A Tale of Four Rakhis - 4

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 1

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

I haven’t met Amu, my Bua’s son, for almost a decade now. We did exchange emails and talked over the phone, once in a while, until last year.

And then, when I announced THE decision to everybody, he stopped corresponding. His wife would write to me sometimes and tell me that Amu has been keeping very busy, but that he supports my decision. She wrote twice, he never wrote… For months. Even after the biggest day, when almost everyone in the family called me or wrote to me, Amu didn’t.

And I knew what was going on. Vira and he had always been mirror images of each other. Actually, I think it’s a thing about Men in general. It’s hard for them to see the inside before the outside. I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying they need time… and well, honestly, I’m in no hurry.

But Amu surprised me four months back. He stopped being Vira’s mirror image! He wrote to me – an email as beautiful as there can be – and not only did he apologize for being late in writing to me (he said he wanted to do justice to his thoughts and never had time enough to do that), but in fact, asked me to send him a Rakhi by all means… His closing line made my day – ‘Love you little sis’!

So, 10 days ago, when my favouritest aunt was saying to me, “That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!” because the courier guy was charging 1150 rupees for it, I decided not to argue with her. I lied to her that I would send the envelope by normal post the next day. I decided not to tell her that even if it had been 11500 rupees or more, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I had got late in sending it for various reasons, but they didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered, except for the fact that I had to ensure Amu got the Rakhi before Aug 16!

The only option was to wait for 2 more days and send the courier when I had my own money, although that meant that the delivery would happen either just on the 16^th, or a day later. I was feeling inexplicably horrible!

The next morning, when I was leaving for work, my favouritest aunt placed 1500 rupees in my palm. “If you’re convinced with what I said, then you won’t use it, but if you’re not, which I know you’re not, then you’ll definitely send the courier later. So, it’s better that you send it today, and at least achieve the purpose… I would still say it’s a humungous waste of money, but the choice is yours”.

I smiled at her. She knew what I was going to do. I hugged her. She hugged me back.

Aug 16. I kept checking my Inbox through the day, hoping to see an email from Amu, hoping to read that he did get it in time after all. I was doubtful about him writing because it was a Saturday. He never checks or writes mails on weekends. The entire day went by. As I feared, there was no mail from him…

As I was going to bed, a little before midnight, I checked mail one last time… and there it was! His three-liner email, written from his blackberry, saying that he had received my Rakhi on the 15th.

~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever the relationship, it is the little things that matter. To me, if Amu had not got the Rakhi by the 16^th, it would have lost its worth. Yes, love and relationships are not about ONE day, but then, if there IS one day to celebrate it specifically, then either you don’t value the day at all, or you live by it thoroughly. It can’t be about convenience then; it HAS to be about the day.

So, all said and done, this Rakhi, for me, was about buying Rakhis! The next one would hopefully be about tying Rakhis too! :-)

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

“That you’re my sister would take some time for my cognition” – that was Vovu, my Mama’s son, in an email almost 9 months ago. Yes, it’s quite open-ended. ‘Some time’ could be a month, a year, several years… or a lifetime.

Ever since childhood, I was the closest to Vovu amongst all my cousins. I’d still be, but somewhere along the way, and I don’t know where and why, he just distanced himself from almost every human being around him. You can’t talk to him anymore. There’s always this uncomfortable air between him and… everybody. Everytime I try to prick this balloon of discomfort, I’m forced to realize that the balloon and Vovu are not two separate entities. Yet, I do keep trying to separate them…

Three days before Rakhi, I was going to stay at Vovu’s place. My mother had asked me to deliver her Rakhi to Mama. And even though I knew it didn’t make any sense because Vovu’s ‘some time’ would probably still be going on, yet I bought a Rakhi for him – perhaps the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now!

No, I was not going to offer to tie it to him, but it’s always good to be prepared. What if he asked me to tie him one? What if, when I gave mother’s Rakhi to Mama, he asked me why I hadn’t got Vovu one? No, I’d rather not face that embarrassment! Yes yes, it’s best to be prepared!

I finished mother’s assignment. I finished the one I was assigned by Mama after that too – of delivering the money to mother. However, the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now would stay with me for ‘some time’, at least a year. But then… I’m ready for the next year! After all, it’s best to be prepared…

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

Vira was the first one in the family to support my decision. And it didn’t surprise me one bit. His tough macho exterior and grumpiness aside, I knew (know) that the real guy within is highly emotional and extremely innocent. He can’t deal with complicated situations, and he had always seen my complicated life from perhaps the closest quarters, hence his immediate reaction was – Go ahead with it!

I did go ahead, after all… In fact, I’m still going ahead! The ‘going ahead’ goes on and this process of going on has created an even more complicated situation for him.

He hadn’t expected me to take a break from Bombay and come home for this period of my life. He hadn’t thought he would have to deal with my phase of ‘being in the middle’ almost on a daily basis. And just like me, he hadn’t imagined this phase would be so long (although a year and a half is not so long after all).

And so, even when I was buying a Rakhi for him last week, I had no plans of tying it. I knew he wouldn’t be comfortable, and he wouldn’t know how to say that to me, and so, he would feel like his hands were tied… I didn’t want that.

And yet, I guess he was apprehensive that I would land in his house on the D-Day and claim my right of being his sister.

So, two days before Rakhi, when our mother asked if he would come home to take our cousin’s Rakhi, he said it loud and clear to her that he didn’t want ANY Rakhis from ANYBODY this year. “These are all pointless, unnecessary things”!

So, obviously, this ANYBODY got the point that she had never lost anyway! The pretty non-bling-y Rakhi stayed back, but on Aug 16, I did make our father deliver the cousin’s Rakhi to Vira’s place. He gets it tied every year. It should not be any different this year, just because his mind can’t acknowledge as yet, what his heart had accepted in an instant.

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 1

“That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!”

I nodded. Half-heartedly. And being my favouritest aunt, besides of course, being a woman of extraordinary sensitivity, I guess she could see the half-heart reflected on my face. So, her frustration on my ‘silliness’ mingled with a sadness for not letting me do what I so wanted to, topped with 63 years of middle-class sensibilities left quite a helpless expression on her face.

“I wouldn’t be adamant. I shouldn’t be. I’ll do this on my own, the day after, when I get my salary”. It was unfair to ask her to shell out 1150 rupees because I needed to courier a Rakhi to America, even if it was just a 2-day loan from her. It was unfair to expect her to understand what it meant to me…

~~~~~~~~~~

A year ago, I had couriered another Rakhi. On behalf of my best friend. To her brother. Rem was studying in the US, and she was atrociously late in posting the Rakhi to her brother in India. So, she had called me up two days before the festival and asked me to do her the favour.

That evening, I travelled from one shop to the next and the next and the countless nexts, spending a good few minutes at each shop, but I just couldn’t settle on a Rakhi. Most of them were rather bling-y – and I have always hated too much bling in everything in life. Most others were quite sad – the singly thread-y ones did not evoke a happy festival-ish feeling. Besides they did not seem to symbolize the ‘unbreakable’ bond…

I hadn’t realized exactly how many shopkeepers I must have left cursing me, until it dawned on me that it was dusk. Bulbs glowed bright, hanging right above the Rakhis spread out on the pavements, in the stalls, in the shops. And it was then that I also realized that my feet felt sore, my legs had a feverish pain in them, and my throat was dry. I had been out shopping for one Rakhi for more than three hours. I wasn’t exactly satisfied with the one I chose finally, but it sure was the best of the lot.

Another half an hour, and the couriers would send today’s dispatch away. I was new in the Mahim area and still had to figure the location of a good courier. As I ran from pillar to post asking for DTDC, Overnite and the likes, and as I finally found one and begged the guy to give me 5 minutes to put the address on the envelope with a pretty colour and in my best handwriting, I acknowledged to myself the real reason behind my taking so long in this whole activity…

I was not doing it for Rem. I was doing it for myself – for the two decades behind me when I couldn’t, when it was not RIGHT for me to do it…

And I thought it was only right for me to write what I eventually wrote on the envelope:

"On behalf of Rem... From Monsoon"

G........D

I should have been irked, but I smirked.
I should have got mad, but I was glad.
You would have sure lost it, if not forced it.
I should have been riled, but I smiled.

I could have been miffed, but It was a gift.
I could have made a face, but I loved the phrase.
You would have no sense, of how much it meant.
I could have sure told you, but for this cold you!

Lost

The Match ends.
The Game continues.
The Pain continues.

The Waiting Game

Expectation, they say, is the root of suffering…

And if you ask me, they’re not wrong! But then, am I the right person to decide? My opinion could be biased because my expectations have almost always led me to pain. But then, there are those in the world too, who know the recipe to make Happiness, with just the correct amount of Expectation and the accurate amount of Commitment. (If you happen to be one of them, please do share the recipe for the benefit of those who are hopelessly starved)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before M painted my world red, I had actually never expected anything like that to happen in my life. I never thought it was possible, given my circumstances. And yet, when he came, I surprised myself with the realization that I had waited for it all along. There he was – an impossible dream that became my reality; but even before I could get a hang of the new wings my life had given me, he had turned back into a dream, more impossible than ever before. I had expected too much, asked for too much, and life had shown me where I belonged.

Night after day after night after day, I used to wait to treasure each syllable uttered by him for me, wait to capture each glance he would be kind enough to throw my way, wait to cherish every little touch of his on my skin. Yes, I was hopeless, I was helpless. I had completely lost myself in that waiting game, so much so, that I didn’t even realize that soon, I was the only one playing the game. The waits had slowly become longer, and eventually, turned endless.

A little part of me, perhaps, still plays that game, and I wish I could, but I just don’t have the heart to kill that part. I heard this somewhere… and I know how true it is:

“The most difficult to do in the world is not killing a man, but killing your dream”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VS was not a dream. Nothing after M was. Whether anything or anybody could ever be, remains to be seen.

VS was a fantasy though. A passionate fantasy. When I look back at it today, I can remember almost nothing. It has all turned smoky, almost as if it had happened in a faraway place to somebody I don’t know. In fact, I might even be able to make myself believe that it had never happened at all, were it not for the potholes it has left for me on the road to Trust. I do often find myself analyzing those potholes and waiting for answers to pop out of them, even though I know that those answers will change nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is a game. It comes packed with excitement, frustration, anticipation, joy, sorrow – every damn thing you look forward to in a sport. And hence, there have to be rules for the Waiting Game.

But I don’t know what they are, or whatever I do know are the wrong ones, for I have certainly always found myself at the losing end of the game… I seem to always start as the one who is waited for, and end as the one who waits. It makes me edgy if I know that someone I care for is WAITING for me. I almost look at it as a punishment to them, and can’t relax until I have ended it for them. And yet, season after season, I find myself serving the very punishment I hate.

There is something certainly wrong somewhere. Is it that I expect too much? Can you be happy if you don’t expect? Can you be human if you don’t expect? If expectation is the root of pain, is it not the source of happiness too? Must I know the rules of this game, to stop losing?

I want to stop Waiting… I’m tired of this game… And there are two ways for my being able to STOP the game… One of them is not in my hands, though… And the one that is, might be just as painful as the game. Yet… I’m sick and tired of this game.