Rashmi's Space

E arly morning sunrays streak in, making a beautiful pattern of prisms at the Goddess’s feet. The light catches on Krishna’s earrings throwing multiple little rainbows all around as she stands, her head bowed in prayer. She has never been overly religious, Krishna. The Gods or Goddesses, for her, have been the only ones with whom she could openly discuss her woes, her fears, draw motivation and gain hope from. So for her, prayer, is nothing but talking to the Goddess as if she stands opposite her. Listening to Krishna’s every word, with that serene smile on her face.   Thank you! She says now to the Goddess. Thank you for everything you have blessed me with. And my daughter too. Take care of her Mother. Since I am not there with her, now that she needs me most… Give her the strength, Mother. Be with her. And thank you Mother, for Ananta too. For giving me a friend in him like none other I have ever had. Thank you for smiling down on me from up there, real...

My social media feed overflows with #MeToo posts. The posts started trickling in since yesterday. And today, more people – maybe emboldened by seeing posts by their close friends, or fortified by the festive spirit (read: realising that this status update can easily be overwritten tomorrow with Diwali wishes) – have come out openly speaking up about their experiences. Comments, likes, outrage, statistics – there are innumerable responses to all that is being shared as part of this campaign. Enlightening, encouraging, harrowing, inspiring – the posts run the gamut. Many of my friends have put this up as their status. Several have gone ahead and shared their experiences. A lot, have even spoken about how someone in their family – a mother, a sister, a friend, an aunt – helped them cope and even stood up to the perpetrators in some cases. Quite a few, have mentioned instances where they had done so themselves, by calling out the perpetrators and asking help from authorities. ...

K rishna looks in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognise herself. A beautiful lady in her fifties in a plain grey silk saree stares back at her. She wears a string of pearls and matching pearl earrings. A radiant smile completes the picture; her favourite frozen ittar , dabbed just so on the underside of her wrists, leaving a beautiful fragrance around her. As she goes around the house switching off lights in the rooms and dimming the lights in the living room, she remembers the last time she got all dressed up – her daughter’s wedding day. Like that day, today too, her saree is new – a gift that arrived from her daughter this week as an apology for not being able to come down to visit her as promised. And while that hurts really badly, she cannot help but enjoy the rustle of the silk as it swishes around her when she walks.    Krishna has never been conventionally beautiful. And yet, she has always been attractive in a quiet, unpretentious way. And t...

“Thank you for sending out the parcel for me,” she says, taking the proffered receipt.  “It’s no problem. I was going to the Post Office anyway.” She nods. He smiles.   “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” she asks. “When have I ever said no to tea?” he retorts, eyes twinkling. She smiles. Leads the way inside her house. He follows. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says over her shoulder. “I will get on with the tea.” As she sets the water boiling and puts out the milk to warm, she hears him walking around the living room. “Fresh flowers!” she hears him exclaim. “So, you do seem to have a green thumb, huh? Who knew!” She smiles at the boiling water. It is nice of him to notice and to comment on the tiny bunch of flowers from her garden that she has arranged in a small vase out on the table. “Well, who knew!” she says. And when she turns to get the sugar and tea out of the cupboard, she sees him standing at the entrance...

After three days of near continuous rain, today has dawned bright and glorious. The sun shines gently on the rain-washed, still dewy trees, and the birds sing a beautiful melody to welcome a brand new day. She sits on a rocker on the porch with a cup of coffee. In her lap is a book she has borrowed from the local library. But her mind is on the phone call she had with her daughter last night. Her confident, independent daughter, who is far, far away in another country. Her daughter, a doctor, who, at almost seven months pregnant, worries all the time about her mother. Which is why the girl has arranged to have a landline connection and a Wi-Fi connection installed here and sent her a smartphone. ‘I want to be able to talk to you anytime I want,’ her daughter says; ‘face to face’ .   Krishna is not much used to technology. But their calls make her daughter worry less; and in her present state, she wants her daughter to worry as less as possible. For what it’s worth, h...

Gender specific roles are a big no-no in today’s day and age. A woman can do just as well, or better what the man does and the man can do everything that a woman can and would traditionally be expected to do. We, as a society, are slowly coming to accept that the man and the woman are equals. That the man is not ‘superior’ as our patriarchal society would have us believe. And many of us (to the utter dismay of the older generation) are trying to model this behaviour in the presence of our children as well. We are trying to get to a point where, as the women grace the high echelons of the corporate world, the men are conquering recipes (some traditional, some modern, and several accidental) in the kitchen, making friends with the children (yes, they are beyond just playing football with the boys and ignoring the girls altogether); and are helping clean the house (okay, that is stretching it too far.) My point is, that The Husband, who was, so far, only expected to drink endle...

The sound of the raindrops hitting the window panes in a quiet residential part of a small town is so different from that in a big city. That is the thought in her mind now, as she looks out of her kitchen window. The trees around her property are thick and dark as they stand drenched in the heavy downpour. It is the second day in a row that heavy rains continue to lash their area. She has heard in the morning on the radio that the rain will continue for a couple more days. It is good, she thinks, that she has just picked up her groceries, having moved in only a few days ago.       From the small gap in the trees, she can see across to the blue-walled house, just as she could see as a child. It is drenched too. The creepers outside its kitchen wall making a brave attempt at holding on through the heavy downpour. She can see its kitchen window clearly from here. How amazing, she thinks, how few things change over a period of time, although everything is chan...