Rashmi's Space

It was on a cold December morning that I read an email asking me if I would like to review a book on Cricket. Coming from an editor who takes her work very seriously, this gave me a pause.   I couldn’t help but wonder why she would ask me, of all people, to review a book on sports! I am not much of a sports fan. I have never written on sports before. Fiction , yes, parenting , oh, yes; general book reviews , definitely yes! But sports? And that too, Cricket? Growing up, I’d always seen my dad scold my brother for ‘wasting his time’ watching ball-by-ball play of one-day matches when he would watch cricket instead of studying for his exams. I remember hiding the remote from my brother just so I could watch HBO and not let him watch cricket. But of course, marriage, as we all know, is a game changer. After I was married , I was introduced to the world of cricket. No, my husband isn’t a big cricket fan or anything, he doesn’t watch ball-by-ball matches either, but he does ...

Clay figurines. Colourful. Vibrant. Bucolic. That is their trade. Dealing in snazzy, bright clay figurines, bowls, masks, wall-hangings. They sit by the side of the road. Their wares displayed along the pavement. So people can see when passing – on foot, in their cars. Every once in a while, someone passes in their car and then parks the car further along the road and comes walking back to inspect something that has caught their eye. They ask the price. Which is usually not too much. They still bargain. And eventually, at a much lesser price than the artifact is worth, they buy the piece. It will look amazing on their feature wall, they think. It will dazzle their boring passageway. It will welcome their guests warmly... But more often than not, no one buys much. Especially on working days. Busy days. When the adults are rushing to and back from work and the children are tired, being taken to school and back. But they still sit there. Their wares spread. Eve...

In the next three days, we will step into the New Year. Make a clean new beginning – bidding farewell to something old and familiar. I hate goodbyes. But then, I also love new beginnings! And what better than the fag end of the year to remind us of that? And so I sit, lost in thought, at the dining room table, watching the sunlight stream through the bay window, the light catching shimmering threads in the sheer curtain that adorns the window, and has rarely ever been used in the past year. I need to use those curtains, I think. Draw them close at least once in the New Year. For that matter, I need to have a place of my own to work from too, not just end up at the dining table with my laptop – another thing to get done in the New Year. But even as I think it, I know I will never use that curtain. It will just stay there, adorning the two ends of the window. Nor will I ever get organised in a single place that will be my ‘place of work’ in the house… because that is how I roll. ...

Every house has a routine. Every family has a routine. The husband does a few things, the wife does a few; and the daily grind goes on, like clockwork. So long as everyone sticks to their jobs, and does them perfectly, things go right. Kids reach school on time, adults get to work on time, and all is right with the world. Of course, as simple as it sounds, it also sometimes gets monotonous with everyone just doing ‘the same old.’ And every once in a while, the thought does occur – what if, say, one day the husband did the cooking and the wife drove the kids to school? Wouldn’t it be great to just drive, with songs on, drop the kids, and on the way back, listen to one’s favourite songs? Ah, what a blissful hour that would be! What’s more, there would be hot breakfast ready, thanks to the husband who would have been busy in the kitchen while the wife was out driving and listening to songs – I mean, dropping the kids to school… And then, some days, the smooth clockwork ...

Humility. We have all heard of it. We have all learnt about it. We have all heard our idols speak volumes about it (well, most of our idols). So, we all know humility is a virtue. And that it is important to practice it. Make it a part of our life. An inseparable part. And yet, we hardly ever practice it in real life. We rarely find ourselves in a position where we do something more than ‘graciously’ accepting a compliment received by us. Very rarely do we see ourselves giving compliments back to people who (may or may not) deserve them. When someone says something good about us, we are more than happy to take credit for whatever it is that we have done good. Without giving a single thought, to questions like – are we the only ones responsible for it? OR... are we the only ones who deserve credit for it? What we do instead, is feel extremely happy about it (nothing wrong in that); and believe that what has come to us has come to us because we deserve it. We are ‘worth it’ (...

Kindness is the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate. It shows warmth, affection, and a sensitive heart. It is a virtue; and is recognised as a value in many cultures and religions. It is also an inherent quality, and not something that can be learnt in a classroom. In the words of prominent social thinker and art critic of the Victorian Era, John Ruskin, “A little thought, and a little kindness are often worth more than a great deal of money.” Don’t you agree? Kindness costs nothing. But it definitely leaves the recipient richer and better-off. What’s more, kindness is also pretty easy to practice. All it takes, is a genuine thought in your mind, and then it’s only a matter of smiling at a child waiting for the bus, or giving a hand to someone getting on a bus, or leaving your seat for someone more deserving, or even offering to share an umbrella with someone during a sudden downpour. It is as simple as that. All it takes, is some sensitivity and warmth on y...

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...

I was told as little child that I should wake up with a smile on my face. Everyday. Because my parents believe, that how you wake up in the morning, determines how your day is going to be. And so, most days, I wake up with a positive attitude. Trying to trick the day into being good to me. But today was different. I have been on a sort of ‘think-mode’ for the past few days now, and sometime last night, I must have been contemplating the current state of my work. Because today morning, as I opened my eyes to a brand new day and a brand new month; the one thought in my head was – that I wasn’t doing enough. That I wasn’t utilising my time properly. Now, I am a firm believer that one should always dream big. And if one has built castles in the air as part of that dream, then one should also do all it takes, to put the foundation beneath them. And it was this thought, that I wasn’t working towards the foundation enough that had me distressed.    I mentioned thi...

The light was too harsh. Even at 2 am, when the world slept outside, oblivious to everything going on around him, that was the one thing Rahul noticed.  White, stark, bright light – illuminating even the tiniest of corners. Much like the last time he had been waiting in this space. No, not this. A similar space. He had decided never to go back there. And he hadn’t. He was hoping that would change the outcome this time. That it would make it different from what had happened the last time. He was hoping, that changing the place would ensure that his fate changed too. Although, it wasn’t merely the place that was now different. The nurse coming out of the operation theatre, at a run, broke his reverie. Rahul stood up to ask her how things were, inside. But before he could even manage an ‘excuse me, sister,’ she had run past him in her hurry. Rahul swallowed the rising panic in his throat and held on to the back of a plastic chair for support. The chair was bolted to...

The wind blows my hair in my eyes as I struggle to put the washing out to dry. The weather has been treacherous lately. Sudden rains and thunderstorms, followed by hours of calm, strong sunshine; only to be caught unawares by strong winds that howl in the narrow passages and tear at the hoardings on the highways. Oh, I almost forgot! Hello! Myself Mrs. Bhagirathi. The kids in my building call me Mrs. B. I am a housewife. Homemaker, they call me these days. Not that it makes any difference to what I do. But it is a better title it seems. Anyway, as I was saying, it is important to get all the washing done as early as possible, before the weather turns. And also because, once all the household chores are done, I can sit and concentrate on something that I actually enjoy doing! Like read, for example. Or maybe even get some creative work done. Some gardening. There are always bills to pay, of course. And when everything else fails to hold one’s interest, well, there is alwa...

“What’s with the face?” Karan and Priya were going out to a formal dinner in about an hour. Priya was at the dressing table, twisting her hair this way and that, trying to get it to stay in place. Karan, who stood behind her fiddling with his tie, looked seriously at her reflection in the mirror. “I just found my first grey hair,” Priya said to his reflection, in dismay. “Welcome to the club!” Karan smiled at her reflection, caressing his grey-and-black, close-cropped beard. Though not much older than Priya in age, Karan had begun sporting grey hair for the past few years now. And proudly at that. Of course he had no idea of the hurt and dismay that Priya felt, having found that one stray grey! But to Priya, it was devastating. It meant that she was crossing over to the other side. At the back of her mind, she knew, that there would be a time when she would actually, proudly let her greys show. But that time wasn’t now. Not now when their children were st...