Thursday, November 28, 2013

Of Dum Biriyani and Dumdaar Dosti!

“Hey, how much should I pay you,” Harish asks. The guy in the sweatshirt nods his head, looks animatedly towards the ceiling, taps his chin with his finger and says, “I forgot!” Harish looks at the lady, expecting her to give a straight answer. She shakes her head promptly, from left to right, tightlipped. “Hey, this is not fair,” protests Harish, saying, “This is our dinner party, we should be paying for the biriyani!” The lady smiles the best of her trademark smiles. “Tera party, humara party, it’s the same thing yaar. Abb tu hume paise dega, do packet biriyani ka,” she says. The guy in the sweatshirt smiles, ‘#win’, written all over his face…

There are friends who are the typical ‘you pay for what you’ve eaten, I’ll pay for mine’ and then there are friends for whom money, bills, calculations hardly ever matter.

Meet Sangee (Sangeeta) and Srikkanth, two of our closest friends in Hyderabad. Yes, of dum biriyani and dumdaar dosti. Here’s where it begins.

Hyderabad. I’d heard a lot about it, and I couldn’t wait to finally start living here. Afterall, ‘home’ is where the heart and the sweetheart, both of them are. As we inched closer to my ‘new’ home, I couldn’t conceal the excitement bubbling inside me. I didn’t know how it would be. Two feet-like floral patterns on the floor (one big, the other, slightly smaller) greeted me as soon as I was ushered in. A beautiful cake, a big bottle of mineral water and a decorated bedroom...I looked at Harish, puzzled. Yes, friends...they were the ones who had arranged my ‘homecoming’ beautifully!

When the first weekend plan was rolled out, I was a bit sceptical. “Will they like me?” was a question that kept bugging me. Over the next few crazy weekends spent digging into biriyanis, rumali rotis and other sinfully edible stuff, I discovered home. A home filled with peals of laughter over dumb charades, anecdotes and food. A home filled with friends.

When a friend spends her entire Sunday baking a cute little cake for your big day,
you’ve got to understand that you’re talking about someone who’s just a part of ‘guestlist’. She’s family. When a friend travels three hours one way from Warangal after a two-hour class early in the morning, just to honour your invitation, and rushes back to another three-hour journey to teach at 6.30 the next morning, he’s not just another friend. He’s a yo-bro! When a new friend takes all the liberty to walk into your kitchen to conduct a raid and then emerges with a victory sign pasted on his face saying, “Look what I found here -- toffees!” you can be sure he’s in the league of these special people. Sangee, Srikkanth, Avinash, Avinash Chapter II, Rajgo, I dare not call you ‘just friends’...

And then, there is an extended family. The Abhyaas family. It’s like my second home. From a welcome lunch to get-togethers celebrating every milestone that Abhyaas crosses, I’m never left out from any activity that Abhyaas conducts. Enough for me to smile the biggest of my smiles when I see Abhyaas ads anywhere on the streets. Naresh, Sirisha, Rakesh, Sahitya, Padma, Sonal, Venkatesh, Sahiti, Hari...thank you for welcoming me to the Abhyaas family with so much of warmth.

And then, I bumped into this wonderful lady, Bhavana. Warm, caring, vocal, knowledgeable. The activist. She’s inspired me to be like her -- fearless and fantastic!

Yes, Hyderabad is a great place. Great because I no longer feel alien here. Great because it has given me great friends. Great, because it’s home.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Connected virtually, dis-connected literally!

She looked at the teenager with her inquisitive eyes, the lines on her forehead becoming even more prominent as her eyebrows came together, expressing her disapproval. She tilted her nodding head and tapped her on her shoulder with her trembling fingers, asking, “What are you doing?” The teenager didn’t bother to look up. “Uff, give me a second, daadi. I’m facebooking,” she said. The wrinkles on the forehead had curiosity written all over it… “Face WHAT,” the 70-something asked and the teenager just got up and walked away. The inquisitiveness vanished as her eyes softened and became a shade blurred with the tears that were pooling inside...

Technology. It brings us closer, it seems. Really?

I pity the teenager. A phone with a camera, andriod ‘kit kat’ (whatever that means), games, a plethora of applications. Fancy. I still pity her. She has no idea how special the conversations with grandmums are. The stories that they tell can’t be bookmarked for a leisurely read. You’ve got to go with the flow, honey. I pity the teenager, for she has no idea how great she would have felt had she spent some time with her grandmum, making her feel wanted. That’s what they want. They’re not asking us for expensive gifts or world tours. All they want is some time with us and that’s probably the least we can do for them.

Time. Comes with a pretty heavy price tag. We have all the time in the world to sit in front of the laptop for hours, liking photos and updating silly status messages, but time to spend with our loved ones? Heavy tag dangling? “Sorry, a little busy, ‘GTG’, TTYL”, is our standard reply.

The smileys have replaced the oh-so-enchanting smiles that used to trace their way to the twinkling eyes. Fun is ‘funner’ only when shared on facebook. Weddings aren’t solemnised until the facebook relationship status confirms so. Wooing, weddings, engagements, honeymoon -- facebook is a big slice of our lives.

Having a once-upon-a-time-fancy phone, I can easily connect with the daadi above. While every around is busy glued to their phones that come alive with a touch of their fingers, ‘connecting’ with people over WhatsApp, BBM, WeChat and what not, I sit, gazing at the ceiling, admiring the cobwebs in the corner with new-found interest, the frustration inside me bubbling and ready to burst like a volcano. I too want to ‘connect’, but these fancy applications, I have not. Am I not eligible for a ‘real’ connection, instead?

I try to talk to people, but end up talking to their heads instead, their faces, buried
inside their laptops, tablets or phones. I fidget. I don’t know what to do. I feel out-of-place, most of the times. I remain offline on chat, both on facebook and gtalk.
I have phone numbers of people I want to connect with, and so do they. Chats are tricky, as I have learnt the hard way. Once bitten, twice shy, I stay away from these virtual modes of communication.

Life is not all about telling the world ‘what’s on your mind’. Sometimes, the eyes say it all, but only if the other person can tear his or her eyes away from the phone. Talk to your mum, tell her what you’ve been upto. Walk over to your dad, tell him what you’re planning. Have your dinner from your grandmum’s hands, they’ll taste delicious. Go over to your friend’s place, gossip over a steaming plate of maggi. Take a walk with your husband, cook with him. Ditch your fancy gadgets and look around, you’ll hear birds chirping, kids laughing and you’ll see time slowing down…

Friday, November 22, 2013

My First Liebster Award!

And I got my first Liebster Award! yayy..!! Thank you so much Preethi VenuGopal

So, here it goes! Once someone is generous enough to present you with the Liebster Award, here are some steps that you will have to follow:

- Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog, linking their blog.

- Copy & Paste the award to your blog.

- Answer the questions the person (who has given you the award) has asked you

- Nominate 5 blogs to receive the award who have less than 3000 followers.

- Inform them of their nomination by leaving comment on their blog.

- Frame 11 questions for them to answer.

Here are the questions Preethi asked me:

1) What is your favorite place on earth?

My home. :)

2) What is your favorite colour?


3) Tell the first joke that came to your mind.

A husband takes the wife to a night club. There's aguy on the dance floor giving it big time. Break dancing, moon walking, back flips, the works!

The wife turns to her husband and says, "See that guy? 25 years ago he proposed to me and I turned him down!"

The husband says, "Looks to me like he's still celebrating!!!"

4) What do you tell people who dives in to give an advice which you do not need?

I smile politely, and say I'll try it. (But I try it only if I want to...what's teh harm in making people happy?)

5) What is your most cherished dream?

Becoming a good writer

6) Which fictional character do you find adorable?

Mr Bean :D

7) If you had the power to change a thing in this world what would you change?

Discrimination against women

8) Write the first two lines of the song that is on your mind now...

Oh ri chhori chichori chede hume chingam chabake

9) What is the one thing that you wish you had done differently?

Nothing. I have no regrets. :)

10) Why do you write?

That is the only one thing I ma supposedly good at! :D

Here are the bloggers I would like to nominate for the award.

Aliasgar Mukhtiar -

Harish Bhardwaj -

Nikhil -

joshi daniel -

Aadil Bandukwala -

Sakshi Nanda -

Anuradha Khanna Pentapalli -

Purba Ray -

Gowtham -

Preethi VenuGopal -

These are my questions for them:

1. What is more important -- being competitive, or being compassionate?

2. Why did you start blogging?

3. How does blogging help you?

4. If you could change something about you, what would it be?

5. Who is person you think about when you close your eyes?

6. What is your favourite dish?

7. Which is your favourite sitcom?

8. Which book are you reading now?

9. What are your hobbies?

10. What does this award mean to you?


It looked as if the sky had wrapped itself with an expensive, sequined velvety black shawl. As we whirred off on our bike, I couldn’t help but fall in love with the beauty that was delightfully spread up right above my head...The sky, the stars, the moon, they commanded my attention, and I obliged, happily. As I was gazing at the sky, awestruck by it’s mesmerising beauty, I noticed a couple of flickering lights. “Is this some heavenly body,” I wondered, still in the trance that the movie Gravity had left me in. As I observed it for a while, I realised there was nothing heavenly about it, after all. It was more of an earthly object; it was a flight…

“It must be someone’s homecoming,” I thought, as I saw the flickering lights incline towards the horizon. “Someone would have returned home, someone would be rushing into the arms of their loved ones. Someone’s wait must have been over,” I thought, the lights disappearing from my vision. What a joy it is, to see the faces of loved ones, we have been away from for a while. The butterflies begin to flutter with new-found energy; the heart becomes an Usain Bolt, racing away...

I was back home, with my parents, for the first time after my wedding. A year. I had been away for a year and I just had a week’s time at my disposal. One week for one year. Unfair, isn’t it? And while I was getting fatter and lazier thanks to all the ghee-laced miracles that my mom and grannies whipped up for me in the kitchen, the dreaded Mr Time made an unwelcome appearance. He was looking at me, raising his eyebrow, wagging his fat finger at me saying, “Pack up, buddy, it’s time to go.”

“Time to go, already?” I protested, unable to bring myself to pack my suitcase. But, pack-up, I had to, for home, hubby and duties had come calling. He was alone, eating unhealthy stuff that the curry-points dished out. A part of me was longing to see him, while a part of me was crying. A part of me couldn’t wait to land in Hyderabad, while the other part, she dreaded the take off…

And Mr Time showed smirking face again. It was time to say the teary-goodbye. I tore my eyes away from my parents as I dragged myself into the glass structure, thinking, “Why, why? Why can’t I stay back?,” trying to gulp down that lump in my throat that threatened to snowball into a big one. My phone beeped; his picture flashed on the screen. “Haan ji,” I said, and I could trace the eagerness in his voice. “Done with your boarding,” he asked, and I said, “Almost.”

I looked behind, and I could see them, ammai wiping her eyes, appa, fidgeting. I wanted to rush back to them, but the eagerness in his voice was pulling me away…The duality in me couldn’t have been more profound…

As the houses in Guwahati became tiny dots from up there, the clouds eventually shielding them from my view, I suddenly couldn’t wait any longer to be with him. I touched down in Hyderabad, my ever-smiling husband ready to whisk me home. As we drove back, I realised that a bit of me lives here and a bit of me will live there…I was a daughter, a wife at the same time...

Homecoming, it was, indeed...

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Stubbles and sensitivity

A man stands next to me in a crowded bus. My heart begins to thump loudly against my chest...from the corner of my eyes, I watch him, scared that he'll touch me or something. I bring my legs together, closer, tie my body into several knots to escape the creep, paranoid about my safety. Suddenly, I feel a brush against my shoulders; I turn around in a flash, only to notice that it is a woman’s handbag. I feel another contact on my shoulders, this time, it isn’t a mere’s more of a tap. I prepare myself mentally to beat the crap out of the creep...I’m sure it’s him. Making the angriest of all faces, I turn around, fuming, only to see a smiling face greet me. “Madam, yahaan seat khaali hain, aap baith jaiyiye,” he says, and then gets off. The guilt pangs are stronger than ever before.

We almost always give men suspecting glances. For us women, any unknown man is potential danger, most probably a pervert. But do we realise, that our husbands, fathers and brothers are also unknown men for other women? How would we feel if our brother got slapped by a woman, only on the basis of suspicion? Terrible, isn’t it?

Yesterday was International Men’s Day -- a day to celebrate the existence of the men folk. We often crib about them, wear the garbs of the bra burning feminists, but do we do much to appreciate them? Maybe we do, but I decided that I want to dedicate a blog post to some of the most important men in my life. They are the ones who pamper us, make us blush, protect us and lend their strong shoulders for us to cry on.

Dads are the little girls’ first and most favourite heroes. More often than not, they paint the picture of their dream man on a canvas with their fathers as the model. I did, too. My dad is the quieter one in the family. My mom and I, we are chatterboxes. He isn’t too ambitious; he takes life as it comes, sans expectations from anyone. While ammai would be very strict and particular about my grades, appa would just say, “Try not to fail!”. Being the only child, who was born to them after four years of their wedding, appa never missed out on any chance to play the doting dad. Everyday, when he returned from work, there would be a little packet of goodies for me. Big, small, expensive, cheap -- it didn’t matter; he would get me something, every single day. Without fail. One day, as he walked into the house, he didn’t look at me, at all. I looked at his hands, there was no packet. There was nothing for me. My heart know why? Not because appa didn’t get me anything, but because, I saw him crying. For the first time in my life...he cried because he didn’t have the money to buy even a toffee. I cried because he cried…

The other day, one of my worst fears came true. I realised I was jobless, again. I didn’t know what to do. The tears started streaming down, silently. My husband walked upto me, gave me a warm hug and sat beside me, patting my back and stroking my hair, till the lips stopped quivering, till the tears dried up and till he could hear my croaky voice again. He didn’t say a word, he just smiled at me and that spoke for him. He makes me feel beautiful (even though I’m not), he flaunts the lunch I cook for him, and encourages me to do whatever I enjoy doing. He lets me be the child I am, pampering me, loving me and understanding me…

Being a single child, my cousin is the only brother I have. We might not share the bhaiyya mere rakhi ke bandhan ko nibhana moments, we don’t even call or text each other regularly. But I know one thing for sure, if I am in a spot of bother, he’s one of my safest bets for help. I might have never told him this, but he’s special, very, very, very special!

My stint in Bombay was a success, at least, I would like to believe so. In a city as vast and alien as Bombay, I would have struggled to find my footing, had it not been for family. My aunt (appa’s sister) is settled in Bombay, and Sundays would be devoted to family. That day, there was just one dosa left...and uncle (athimbare) promptly split it into two and made sure both my cousin and I got an equal share. Although it was a very small incident, yet, it left a deep impact on me. I was touched that there was no discrimination…

Whoever knows my in-laws, wouldn’t probably need an introduction to my dad-in-law. He’s the roly poly, happiness exuding man, who can make any sullen face burst into peals of laughter. There’s never a dull moment when he’s around...seems like he’s got some magic potion to keep everyone in high spirits. The mirchi bajji and tea time that we shared during their trip to Hyderabad, our pandal hopping and ‘vettilai pakku’ collection rounds in Calcutta are just a few of the many beautiful moments in have shared with him…

Coming from a small town, I never had guy friends when I was in school or college. It was only in Delhi that I found my first guy friend, Sandeep, who’s like an older brother. He’s guided me, protected me and pulled my ears when I have made a mistake. And talking of friends turned brothers, how can I miss out on Avinash aka Sheela aka Nasheelee, my little brother, who leaves no chance to annoy me? Be it calling me weird names like Chollamma or Kuntalakeshi (refined version of Harish’s nickname for me), Sheela has managed to dispel fears that I would never have friends in Hyderabad (I do have friends in Hyderabad, awesome ones at that!!)

I raise a toast to these wonderful men in my life, who’ve filled my life with colours, annoyed me, teased me, made me laugh, cry and feel good. Cheers to all the men, because they are the ones who pamper us, make us blush, protect us and lend their strong shoulders for us to cry on.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Spare the rod and spoil the child!

I am one-year-old. No, I’m not a toddler. I’ve been married for a year. And that means, my honeymoon period is officially over. “Time to think about serious stuff,” the aunt says, looking at me from above her thick-rimmed glasses. “Hain? ‘Serious stuff’, what?,” I think, scratching my head. First anniversary aashirwads are typically the doodho nahao phalo phoolo types. “Let’s have some good news soon” the elders say, winking and chortling.


Oh my! Oh yes, they are beautiful. But our own? Hmm...As soon as someone mentions kids, the first picture that comes to my mind is that of my neighbourhood. Kids. They are everywhere. Runny-nosed, teary-eyed, rolling and admiring booger, loud, adamant. Please don’t assume that I’m some sort of a monster who despises kids. No, no, I’m not one of those. My husband and I, we love kids. But what we don’t like, are the ones who are badly brought up.

I’ve often been amazed at how some parents can let their kids do whatever they want. Scream their little lungs out, thomp their feet until their demands are met, ransack other people’s houses like it’s pretty much a part of their deliverables, talk like 60-year-old toothless granpas and granmas; all of this, surprisingly and shockingly making the parents chests swell with pride! Hain?!

I remember how my ammai’s eyes would trace me like a hawk. One roll of her eye, and I would freeze. She never raised her voice, never hit me. She only pinched me, till my skin turned red and I could feel the heat traveling to all parts of my body, sirens blazing into my eardrums. A ‘no’ meant ‘no’, nothing else. There was no arguing with her. I would be terrorised, especially during study holidays. I would be glued in front of the TV all day, but as soon as the clock would give me a warning, it’s hands inching towards my undoing, I would jump up like a cat on fire and bury myself into the pages of some boring, fat book. And when ammai would be back from office, I would be the obedient little devil.

“Shoes are not supposed to be thrown around. They are for your feet and if you’re not wearing them, they are supposed to be inside the shoe rack, placed together, understood?,” she would ask, rolling her eyes, again. “Yes, ammai,” I would purr, making sure that she never got a chance to roll her eyes at me, again. At least, not because of the shoes. I was taught that we should never let anyone else wash out plates, never insult anyone. “A child’s behaviour speaks volumes about the parents,” she would say. “No one will call you a bad girl, they call us (appa and ammai) bad parents. Would you like that?” she would ask. “No,” I would say, loud and clear.

The pinches, the pain, the tears, they have all vanished from my memory, but those words, they remain imprinted. A child’s behaviour does reflect the kind of parenting, which goes a long way in shaping the kind of individual the child will eventually grow up to be. The values our parents infuse into us determine how well we lead our lives.

My parents, smart as they are, brought me up on a good dose of Dabur Chawanprash and with loads and loads of values. Yes, kids form our world, define our future. And to ensure our kids are healthy, we need to protect them from all the illness causing germs, the Dabur way and also make sure they are brought up well. Aakhir, andar ki ki shakti and bahar ki shakti,both are equally important.

This post has been written for the 'An Immune India' contest, hosted by IndiBlogger.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Shaadi ka laddoo!!

Remember ‘Honey I Shrunk The Kids?’ I had the same feeling the ‘shrunk kids’ would have had, albeit, slightly different. I felt like someone had stretched my limbs, painted my hair with a few streaks of grey...I felt...old!

I was daddy li’l girl, mamma’s princess and the grannies’ little bundle of joy. I was sitting on my dad’s lap and the moment the sacred thread dangled around my neck, things changed. Daddy’s girl was suddenly a big one, mamma’s princess had graduated to the next phase of her life and well, the little bundle of joy couldn’t qualify as little any longer.

I was a wife. I was a daughter-in-law. I had to smile for photos. Thousands of them. Had to answer the same questions every second person would ask.

Without. Getting Tired.

But then, this was only the tip of the iceberg, I realised. The real transition began as soon as I landed in Hyderabad. When I asked Harish what he’d like for lunch on the first day of office, “Rasam and aloo curry,” was the prompt answer. And that’s when it dawned upon me -- this is not going to be easy. At all.

I suddenly felt more responsible. Motherly, if I may say. Harish’s food, his mood, the house, the kitchen, the dishes, the floor -- their well being depended largely on me. If I wouldn’t wake up on time, the lunch would be delayed and Harish would have a big red blot on the attendance sheet. If I chose to be lazy for a couple of days, the house would look like the eye of a Phailin-like disaster; the toilets would look like the ‘pay and use’ ones’ cousin! Not that Harish would let it be like that, but how much would he juggle between household chores and office work?

Ooohh...I felt all grown up. All big and responsible. My task list got tweaked from page making to home making!

It’s not easy, mind you. More so, if you’re an only child and you haven’t stepped into the kitchen for anything else other than dumping the dishes into the sink. When you are suddenly shoved into an adult’s world after living the life of a pampered child for 24 years, the transition does become a bit of a challenge. And so do the adjustments. I was used to playing ‘Ganesha’ at home -- I would be honoured with the first morsel of everything edible. Serving the husband first, especially when the aroma of the food made the rats inside the tummy play all kinds sports inside, was a bit difficult to start with, but then, the motherly instincts got the better of me!

If one thought the first year of the wedding is the ‘honeymoon period’, then I’m gonna play spoilsport here. Come on, there’s much more to life than filmy romance. There are fights, arguments, and making up after fights, giving in a little bit to make your partner happy and more than that, the satisfaction of understanding your partner’s difficulties. There’s planning, decision making, taking care of one another, loving your partner’s family and becoming a part of their lives. And yes, there is romance, too! :)

And as the calendar said, “Madam, one year up,” I can’t tell you how much I am enjoying this shaadi ka ladoo...Ooh, it IS yum! And if this first year itself has seen me grow so much as an individual, I’m sure I’ll be smarter as we turn the pages of the calendar, year after year, growing old(er) together...

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Surprised? No, bowled over! :)

I was watching it on the big screen. The hero and the heroine make a grand entry. holding hands, looking at each other with love-struck eyes, his trademark smile brightening up his twinkling eyes. She was coy, biting her lips nervously, looking every bit the smitten kitten that she was. Suddenly, her face lit up, she stopped short, tears welling up inside her eyes. He had laid out the most beautiful table for her; roses, candles, gifts and champagne handpicked just for her to smile her radiant smile…

I could feel the warmth of the tears gushing down my cheeks, I thought it was the scene that made me emotional. But then, suddenly, I could smell the flowers, touch the gifts and feel his strong palms wrapped around mine. That’s when I realised, I was the heroine, and he, he was the hero. The surprise was for me!

“Happy anniversary,” my perimmai said as soon as I received her call. It sounded a bit strange, for I wasn’t accustomed to receiving anniversary wishes...this was our first one, you see. But then, it began to sink in. I was married; married for a year to this wonderfully beautiful human being.

We’d been out, marking our attendance at the reception of a close family friend. We wanted to return home before the clock struck 12, so that we could ring in our first anniversary in the warmth of our cozy little home. As the lift screeched on the third floor, I noticed a shimmery blue thing peeping out of a jute bag, right outside our door. My heart began to thump as I approached it for closer inspection. There it was, my first surprise...A happy moment of ours, beautifully captured and framed, a cute little cake, pink roses and chocolates sent by my ammai, and a beautiful paper lantern. We blew the candle, cut the cake, went to the terrace to fly the wishing lantern and didn’t forget to pose for photos that we could share with you!

Being the girl who’s been brought up on a healthy quota of bollywood flicks and romantic novels, I looked at him with my big black eyes and asked him, “My gift?” He walked away silently, keeping me guessing all night.

The next morning, we transformed into the good traditional bachchas, thanking God for all that he’s blessed us with. The tags of the new clothes were ripped off, and soon we were all decked up, ready to attend a wedding. As I was busy admiring the beautiful newly-wed couple, he gestured that the surprises had just begun. He took me to a shop, ready to buy me a chic new phone. “No,” said I, the love for my old BlackBerry preventing me from accepting the generously-priced phone that he had picked.

We reached the wedding hall, another surprise awaiting me. My bestie Supriya had sent this really expensive grilled sandwich maker, but what made the surprise absolutely special was the hand-written letter she had enclosed within. Runny rose, smudged mascara and tear-smeared blush was what resulted after I read it.

As I stole a couple of romantic glances with hubby dearest who was on the stage, singing bhajans, he signalled that we had a movie date at 2! So, off we went, to relish a sumptuous lunch, after which he whisked me off to an amazing ‘Ramleela’ experience. And then, it was time for some blessings and gifts(!) from elders.

Overwhelmed, I was getting ready for our dinner date, all the surprises leaving me in a daze. But then, as they say, raat toh jawaan tha…

Petrol khatam,” he said, halfway to Mainland China, to which we were heading. Looking at another fine-dine restaurant close-by, I said, “Chalo, we’ll have dinner here,” a sentence that made his eyes twinkle. As I walked into the restaurant, I realised some fantasies do come true...It looked like a scene from a movie. A cake (yes, another one!), a bottle of fine grape juice, another beautiful picture of ours neatly wrapped in shimmery paper, roses, candles and a five-star treatment...on a table for two…

It took me a while to sense that he had taken all the pains, put in so much of effort, just to see me smile...I felt like a princess, unable to believe that someone would invest so much of thought to make me feel special. I felt guilty, too, for asking him that stupid question I had asked him that night...I buried my head inside his warm embrace, the waterworks refusing to end. As I looked into his eyes, I realised they were misty too...We blew the candle, cut the cake (again!), clinked our glasses and raised a toast to the big one up there, who’d scripted our union in his plan…

He asked me, “Would you want to celebrate another anniversary with me?”...I closed my eyes, held his hand and promised, we would waked into sunset, together…

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Counting my blessings!

There are men, and then, there are men like him.

The first time we chatted, a chat that went on for a couple of hours, we introduced ourselves, chatted about the regular ‘I went to this college and I work for this company’ and before we knew it, we were chatting like long-lost friends, who had loads to catch up on! If the first chat was a teaser, the days to follow were nothing less than bliss.

Numbers were exchanged, and I could see myself falling head over heels and rolling down the hill. His wit, his command over the language, his personality...boy, was I impressed! The days would be incomplete without the chats, and it had almost become a sort of a ritual to log into gmail and ping him. As the chats increased, so did the calls and the texts. The nights were good when he sent me a ‘Good Night :)’ text and the mornings, well, how could they not be ‘good’ when there was a sweet text from him?

And as they say, Aur Pyaar Ho Gaya!

As we inch towards our first major milestone as a couple, I can’t help but feel bloated with pride. He’s the man any woman would wrap up and take home to meet the dad. He’s the man the mothers would love, the one cousins would go gaga over. He’s the one the grandmas and grandpas would bless wholeheartedly; the one whom relatives would flaunt.

What does one do, when one realises that she’s married to one of the most amazing men in the world. He never lets me carry big bags, he never cribs when I decide to go shopping. In fact, he picks dresses for me, helps me buy accessories. He makes sure I have eaten my fill, that I have had water after my meal, and that I don’t eat too much of junk…

He goes down on his knees to help me manage the pleats of my saree, ironing out the creases with his fingers. He gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ears, smiling his contagious smile. He wipes out the crumbs of bread stuck to the corner of my lips.

What does one do, when she realises that her husband makes rounder rotis that her? He’s not just a good cook, he’s the most organised guy I have seen. A tired wifey, and the hubby is all ready to pamper, waking me up with a steaming cup of tea, cooking, cleaning and scrubbing the kitchen slab till I can use it to check my make up!

He holds my hand in public, in front of his friends and colleagues, showing me, in a way, that he’s proud to have me by his side. He looks at me lovingly, calls me weird names and makes me feel beautiful and special. he flaunts the lunch I send him, refusing anyone a bite…

Sometimes, God showers his choicest blessings and gifts you with things that you would have never imagined you’d have. When you get more that you deserve, all you can do is sit back, close your eyes, smile and count your blessings!