Aparajita - The Undefeatable

The queue appeared to be boundless. The selection process was way more efficient at the city contest. And all the pretty women were arguing to get into the waiting room with those high heels in one hand and anti-perspirants in the other. A while later, my name was called out and I was provided a name tag labelled as ‘AUDI11625 Aparajita Desai’ and brought inside the waiting room.

The scenario at the waiting room was very different from outside. All these sophisticated ladies were nicely seated under the air conditioners, sipping coffee, overdoing their make-up or messaging their mates. Probably, I was the first one who seemed so simple and unornamental. We weren’t affluent enough to buy clothes from those big fashion stores, so my mom got my dress stitched by a tailor who worked in the basement of our building. My mom was my real hero. My father used to go on big tours so we rarely got any time to spend with him but my mother was always there to caress me and my little sister. She never let us feel the absence of our father.

By this time, a crowd of aristocratic ladies had gathered at the help desk and were appealing for the withdrawal of their names from the contest. I stopped one of them and enquired about the reason.

“You see that girl seated beside that man?”
I replied with a nod.
“She is Ayesha Oberoi. And that man is the Managing Director of the Times group.”
“Isn’t she the girl who appears in those television advertisements?” I enquired.
“Yes, and she’s also auditioning for the contest and everyone knows that the jury will favor her and she’ll win for sure. That’s the reason why so many of us are dropping out from the contest.”

I was in a dilemma if even I should drop out like the other girls. Ayesha was more attractive and beautiful than I was, and moreover, she was famous. What was I in front of her?
But then I was called for my interview and at that moment, I decided to just give it a try. Surprisingly, I was selected among the 30 finalists for the contest. But still the fact that I won’t be able to win, kept pestering me. Two days later I was to leave for the contest and I was still unprepared.

The day before my flight to Mumbai, my mom came and sat beside me. I opened my heart and feelings to her and she listened to all that I wanted to say without interrupting.

“Remember that day, when you were selected among the top 30 finalists? I didn’t wish you luck or praise you that day. You know why? Because I knew you would be selected. When you participated in all those childhood contests, did you feel this anxious about yourself? That time you were super-confident and that made you win all of those, isn’t it? Look at all of those certificates and trophies. Even you have something to be proud about. What if she’s famous, give it your best shot baby.”

Her words have got some kind of hoodoo. They always light a spark inside me. I should focus on my specialities rather than shortcomings. I don’t have quite exquisite a smile but I can play with eyes very well. So I’ll wear a heavy eye makeup and contrast it with nude lipstick.

It was my first travel in an airplane. My mother had given me instructions about the journey and I stepped into the plane with mixed feelings of excitement and nervousness. The land converted into green patches and then slowly diminished. No, it wasn’t the end of the world. I was flying in the midst of the clouds. It felt as if I was in a utopia.

We were provided rooms and every day we attended various practice sessions along with the routine ramp walk session. Meeting the famous fashion designers, beauty technicians, nutritionists, health specialists, models, actors and chefs was no less than a dream come true. And attending the personality enhancement sessions provided an edge to our personality. And as time passed, we transformed into confident and beautiful women. The shyness and fright of walking the ramp faded away and those stilettos didn’t bother us anymore.

It was now that the competition seemed fair enough as all of us had attended the same sessions and all seemed equally capable . And all of us were waiting only for the final day when one of us would be crowned Miss India World. We all knew that Ayesha would be among the top three but that didn’t make us diffident. We were far more stronger and braver than those girls who backed out after hearing about Ayesha taking part in the contest.

On the final day, there were plenty of e-mails, letters and messages from my relatives, friends and admirers wishing me luck and praising me for my efforts but one of them shone brighter than all the others. My mom had sent it.

'To my beautiful daughter.

You’ve made me really proud, sweetheart and I love it when people praise you and recognise me as Aparajita’s mother. All I want to say is that today is your day and do make it memorable. Not only for yourself but also for the nation. Put in all that you’ve learned and show your Miss India potential to the world. I want to see you wearing that crown, princess.'

My mom never really praised me but today when she did so, all I wanted was to show how capable I am, only for her. And to-day is the day.

Two days later, I reached home. I wasn’t yearning for all those praises but only for a nice little hug from my mom. She had cooked my favourite dish and after the lunch we sat together to watch the re-telecast of the contest. And at that moment, I made her wear the Miss World crown. She would always remain my queen and I her little princess. 

Gifts of Love

She was smiling at him through the water she had been admiring a while ago. Smiling at his tears,which flew as an evidence of the love that had once existed between them.
He was crying,seeing her drown in the same water in which he used to watch her anklets glow. He knew that she couldn't swim, she knew that he could, he knew that she wouldn't struggle and she knew that he wouldn't move.
It seemed appropriate that all this should end here. The place where it had begun and bloomed. It was April 15 when they had met for the first time. It was also the day seven years later when he had chosen to propose. This place and this day had witnessed the warm snuggles of the couple on the first few anniversaries. They also absorbed the lonely tears which later were shed on too frequent occasions. Both of them could never understand what had led them to this.
He could never recollect when did he stop enjoying their conversations. Maybe it was after the invitations to first office parties. Yes, he rembered her confused eyes as she laughed not realising it was she who was being laughed at. As he rose, the invitations flooded and her name on them gradually disappeared.
She remembered the solitude but couldn't understand when had she started preferring it. Maybe it was this time that Amit came to her life. No it wasn't a love affair. There wasn't any love in it. Only flesh. It did not matter whose lips they were that moved over her,she had long since become numb to it. She remembered being astonished at her indifference at his indifference when he found about Amit. That was his last night in the house. She filed for the divorce.
This meeting was an unexpected one. Before the divorce proceeding he had come to see the place which had taught him to feel and which would now numb him to everything that was to happen in the next few hours.
It was an accident. She had fallen in the water. Yet, it somehow felt as if he had pushed her and as if she had jumped herself. Was it true? Did they really not love each other? Both of them scrambled through their memories. They found longing, isolation and indifference. But no love.
He saw his teardrops fall to her and realised that love itself had given him those memories and hence could not be in them. He realised that it was love that had led them here and that it was love that was making him swim toward her.
She lay in his arms thinking of the memories. The painful ones , and all the new ones their love would now create for them. They laughed at all what their love had brought them and looked forward with sparkling eyes to all what it had in store for them now.

An Absolution Granted

The grass was cold that day, the day she had met him for the first time, in this very garden. It was cold, just as it was now, touching her. She had always been disgusted of grass. But it was this grass that was with her now, wen she lay, blood trickling down her thighs and tears rolling down her cheeks, on the same spot she had been raped a few hours ago. It was only the grass and the gentle touch of it that was saving her from the solitude she was wrapping herself into with every drop of tear her eyes shed. The tears flew as if trying to wash everything she had faced in the past few hours. But the tears couldn't wash everything nor could they enclose. Enclose her from all. The memories remained. Memories of the first step in the abode of love and that of the first burn of betrayal. The sudden knowledge, that her 'home' was  built of wax n that it was he hu had set fire 2 it. She couldnt decide what hurt more: the body they had raped or the spirit he had. She couldnt decide which was harder to bear: the pain they gave or the betrayal he did.  

Or was it what she had done to herself? 

How could she have let him mean so much to her? After him she had reduced her life to her love for him. And now that he was gone, she lay there, searching for any living remnants that he might have missed.
Like a few ants under a boot. After all, it was she who had reduced them to ants. She lay there, fearing to get healed in fear that she might destroy all that remained of her.

She sat up sudenly. Like after a long nightmare, with the final, consoling and almost forgotten knowledge that reality exists and that was just a dream. A dream one creats for oneself. She suddenly saw that it was she who had done it. That it was she who had let him enter her and that it was she who knew that he had left. It was she who saw him as the boot and that it was she who was now seein him reduce to an ant she movd away from him. If it's one's own decision about who hurts themselves, she saw what choice she had made and that she was happy with it. She stood up, slowly. Her dress slid down her body wid all what she had made herself endure. She stood up, enjoying the independent gravity of a decision realised and reached. 
An absolution granted.

It Was A Rainy day

The slanting raindrops were caressing my nose, cheeks and arms partly and the puddles were drenching my legs. Even if you are carrying an umbrella, you get drenched anyway. Then what use is it? I shut the umbrella and moved on. Now the raindrops were falling directly on me, but this time, it was my soul which was getting washed up. All the sad memories diffused out and my mind was consumed with the buoyant ones. I realised that rainfall is not just falling of raindrops, it’s the renaissance of the soul… Meanwhile, my interpretation about rainfall was interrupted by a soft voice, which was contrasting to the thunderstorm striking the heaven above. I didn’t exactly hear what he said. Maybe he was asking the way to some place and I had yet another philosophical answer to that- "Dark is the way and light is the place." But I kept my dying urge because that wasn’t the thing that bothered me then. What caught my attention was his voice, a voice hearing which I thought for the first time that I could write a goddamn love story. I had heard that voice before. That moment… I had faced it before. I was having a déjà vu! I know it’s not a great thing at all, everyone has it some or the other time. But it was a moment which was supposed to be special. Seriously. I looked straight and what I saw was unbelievable.

There was a boy, yeah, he was a boy! And even better, we recognised each other. This was the boy who I had met almost two years ago, I can’t recollect where and how (and believe me, if i did, i would’ve written a detailed description of that too). We both had liked each other at the first sight then and had become good friends, but our meeting was way too brief to say those three words. So we had parted...

But now that we were together and that too in such a burning weather, we began sharing our thoughts and feelings. I was about to open my umbrella, realising he might need it but he held my hand. So, there we advanced, unfastening all the anchors of self control, pouncing into the puddles, hands open wide to the raindrops, and singing in a loud tone in the empty streets of town. We became good friends. We talked and talked as if we were the best example of jobless people on the Earth, like vagrants. We then talked about some political and environmental issues, which never mattered us the least before but had suddenly become so grave to us. That was a point of time when we didn’t know what to say but still wanted to talk and never depart from that place. We could’ve remained like that forever. By the end, we were more than just good friends.

The rain ceased and it was then that we realised we had been up for an hour. In fact, the sky had turned pitch-black. So we had to move to where we actually belonged to, we could no more live in our fictional, fairytale-like world. How I wished the rains never stopped. And my wish did come true, but this time it was the shower in my eyes. We had to part again. We took our ways and moved on. And then, obviously, we turned and looked back towards each other. Now I couldn’t just control my emotions. I ran towards him and hugged him tight. I was almost all over him. He counter-hugged me even more strongly, the most fierce opponent I ever had. Now that the hold loosened, the battle was coming to an end. And like the two warriors, still struggling for a last chance to defeat the other, we didn’t let go each other’s hand. The battle ended after a while, the only difference being that none of the side won. Each was equally strong to be defeated by the other. Counterparts.

I asked him where he had to go and if I could show him the way. He was new to this town, but that same old crush for me and the same pretending-to-forget person. Now I remember how we met. It was when he forgot a particular destination (which I came to know was in his own locality, while talking to him). I remember it was raining then. Of course, I unravelled the mystery behind my déjà vu. I could bet he knew the way now as well because he took the right street among the four, in the mid of which we stood, and walked casually. So he took the road on the east and I took the one on the west. Exactly the opposite. Sigh. 

But, looking at the bright side, opposites do attract. And after all, the sun has to return to set in the west after it rises in the east. Exchanging phone numbers meant staying connected. And now that we promised to meet quite often at that very spot, no force on the Earth could separate us.

Just like one saves funds for a ‘rainy day’ (here, a time when money may be needed), we started planning for the rainy days yet to come in our lives…

Rainfall is sensual and magical- two souls interconnected by raindrops fall for each other. And that’s why it’s called ‘rainfall’!