3 saal 11 mahine

How is it?

Udhar aao

and 

Shifted to -----> http://thesolutionbaba.wordpress.com

My first story published.

My first story 'That Christmas' published under 'Chicken soup for the Indian Women Soul' by Westland Publishers. Thank you Bali for forcing me to send my story. Bali's story is also publised with mine and thats double-bill for us. :)

Boori Maa.

Note: Boori Maa means an old lady in Bengali but literally it means an old mother.

She used to stand by the traffic signal every single day, without fail. A four and a half feet structure of bones clad in dark brown, wrinkled, leathery skin, burnt out to over fifty five or perhaps sixty years of misery, loneliness and unaffordability was what we 'fondly' called 'boori-maa'( old woman in bengali). And even though her blunt white hair occasionally swayed like wisps of cloud in the spring sky of Calcutta and her ever smiling jawline showed no trace of any teeth inside, her eyes, old and tired and protruding, pierced one's soul with all the shame they contained. Always clad in a filthy, tattered, white cotton saree ( i assume she was a widow), she waited anxiously for the signal at Ballygunj to turn red.

" Maa kuri ta poisha debe? moori khabo ( mother, will you give me 20 paise? I will eat puffed rice) " used to be her hymn. Imagine the value of 20 paise even in our times. Oh, I forgot to mention, it was in the 6th standard that I first saw her and then onwards, finding her by our car became a ritual which lasted five years. Despite the sleepy morphine-injected work culture of Calcutta, she was indeed very punctual, I must say! So there she used to be, at the signal, sharp at 9 am, stopping by our car and begging for alms. My mom, a generous and sympathetic lady that most Indian women are towards (women) beggars in our country, used to gracefully shell out a few metal coins in her tiny, dilaphidated aluminium bowl. In return, boori maa alwys used to pat either my or my kid sister's cheek, depending on whose turn would it be to sit by the window that day, and shower us with blessings. In a matter of days this became a routine so much so that following the act of taking out pennies and keeping them ready in advance to give to boori maa, my mom began to actually pick up a few extra coins from home before pushing off for work, for the old lady.

During monsoons, she would come to us with a tattered plastic sheet which she called 'raincoat' over her head. She new our names by now. She knew which school we went to and what profession my parents were in. She even knew the days our exams started and ended and when our vacations began. I also noticed that with time, she prefered to stand back by our car and have a little chit-chat with us over going to other cars waiting impatiently at the signal. We started getting fonder of her to the extent that we would impatiently wait for our car to stop at the Ballygunj signal so that we could meet her. I think, she reciprocated in a similar manner. She would get worried if I or my sister would fall ill. She would even suggest home remedies to cure us! I wonder whether she was born in or fell to misfortune that led her to begging! At times when dad accompanied us, my mom would as him to give boori maa some extra money. The first winter we also gave her a shawl to keep her warm; she was thankful. The next day, she came shivering in the cold and upon being asked whatever happened to the shawl, she said that someone stole it. We believed her. My mom would tell me sometimes that she thought of getting her home and keeping her properly in return of some minor house hold work but I don't know what kept her from asking boori maa about the idea. Perhaps she though that this would be an act of pitying her and given the fact that she was no more a beggar for us, would make her feel bad too. After all, my family and she had gotten so close that neither of the parties thought that she could be anything better than a smiling face waiting at the signal for us everyday. Perhaps she thought so too, who knows!

In the first week of January 2000, we stopped seeing her so often. She had contracted a bad cold and would sometimes sit on the divider, coughing ferociously, her breathing tract making soft whistling sounds as she would try to spit out the phlegm. One day, we offered to show her to the doctor, to which, after much reluctance, she agreed upon.

The next day we stopped our car at a nearby parking lot and started looking for her. She was nowhere to be found. My mom enquired at the local grocery shops, kiosks and the traffic police about her whereabouts but in vain. We went back home, sad and wondering.

The next day passed without her anywhere in sight, so did the next and the following. We stopped seeing her altogether.

I wonder what happened to boori maa! Was our offer of getting her medically examined too much of a shame to keep her at the same signal? Did she go away somewhere? Did she die? and if she did, then how? - of the cold, of old age or of poverty? Did she think of us and how would we feel when we did not see her the day following her missing from the signal where we had been meeting her for the last five years?

In these eight years of going a-miss, the smiling face of boori maa has intersperced my thought stream umpteen times. Yes, the frequency with which I used to remember her and wonder about her disappearance has shown a decline. But there was something about her that is still throbbing in me and would continue to for many more years to come. The fact that she disappeared totally one fine day does not haunt me. Her face is as alive in my memory as it used to be when she would shower numerous blessings on me-

" bhalo thako maa" - be well my daughter

" porikkha bhalo hobe" - your exams would go very well

" khub naam korbe"- you will be very successful

" khub bhalo biye hobe"- you will be very happily married

" thaakur tomaar shob bhalo koruk"- may God always bless you

I miss her. I miss those small, dirty, weathered hands, her dark brown temple etched with wrinkles, her toothless smiles, her cloudy white hair. Most of all, I miss her hymn phrase- " Maa kuri taa pisha debe? Moori khabo". After a while, it had not been the money that brought her to us. If it was anything, it definitely was love and above all, faith.

Boori maa- the old beggar woman, I write this to let you know that I have not forgotten you. Wherever you are, you must listen to my feelings that are pouring out as I write this and must know that for a long long time to come, I would continue to believe that you are still alive and remember me.

____________
Pallavi Dubey
http://pallavi-bluehyacinths.blogspot.com/

Sweetest and the best compliment ever. :))

de babu! i have to tell you this!! everytime i see your updates you make me smile or laugh! honestly after a days hard work or a troubled day at work or home all i need is a some of de babus humor and my day is made. not exgrting! honestly! thank u thank u thank u fr ur sheer presence!! thr r a very few ppl who hv so much of positivity in thm u r one of thm pls dnt let nething stop u! u r wht humanity needs! :) n i tk an oath tday to strive each day and learn smthin frm u! muaah! love you totally de babu!! :)

Remembrance

Ever experienced that perfect moment when time seemed to stop just for you? When you wished you could somehow capture the essence of that moment and bottle it so you could lift the lid off and breathe in the fragrance every time you needed to feel that magic again?


It’s that slack tide moment, when the tide is neither coming in nor going out; when everything’s simply calm, still…perfect.


The flip side is that it passes so quickly. And as much as you may want to hold onto it for just that little bit longer, it slips out of reach and loses itself in time’s ever-rolling stream and becomes a memory.


I remember, once again.
That perfect moment.


And you.
_______________
Priya Mallic Kumar
http://chellsie12.blogspot.com/

पुराना -.फोटोफ्रेम

धुल भरे कांच के पीछे से , ये आँखे कुछ तलाश रही थी

एक मेटल का फ्रेम, धुल में सना हुआ ,

आँखों में दर्द उभर आया , क्या ये वही फ्रेम है जो मैंने तुम्हे दिया था ,

हमारी शादी की पहली सालगिरह पर!

कहाँ गयी उसकी वो चमक,,, 

क्यों धुल की परतों ने उसपर अपना घरोंदा बना लिया है ...

उसमे लगी हमारी ये तस्वीर कुछ धुंधली सी, कई कहानिया कहा रही हों जैसे...

कुछ अनकही बातें जो हमने बांटी थी कभी... 

क्यों किस्मत ने आज अलग कर दिए, रास्ते हमारे!

कहाँ गए वो दिन जब हम साथ रोया करते थे,

आज हम नदी के दो किनारे हों जैसे...

आज एक ही फ्रेम में होकर भी हम आधे क्यों हैं!!

क्यों आज फ्रेम के टूटे हुए कांच की तरह हमारी तस्वीर भी दो नज़र आती है

क्यों एक ही फ्रेम में रहकर भी हम दो नज़र आते है..

आखिर क्यों...

______________

Susan Matthew

The Best Compliment

Got the best compliment ever, makes it even more special, this coming from Shyama Di, who is one person encouraged me to write in the first place. Shyama Di is an established writer herself.

This is my country...

India

limited resources

unlimited problems

and yet

heart full of laughter...

always.

I love my country forever...