Rashmi's Space

I have always been a sucker for stories. Stories in all forms – books, movies, even songs – hold a fascination for me like none other. I don’t know whether this habit was the result of growing up in a family of readers and movie buffs, but it definitely helped being surrounded by people who knew to appreciate a good story. Needless to say, being married to a man who doesn’t read fiction and considers movies as something to help wind down at the end of a hectic day, took some getting used to, no, a lot of getting used to.  I remember spending countless hours watching movies when I was a child or sometimes just watching songs on Rangoli or Chayageet or Chitrahaar on Doordarshan. Each of these songs, especially the ones from the movies I hadn’t seen, led me to ask my parents about the movie and if we could watch it. My Dad was of the opinion that the Bollywood movies of his time (the ‘70s and before and some from the early part of the ‘80s) were and always will be the best!...

Lila was seething with anger when she put down the call. He is mine, dammit!  she thought. And even as she did, she knew getting angry won't get her anywhere. Nothing would change. It was just one more week, one more cancelled visit. And he would not even mind it. Plus, hadn’t she suffered through many of these already? And hadn’t she decided to come to terms with all this and get on with life? But she knew why she couldn’t move on. Life without him meant nothing to her.  Although, everyone in her life told her, this obsession of hers was unhealthy. she needed to move on. But she still held on tight; didn't know for how long. She didn’t even remember when she had stopped counting the years. He didn’t seem to mind the distance anyway. He didn’t feel the need to call her every day; although, she still remembered the time he was dependent on her. Oh, those were the days! But all that had changed. His attention had wandered and then Maya had come in his life! Even today...

“Dear girls, get a degree, start earning, buy a house and a car, give back to your parents and then get married. Don’t put your 100% on a man.” Saw this on social media today. It had more than a few thousand likes and hundreds of comments. Then there was another post doing the rounds on social media – about how and why women are not thrilled about the idea of wearing bindis, sindhoor, bangles, toe-rings and other similar signs proclaiming their marital status to the world. And then there is also this fact that the culture of arranged marriage (with the age of the groom never being much of a concern; but the age of the bride preferred to be in the early twenties); is seeing a significant change. The average marriage age, for the bride and the groom today has gone up considerably; especially that of the bride; which brings me back to the whole Dear girls post mentioned above. These posts stem, no doubt, from the idea of women empowerment; because frankly, in our countr...

I was awake when the alarm rang. I had been awake for some time, in fact, since waking up startled and sweating during the early hours of the morning. Had I seen a bad dream? Or was I just too anxious about what was to happen today? Whatever was the reason, I had been awake since, counting the minutes ticking by. I did not venture out of my room though, or put the lights on; for fear that Ma or Baba might see them and wonder why I was up at this odd hour. It was not that I wasn’t nervous, but I didn’t really think it was such a big deal. I mean, this was not the only option I had; or was it? Anyway, now that the alarm had finally rung, I was looking forward to a steaming cup of coffee! I could hear Ma in the kitchen. Always the first one up, she would be getting Baba's coffee ready now, even though it would be a good fifteen minutes before he came for it. Bathed, and with her morning prayers done, she would have his coffee – glass and tumbler, never a cup and saucer f...