MY HAPPY-LIST

I love to read

Anything that is mystery, romance or fantasy

Be it comics or novel of thousands page each

I love to eat

Chocolate, ice cream and cake

Anything classified as unhealthy junk

I love to sing

While taking a shower

Hoping no one would hear me over the rush of water

I love the moon

Just like my first crush

Looking exceedingly handsome against the dark blue sky

I love to paint

Each stroke of brush defining my very thought

Collage of colours translating my hopes in paper

I love rain

Watching it from the window sill

With a book and a cup of hot chocolate.

I love shopping

Books, clothes, bags and ear rings,

The smell of new thing cheers me up in any given day.

I love the sun

After a week of heavy rain

Nice to feel the warm sunshine on a cold blue day.

I love white

A string of white flowers and a white sari

Makes me look the prettiest.

I love to dream

It makes me believe in magic and fairy tales

Helps me see the wonders of life.

I love hot water bath before going to sleep

I love watching movies and glancing at good looking fellows

I love gossiping and trying out friend’s clothes

Over girl sleep over.

I love so many things, too difficult to list them all down.

 I am glad that things-i-hate is too insignificant in front of it

Unlike some people who knows not to be happy

I always find some reason to cheer me up

I have my blues but nothing too huge to last.

Only skin deep

ONLY SKIN DEEP

 Girls always have to worry about her stains, be it stains in character or period stains or stains on face. My mother and I used to laugh about it during the Fair and Lovely advertisements.

I was twelve then, I was just starting to realise that I am a girl and different from boys. I was being referred to as a young lady, and a pretty one at that. I had fair skin, big eyes, long lustrous hair and all that considered to be a typical Bengali beauty. Like every other person, a sense of joy soared through me at being complimented as a pretty girl. In my father’s family I was the only daughter among five others, who inherited the ‘milk-rose’ colour of my grandmother. She never forgot to mention it. Ma and mani (mother’s sister) made sure this thing never got to my head. They let me know from the start, beauty is only skin deep. Thankfully the sense of superiority never haunted me as the so called ‘pretty’ girl. It was just a nice and sweet secret pleasure.

            My 6^th standard finals were around the corner. One night when I was revising my day’s lessons with my mother, she suddenly pointed towards my eye and enquired about something on my eyelid. I touched and said nothing. She leaned forward and looked closely. There was a white patch. Some skin colour was even whiter than my usual fair complexion. She looked worried but she left it at that. Next day she took me to Dr Parek, a homeopathic doctor. Even he looked worried. I had never before seen a doctor look worried. He asked me different questions like whether it hurt or did that place had any senses. I answered them dutifully. I did not understand what was so grave about a white patch, especially since I had blue patches all over me all the time, due to afternoon adventure trips with friends or fights with dirty boys. He made some medicines and gave them to me. I loved eating his medicines they were sweet and powdery and thus there were no reasons for complaining. But little did the younger me knew what was forthcoming while I was happily taking my medicine for a white patch, which was nearly invisible, if not noticed closely.

            After a month or so the patch of skin became the same colour as before. My whole family heaved a sigh of relief. So did I, since everyone was doing. It was a ‘cool’ thing to do what elders did.

            But the good old days did not last for long. Again those white patches came, in different places and in much bigger sizes. My mother got really worried and so my family. It made me look different from rest of the people. It made me feel strange. Everyone around me got concerned. I had Vitiligo.            

            It is not a grave disease. It is just de-pigmentation of some portion of skin and it is an auto-immune disease thus there is no permanent cure to it. It can be controlled but not completely removed. It does not harm physically but makes people look ‘ugly’, allegedly.

            Everyone fell into the depths of despair. It took them about few years to come in terms with the fact that I have Vitiligo. I will have white patches on my skin forever and will not look like others. The series of visiting doctors and eating various medicines started simultaneously. I have been to every kind of doctor. You name it and I have tried it. My first proper dermatologist was a retired army doctor. He prescribed around six medicine to eat and four lotions and cream to apply on the skin. They were prescribed in strange timing and combination. It was so complicated to remember, that my mother had to make a time table for the medicines and lotions. She made a very colourful one. It was her way of making me feel better. She would buy pretty boxes to keep my medicines and cute little bowls to eat them from. She thought these might cheer me up. He even prescribed UV rays. I had to sit for an hour baring my patches to UV rays, a very complicated treatment. He was the beginning but there were no end. Each day someone will hear about some good doctor and would come tell my mother or my grandmother and they will rush me to the new doctor. Ayurvedic, Unani, Herbal, Ramdev… so and so forth. I went to every one of them. I wanted to make them feel better. They wanted to feel they were trying. Grandmother even consulted an astrologer and wanted me to wear some stone or the other. I put my foot down there. I did not want to go through anymore treatments. Nothing worked.

            The irony of the situation was that all the sympathetic statements made me feel worse. I remember a distant aunt of mine who came for a visit and saw what disaster has struck me and thus commented, ‘Such a sad incident. She used to be such a pretty girl.’ I guess it was said to make me feel better about my long lost beauty. Everywhere I went there were some sympathetic comments or the other and millions of enquires. ‘How?’ ‘ When?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Is it ever going to be cured?’ ‘What are the doctors saying?’ All these questions were buzzing all around me. Everyone had something to say, those who knew about it and those who knew nothing. I even got some empathetic commenter, who had Vitiligo and did not know how to cope with it. They spent so much money on the treatment even if they could not afford to, just to look ‘normal’.  At the beginning I could not comprehend the fuss about everything. But gradually it dawned on to me.

            Strangely enough I never felt much bad about it as everyone made it seem like. Before I did not feel bad because I did not understand it and later it just did not matter. May be I never had to luxury of self-pity, as my family was lamenting and being sad about the misfortune.

 I have learned quite early in life, that the key to look pretty is just being happy. ‘Happiest girls are the prettiest girls’ is what Audrey Hepburn had said. I have always had reasons to be happy. A bright sunny morning to a prettily wrapped present, a new dress to a new book, smell of the rain to good night kiss everything makes me happy. I did what every normal teenager does, I went to school, had fun, made friends, followed fashion, dated, partied, gossiped and sopped over cute happy endings in movies.

People still come and give me advice. Previously it used to make me upset and angry with their ‘nosy parker’ attitude. Now I know they are just trying to be helpful. I can take their questions and enquires more sportingly and understandingly than before. I can explain better to kids who exclaim at my not so normal skin and old people who are tabooed against it. I take it as they come. I have accepted me to be like this and so has my family and friends. They love me for what I am.  

Believably Unbelievably

(All characters, incidents and places in this diary page are real. Resemblance to any person living or dead or to any incident or place is not co-incidental.)

BELIEVABLY UNBELIEVABLE

12^th June                                                                                                                           Saturday

Today wasn’t real. I mean to say, that the happenings of the day could not have been possibly be real. Something incredible happened that seems way too far-fetched and fishy. It started off as any typical day, a typical bad day, would start. The badness may be subjective and since it is my personal diary, I guess subjectivity is allowed. Like any other monsoon day it was pouring since late last night. I woke up with sound of my alarm clock (raising hell because it is 9) and heavy rain drops splashing against the glass window pane. I went up to the window and pulled aside the curtain to get the better view. It did not show any sign of improvement than the previous day. The sky was layered with thick dark clouds and it was pouring so heavily that I could not see anything on the other side of the road. I thanked my lucky stars that it was a Saturday, and I didn’t have to face the horror of trudging through the muck and rain to go to school. It could have been easily passed as 4 in the evening, except the wretched clock on my bed side table telling me otherwise. My monsoon holidays are just round the corner but still a week away. It is always like this that the good things are just there but you can’t touch it, smell it but can’t taste it. It was one of those gloomy days where you would give anything to have the sun shining down at you. The only other sound, other than the rain, I could hear was the angry grumble of my stomach. I left my room and came downstairs in search of my mother and some good, delicious, scrumptious breakfast. The Saturday morning special.

            I could not find my mother anywhere. I looked everywhere possible but without any success. Then me eyes fell on the post-it on the fridge, written in the squeaky handwriting, undoubtedly my mother’s. It said ‘‘I am sorry. I remembered late in the night that I committed to attend the seminar about ‘The state of Archaeology in India’ in St Paul’s College. I have left for it and will come back only at eight. I have left some money on the kitchen table get some food delivered. Sorry for this but I promise to make it up to you’’. It might sound very abrupt to someone else but after living for 13 years with my mother I do not feel bad anymore. She is not mean or unaffectionate. She is just like that. She will forget stuffs and then remember them at the very last moment and raise hell for it.

 Correctly at that moment the lights went off. It was pretty dark outside and the room looked like it needed some light. So I went in search for a candle. It was nowhere to be found. Trust my mother to keep nothing in place. Anyone would think a house resided in by two women would be spic and span, everything in order and all that. But my home is the exception proving that rule. One can never find anything when required. I gave up on it.

My tummy rumbled again and I decided to order my brunch from the favourite place ‘Square Pizza’. They sell pizzas in square shape and their theory is why miss out on the extra amount of delicious pizza by making it round.  I dialled the number. I knew it by heart. I wish I knew the phone number to my electricity board by heart, so I could call and give them a piece of my mind. Actually poor fellow, what can they do if it pours for days? I ordered my usual baked tomato and peperoni pizza and a big choco muffin. The familiar voice from the other end of the line assured me that food would be there within 30 minutes, but there might be little delay due to this weather and requested me to bear with the inconvenience, and thanked me for ordering there. I was prepared to be understanding and I hoped my tummy would considerate too.

I didn’t know what to do. It was dark and seemed like 5 in the evening with no lights on. I wanted to finish of the book I was reading last night but could not due to the ‘inconvenience’ of no power and awfully forgetful mother.  I decided that best thing to do would be going back to sleep.

While I was contemplating all these the door-bell rang. I looked up the watch; it said 9:45 am. Which means it was just 20 minutes since I ordered. I thought to myself that the food could not possibly be here. I could never be lucky. But again, one never knows what the wheel of the destiny turns. (I sound like one of those witches who predict future and stuff. I should so stop watching all these witchcraft programs on TV, or soon I will be joining a coven.)

I went and opened the door and Voila. There was a guy standing in a neon orange t-shirt and blue denim jean. He was the cutest thing ever. I have never ever seen such a cute guy in my life. Trust me 13 years is a lot. I thought to myself, this place has improved so much with respect to delivery guys but I didn’t care much for the new uniform. It was so bright that it was hurting my eyes. None the less his smile and killer looks made it up for it.

I enquired about my order but he looked bewildered, as if I spoke some foreign language. I repeated but still the strange look did not leave his face instead it got stranger. Then suddenly he started to make dissolute hand gestures and barged into the house.

I got super freaked. He looked like a boy of 17 and I did not even know a boy so young can be a rapist or psycho killer. I guess there is not age bar there. I got enough lectures before, about checking before opening the door, talking to random unknown people and so and so forth. The movies I have been watching and the gory news in the newspapers did not help the cause either. I tried to scream but nothing came out. Again, I opened my mouth but without any results.

Curiously he took no notice of me. He looked around the room as if he was searching for something, something very important. My new phone was lying on the tea table in the drawing room. He seemed to head towards that. In my head I knew I had to do something: run for a start or call out for help or hit him from behind. I remembered all the advices that I have given in my head to those in similar situation, in books or movies. But somehow I was not able to follow them.

By then he had already reached for my phone. It was my brand new ‘qwerty’ phone that I have got after a lot of imploring and pleading. He looked at it with great interest and then picked it up and put it under his t-shirt, as if hoping that I would not notice he have taken my phone. And, I, like an idiot was standing near the door dreading his next move. Curiously enough after few seconds he kept the phone back on the table and turned towards me and spoke in plain English. ‘Hi’. Just hi. I was like that is not what you say when you barge into some one’s house pretending to be a pizza delivery boy and then mess with their phone. I did not say them obviously.

I also went ‘hi’. I was so happy to get my voice back that I did all the shouting from before. ‘Who do you think you are? What do you want? Where is my pizza?’ I could not help it, I was that hungry.

‘Please don’t be afraid of me. I am not going to harm you’. (I was like sure why should I be? I did not have any reason to be.) ‘I don’t know what “pizza” is, so I don’t know about its whereabouts. Will you please calm down and let me explain. I do not have much time and this is a very important business.’ I felt like I was in some spy movie or something. Then he threw the bombshell.

‘I come from a faraway planet. I am a visitor on the Earth. I have come here on a very important business. Will you please assist me?’ I did not whether to laugh or be afraid. It was still raining outside. I had the ‘bullshit’ expression on my face. May be that is why he opened his mouth and closed it again. Then I noticed something strange. Something impossible. I pinched myself to check whether I was dreaming. I was not dreaming and that boy had two tongues. One normal like ours and the other just below it rolled like a frog. When he was speaking before it was not seen but he opened his mouth both of them came out together.

I was dead sure I was hallucinating as I was hungry and depressed. Then the next thing I saw was him standing in front me. He touched my forearm. His touch was hot. Normal body temperature of a person cannot be that much, till he does not have fever. I did not what to do or say. So the best thing to do was to keep quiet and listen.

‘I will not harm you. I am here for redemption. I have done a grave mistake and I have been sent for punishment.’

‘I see.’ I did not even know aliens existed let alone get punishments from their own kind for mistakes. ‘What mistake?’ was all I could manage.

He explained that in his planet violence was a punishable offence. Thinking about it is a very severe mistake and committing violence was even more serious. He has committed violence against someone. He has been recently seeing a girl and one of their class mate tried to hold her hand. He did not like it and so he got very angry. He had never seen anyone before and thus did not know how to deal with jealously. So he went and punched that guy and broke his nose. He got punished. This was the first time he is doing it thus he did not get a horrible punishment. He got sent to earth to make a person happy for a day and I had been randomly picked for that. So if I would tell him how he can make me happy, he would do it and leave.

I would have thought someone was playing a joke on me if I would not have seen is two tongues. I asked him for his name. He said I wouldn’t be able to pronounce it as it required two tongue so does the name of his planet. I asked him how he knew English. He said he did not. He got the dominant language uploaded in his system from that pink machine. Now I knew what he was doing with my phone.

I decided to take full advantage of the situation. I might never have the opportunity to encounter such a nice alien who did not look like a bug (far from it) or try to invade my land. I told him I was alone for the day as my mother has left for work and he could make me happy by keeping me company for the day.

Thus the next few hours went in haze. In the meantime, the power came and so did the actual delivery guy and he delivered the pizzas. He got super excited that he got to learn about something new. His radiant charm added to his good looks. He loved it too. He did not need to eat but he could if he felt like it. He named some funny dishes which I could not comprehend, as it required two tongues. He loved pizza and also the chocolate pastry left over from the last night. It was lovely spending time with him. He told me about his life in the ‘other planet’ and his family and friends. He told me about his school and how he was going to fail his exam on next Monday. I told him about my life and my mother. I showed him my house and my paintings. He loved them and so I gave him one as a present. He said that he loved presents. Even before we realized it was time for him to go. I felt a little sad to be left alone again. I did not mind staying alone but not in a rainy day.

We said good bye near the front door. He said he will fly back home. I did not ask how as I have stopped applying human logic to everything he said or did. Then leaned forward and gave me a goodbye kiss. It was leg-popping kiss. I had my first kiss ever.

Next thing I remember was my mother’s face hovering above me while I was lying down on my bed, tucked safely inside the blanket. She had brought a glass of milk. She found me near the door lying unconscious with the door wide open. She got very scared. She has brought me upstairs. She was looking seriously sad and worried for leaving me back alone. She promised to never do it again. She even told me she got my chocolate muffins. She has just left

I cannot believe my luck. The typical bad day has become one of my favourite days ever. I had my first kiss, that also from the cutest alien ever.  On top of I got a box full of chocolate muffins. Nothing in the world could have made me sad. It was so perfect that made me really consider whether I was really unconscious the whole day. The only proof of his existence is the missing painting from my wall. 

Sweet 'Pair'

I am going to tell a tale of love. In the fruit-frenzy land, there lived Mr Peter Pear. He had a pretty tree for his house. His next tree neighbor was Miss Anna Apple. Peter Pear was strong and handsome. Anna apple was pretty and witty. She used to look prettiest, when she and her neighbour co-incidentally came out of the house at the same time, and she would turn into the loveliest shades of red. She was sweet and smart. He was nice and sour. Nothing in the world could have stopped their sweet and sour relationship from growing. It grew every day, little by little.

It grew over their good morning smiles while collecting the morning newspaper and milk. And over dinners with special dishes that they made for each other. It was mostly Peter Pear who cooked. He loved cooking and Anna Apple loved eating. They shared special moments when they ‘happened’ to tend the garden at the same on Sunday morning and of course while they fought about whose tree leaves are blocking the sun from the other’s window. Peter Pear always left for his work early so he could give lift to Anna Apple to her school. Anna Apple made sure to come out in the evening when he returned from work for some excuse or the other, so that she should get a glimpse of him. Both of them secretly loved each other but neither knew how the other felt. Thus they never told each other. Pear was too scared and Apple too shy.

Everyone in the village knew about their feeling. Granny Guava, little Sally Strawberry, her best friend Bella Blackberry, Johnny Jackfruit etc were eagerly expecting the good news of another celebration. So they could dress up and have lots of fun. Village baker Maria Mango was hoping to get the wedding cake order. Even visiting vegetable Bob Brinjal knew about this. Everyone was happy. There were only few exceptions. Very few. One was Pricky Pineapple who never spoke to anyone and thought being happy was crime. The other was Arnold Avocado.

He had a huge thing for Anna Apple and detested Peter Pear. He was the owner of the local Second-hand car shop and his business consisted of all kinds of swindle. He was unpleasant to everyone. He was sinister looking and very rich. He thought himself to be brawny. He was a big bully. No one liked him. But he thought very highly of himself and was sure to marry Anna Apple, even before asking her. So when he heard the village gossips about Pete and Anna he got awfully angry. He decided to go and propose to Anna and end all the confusion and nonsense of a silly romance which never existed.

The very same day of that grave decision, Peter Pear thought to himself, ‘I must muster up the courage to ask her to marry me or she might never know my feelings for her as they say, faint heart never won fair lady,’ And so Peter resolved to go and have a heart to heart with Anna.

It was a Sunday morning and Anna Apple knew nothing of all the decisions and resolutions. So blissfully she was debating on how to decorate her window box and which flowers to put. She heard a car screech and stopped outside her tree. She knew it was not Peter, as he did not drive so nastily. As dreaded, it was the old bully Avocado and he had run over the new seasonal flower plants she has planted.

‘Hello my lady, how is the bright morning becoming of you?’ greeted Avocado, trying to be cheesy.

‘I was doing quite well before you decided to come and spoil my pretty plants’ retorted Anna. She was one of the few people in the village who was not afraid of him and without too many pleasantries asked him his business around her tree.

‘My dear Anna, such temper makes you prettier than ever.’ ‘I just wanted to make sure weather you were free on next Saturday, so I could fix the date of our marriage’.

 Anna got disgusted with such imprudence and the same time shocked by such frankness. She raised her eyebrows and was about to say something, when she heard someone calling her from behind. She turned around and saw Peter come running towards her.

 Poor fellow was out of breath. He saw Avocado’s car passing by when he was in the flower shop down the street. Avocado has always made his intention clear towards Anna.  So when Pear saw him speeding towards Apple’s house he smelt something fishy. Thus he came in the quickest pace he could manage. By the time he reached Anna’s tree he was huffing and puffing like a dog in hot summer afternoon. The flowers he bought for her were in sad state.

Avocado did not like this interruption and got very angry. He shouted, ‘Can you not see that we are having a very important discussion. Leave at once and don’t disturb us.’

Anna might be shy at times but she does not take nonsense from bullies like Avocado. She put up a stern face and told him off. ‘Mr, I don’t like your tone. And we don’t have any important discussion. How can you even imagine I would say yes to such a proposal and that also by you? My affection lies elsewhere. So please leave my tree immediately and also take care not to cause any more harm to my pretty plants.’

Arnold Avocado was more surprised than angry. No one has ever told him off. He could not decide on what to feel. He did not know whether to shout or laugh or feel sad at the refusal. So he decided to keep shut and leave.

On the other side, Peter Pear also did not know whether to be happy that Anna refused Avocado or sad that her “affection lies elsewhere”. He looked baffled after the dramatic exit of Avocado.

Anna felt stupid, looking at his confused expression and lack of reaction to her declaration of love. ‘Do you not have anything to say? And for whom are those flowers for?’

‘For you’, replied Peter Pear. ‘I have brought this flower for you hoping to….. I mean… would you consider….would like to….”

‘Yes I would love to’ added Anna, while giving Pear a big bear hug. They both knew what they were talking about thus no more words said.

And as everyone wished there was a wedding in ‘Fruit-frenzy’ land soon. Everyone got their much expected party. Maria Mango got her biggest wedding cake order of the year. Bella Blackberry and Sally Strawberry got new dresses, even Pricky Pineapple joined in the merriness. Avocado got invited but he had to leave the town for some ‘important business’.

As for the wedding couple Pear and Apple, they had a little baby Papple after an year. Their cute little family lived happily ever after. 

SIR

You walked down the HSB corridor

And everyone turns and smiles at you.

You are thought to be awesome by all,

An awesome teacher, a great lecturer

The 50 minutes of class hold everyone’s rapt attention.

You may be strict about attendance and coming to class on time,

‘Disappear’ is what you say to every late comer

But no one minds, as you adhere to time yourself.

You talk we listen with awe.

You do hand gestures that make us laugh

‘wink-wink, nudge-nudge’ is so far your best,

With a wink and the chicken dance hand move,

That makes you look super cute.

You crack jokes in class: The ‘sex-object’ joke or 8 as the perfect figure

Thought to be funny by some

And some get tremendously scandalized.

Be it poetry, prose or play

There is always endless drama in class.

You have a way with words that make a simple sentence sounds beautiful

You listen to everyone and give everyone a chance

‘I am not sure about that’ you would say while disagreeing

But never over rule a thought

You are the best teacher for literature, where free thought is the key

You know how to make students talk and think

You may be old in appearance, but in heart you are as young as ever.

You are loved forever, Sir.