to control the noise pollution, we began to sing in turns. All was fine until my youngest brother got bored and my sister decided to sing an English song. An argument broke out regarding the rules, a scuffle began, words and blows were exchanged and I was caught in between the cross fire. No amount of Shhhhhhh  helped. The coffee table was overturned, the vase with flowers was spilt and the jungle episode with Tarzan jumping over the pricy sofas continued until a loud roar stopped us to our tracks. Dad had woken up. This time, we were in this for good.

Dad looked utterly defeated with bags under his eyes; unshaved stubbles dotting his jaw and hair sticking out like static electricity had fun with it. Mum stood groggily at his side trying to focus on the issue at hand….US. Something had to be done. We froze. My poor father was utterly exhausted and he literally gave up trying to make us sleep.

Handing over a TV cable he said, “Watch TV…” and went back to bed …this time with some ear plugs on…

The family.  We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.  ~Erma Bombeck