Rashmi's Space

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...

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 ...

“Don’t run on the lawn!” Meera looked up from her laptop. It was Sunday morning and while Meera caught up on her mails and other news, Pari, her niece, and Ayah, Pari’s caretaker-cum-nanny-cum-companion-cum-governess were in the garden. Ayah was pruning the roses, while Pari was jumping around the garden and playing in the shade of the orange trees lining the compound wall. All the time, trampling over the lawn that Ayah had freshly watered – hence, the reprimand. Meera smiled. Ayah was good for Pari. She ensured that the girl kept her head on her shoulders despite being a ‘gifted’ child of above average intelligence, who was ‘pampered’ and ‘spoilt silly’ (according to Ayah) by Meera. It felt just like yesterday – although it was almost close to nine years now – that Pari and Ayah had walked into Meera’s home, and her life. Meera’s sister had died giving birth to Pari. Pari’s father had never been around. And thus, Meera had become the sole legal guardian to her...

There is something superbly exciting about an ice-cream shop! Vanilla, Strawberry, Black Currant, Chocolate Chip, Butterscotch, Caramel Crunch, Crispy Chocolate Malt, Rocky Road, Café Mocha, Rum N' Raisin... Ummm... Rum n’ Raisin he thinks, a Café Mocha for her. And a Rocky Road for the little one. A few minutes into enjoying their respective ice creams, the little one asks if they can swap the cones, for a taste. “Of course!” she says. “Huh?” He stares. She gives him a look that says, ‘Trust me on this.’ The little one tastes the Café Mocha and makes a face. Coffee is bitter. Well, you need to grow up to appreciate it. She smiles. Now it’s his turn. He isn’t really happy about this. A nine year-old isn’t a baby, exactly; but not all that grown up either. Reluctantly, he gives the child a taste. This time the face the child makes is even worse. “Weird!” They laugh. The child goes back to his Rocky Road. But curiosity persists. “Why does it taste weird?” “It’s the rum,” s...

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...

It was a weekday evening. I was outdoors with my little one. The sun was shining down brightly on us. We were both happy to be out in the open after being cooped up in the house for over a week when the little one had had his exams, and I had been fighting deadlines; not to mention the cold we had both been battling the past ten days. And so it was, that breathing in the fresh early evening air, we were both looking forward to our time out in the open! The little one had big plans of taking his bicycle for a spin. I was planning to take a good long walk on the greens around the apartment complex. He had his helmet and ipod on. I had my playlist ready on my phone. When we stepped out of the lift, we were greeted by the wonderful chirping of birds and a light breeze that was blowing just then. I took a big, deep breath. We bid each other goodbye, and my little one rode off on his bicycle in the direction opposite to the one I turned to, for my walk. All was right with the wor...

We are in a huge hall. Spacious, airy, with large open windows. The hall is divided into two parts. One part is meant for the spectators, who are mostly parents. The other part has four large anti-skid mats placed at a distance from each other. At the head of each mat, a little away, is a table with two chairs facing the mat. Towards one end of the hall is a stage which is set with a table and a few chairs. Certificates and large trays holding medals are placed to one side of this stage on a smaller table. At the back, hangs a large banner with the name of a Karate school, welcoming one and all to the District Level Karate Tournament. As spectators settle down, children gather at the other end of the hall, answer the roll call and settle down in the different batches they have been segregated into. Some of them are very young, with barely all the milk teeth in place. Some others are older. But their faces are similarly angelic to the younger ones, yet. And then there are ...

It is Saturday morning. Birds chirp as they sip water from the potted plants in the balcony that I have freshly watered just now. There is very less traffic on the road today as it is the weekend. I take my coffee and sit on the swing in my balcony that I rarely get to sit on. As I sip, I savour the bliss of this unhurried morning. I relish the calm, the silence. And I wonder – why aren’t my everyday mornings like this? Why is it only on Saturdays that I get to experience this beauty of the relaxed morning? And I sigh.   Because I know the answer to that question. I know, that every day, at this time, I am in the kitchen, rushing to get tiffin boxes of breakfast, lunch and snacks ready for my family – coming up with innovative ideas, worrying about portions and running against time to get it all packed and sealed for the day in the meal boxes that my family will carry with them for the long day ahead. Nutrition in bite sized pieces. That is what I am doing at this time on ...

We are all taught right from childhood that being merely ‘okay’ isn’t enough. That we should be first in the race, not be in the ‘also ran’ category, because, of course, there is always room at the top; and that we can get there if we can only push ourselves to the maximum possible extent. And we believe this our entire lives and keep pushing ourselves more and more and more. And when we have children, we teach them the same thing. We teach them to be the ‘top of the bunch,’ to ‘push themselves to excel in whatever they do.’ We tell them, “if you want to do something, do it the best, otherwise there is no point doing it!” We tell them, “no one remembers the second best, but no one forgets the best! So be the best!” We tell them, “It is important to be someone people look up to, and not someone who isn’t even noticed!” But have we, even once, thought if it is really necessary to excel at everything we do? Why is it that we have this compulsion to be ‘the best’? And reall...

Many different teachers come in our lives and initiate us in this world through their passion and with the help of their own experience and knowledge. And while each of them do justice to this calling in their own special way and while every single one of them is special, there is always one or the other who is a particular favourite with children. Of course, this has more to do with the children than the teacher herself/himself; because one seeks and relates to only what one can appreciate. And so, if you want to know if there’s a certain teacher your little one thinks is special, and why, the best way to do that, is to ask the little one directly! For me, this was much easier till a few years back, when, like they show in advertisements, I could sit with my little one, a plate of cookies between us on the table, and pretended to ask him casually, who his favourite teacher was. Because, that time, you see, he was so young and so naïve, he would be happy to chat. But as he gro...