Rashmi's Space

What is wrong with people these days? I don’t get it! I mean, this Mrs. Dixit! Uff! What is it to her if a certain desi girl marries a foreigner younger than her? To hear Mrs. Dixit speak, you would think it is not this daddy’s li’l girl , but her own daughter who has decided to get hitched to a singer…. Oh, pardon me, I haven’t introduced myself… How daft of me! Myself, Mrs. Bhagirathi…. Mrs. B, you remember? We have met before ! In fact, we have met not once, but twice , I believe…. So, let me tell you from the beginning what happened. Today, after the school bus left, I was taking my usual rounds around the building, when my neighbour Mrs. Dixit joined me. I was listening to songs on my phone, and really was not very happy with the interruption. But then, living in the same building, sharing space on the same floor, even sharing the same maid – there is nothing I could do, but endure. And endure I did. So as we walked, we struck up a conversation. After listenin...

“Hello,” said the voice on the phone. “My name is Roald Dahl. I know you never expected a call from me, as famous as I am, but I’ve been given your name as someone who can help me with my next book…” That was how it all started. With that one dream. Of course, I knew it even before I had opened my eyes, that it was a dream. I mean, who in their right mind would say I know you never expected a call from me, as famous as I am… ?! Not to mention the fact that Dahl has been dead for the past twenty-eight years. But that didn’t matter. Not at that time. Because that dream gave me clarity. That dream propelled me into action after ages of inactivity. Well, I say ages, but it was merely months, really. Months spent going in and out of courtrooms. Months spent climbing up and down that horrid staircase of the family court building. Horrible, awful months. Excruciating months, when I preferred oblivion, and possibly even contemplated death. Months when I didn’t want to exis...

Sharada was ready. Just before stepping out, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. A lovely lady in her fifties, wearing a gorgeous traditional silk saree stared back at her. She was wearing a glittering bindi and had even tried on the new lipstick her niece had given her for just this occasion. She wore a handful of gold bangles and bracelets, studded with diamonds to match with her necklace and earrings; she also wore toe-rings that peeked out with every step she took – understated toe-rings that spoke nothing of the fact that they were custom made, just for her. Sharada smiled at her reflection, and just before the thoughts caught up with her, decided to move on. Now was not the time to give in to those thoughts.   It was time to go downstairs and join her husband Ram, in welcoming their guests for the evening. Today they were giving a grand reception to her youngest daughter-in-law. Funny how the mind works, she thought. Most people wouldn’t put it this wa...