Monday, October 15, 2018

The Blithe of Blind Date! #TheBlindList #SayYesToTheWorld






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Mr. Gunasekaran is around fifty-six years of age and works as a Sr. Marketing Manager in a potato chips company. He has reached up to this post with his sheer determination to excel in life and his unqualified submission to hard work. Now he is well-off financially.

He is a god fearing man and is happy with whatever he has received in his life. He is grateful to god for giving him a wife like Chinnamani, he loves her more than anything else in the world. Today is her birthday so he has bought a gold necklace for his wife. He tries to do everything that can keep his wife happy and engaged in order to keep her mind away from the brooding about the childless state of the couple.

During the youthful days, Gunasekaran used to comfort Chinnamani that God will certainly fulfil their wish of becoming parents but as time passed by and they remained childless, the anxiety tendency in Chinnamani grew multifold. Once she has had a nervous breakdown also.

She keeps thinking as to what will happen when their bodies stop supporting them, as there is no one to take care of them! The sight of old age home scares a hell out of her. She doesn’t want to go there. Gunasekaran comforts her saying that: “Look even people with children have pains in life, as the children grow wings and move out of the parental nest they seldom comeback to take care of their parents.”

“In such situations the parents have to be able to learn to take care of themselves on their own. And if we keep doing ‘Yoga’, we will never feel too weak to handle the life after sixties.”

But deep down Gunasekaran knows that life is full of uncertainties and the body is as fragile as glass. Anything can happen at any time in old age. And to fight his depression, he drinks. Yes, this is the only flaw that the gentleman Gunasekaran has. He drinks only to go aloof for some time from the dejecting aspect of his life i.e.: being childless.

He descends from bus at a wine shop while returning from the jewelry shop. He buys a small bottle of his favourite brand of whisky and sits on the table by the side of the shop. He has his potato chips with him to go with his drink. Though he drinks, but in limit and has never been that drunk where his legs are wobbly and mind is oblivious to the current situation. He is a responsible drinker. He never makes any ruckus after drinking.

He completes the drink and chews on some mouth freshener to beguile Chinnamani of the alcohol scent.

His house from the alcohol shop is some two hundred meters away, and he usually walks up to his house and refrains from taking an auto. There is a stretch of path up to his house that seems desolate for some five minutes. While He is going towards his house he meets with that desolate stretch. He hears the noise of three-four pairs of feet following him. His heart starts palpitating…he speeds up but the following pairs of feet also speed up.

Now Gunasekaran grows really anxious as he is sure that these are some goons who are after the gold necklace that he has bought for his wife.
As he decides to move faster to get out of the desolate stretch, a car stops screeching before him. The people from behind pounce on him, overpower him, and shove him into the car. They put a chloroform dunked hanky before his nose and he loses his conscious.

When he comes to his senses, he finds his hands tied to the arms of a chair and his eyes blindfolded.

He hears intermittently the voices like: Lufthansa Airlines welcome you to this part of the world, that part of the world. The names seem utterly unfathomable to him as he has hardly put his foot out of his state, in the years that he has spent on the earth, leave the country.

He assumes that he is now in an airplane.

“What do you want? I am ready to part with the necklace…you can take it but please leave me…my wife is alone in house and she must be crying because I am not there. Please let me go…for god’s sake!” Gunasekaran pleads.

Guna, you are here?”

“Who… Chinna?”

“Yes…they kidnapped me last night on the pretext that you have met with an accident and I needed to go to hospital,” explains Chinnamani.

“Get up you both!” says a female voice untying their hands and removing the blindfold.

“Make them ready for their fall,” instructs the female voice.

Both of them are made to change into the dresses suitable for a fall from the sky and are loaded with some bags on their backs.

“What do you want to do with us?” yells Gunasekara.

“If you want to kill us… then kill us straight away…we will not resist,” cries Chinnamani frantically.

“Push them!” says the female voice and she herself makes a plunge out of the airplane too.

Gunasekara and Chinnamani clasp the hands of each other as they tumble out of the plane into the free falling arena of the sky. For some time they keep falling like a rock falls from sky piercing the thick air. Suddenly the parachutes bundled onto their backs open up with a jerk and they start dangling in the sky.

“Enjoy the moment!” says the female voice as she clasps the hands of Gunasekaran and Chinamani forming a circle in the air.

Both Gunasekaran and Chinnamani are totally flabbergasted at the situation that they are in. They are totally dumbstruck to say anything; they are just observing the arena around them.

After sometime, she instructs both of them to pull a set of strings down, so that they can land on the piece of land smoothly.

They all land safely afterwards.

It is a beautiful island with breathtaking sea shore.

“For next one month you will be here my dear…enjoy your stay here this is your ‘Blind Date’ with the world... soak up the beauty of the place.”

“But who are you and why have you brought us here?” asks a bamboozled Gunasekaran.

“I am incarnation of Prithvi…the world and why I have brought you here? Well, you both are the lucky winner of the ‘pure soul’ contest held at the court of God … and you have won a free stay at this place as a prize from that contest. So stay here for the month and spoil yourselves. You will get here everything. This island will be at you beck and call for a month,” explains Prithvi.

“But you look quite young to be Prithvi…the world?” asks a puzzled Gunasekaran.

“I also do yoga my dear,” says Prithvi whistling towards the sky. The Lufthansa airplane hovers lower and drops a ladder. Prithvi clasps onto it and moves up to the plane.

Gunasekaran and Chinamani are all alone on the island but instead of fear there is a sense of delight in their hearts. They both feel an immense sense of exhilaration that they have never experienced in their lives so far. The nature is so beautiful in its pristine form that all anxiety and depression has got vanished from the minds of the couple. The feeling that God is really caring for them from up there imbues a sense of security in them.

They see a big bungalow nestled on the beach. They decide to go there. The door is locked. Gunasekaran orders: “The door be open,” and the door does open.

It is quite a thrilling experience that in life things are moving as per their wish. They enter the room and find a luxurious heaven waiting for them with a set of retinue inside.

They can eat anything that they want to eat; they can wear anything that they want to wear. The scrumptious food, the fine finery: everything is available at their command.

Twenty days pass by of their stay of one month. Everything is fine but still the hollowness of living without progenies haunts Chinnamani on and off. Sensing the dejection of her face Gunasekaran says: “Let’s travel to explore the far flung places of sea shore and that too barefoot.”

This brings back Chinnamani   from her thoughts. She agrees to be part of exiting barefoot exploration.

They must have strolled up to two kilometers on the beach but they don’t feel the fatigue. The sand beneath the feet seems like velvet.

Suddenly, they hear the voice of an infant crying. Both focus their attention towards the sound. They see some ten meters away something laying and they assume the voice to be coming from it.

They both rush to the place.

When they reach the place, they both look at each other in disbelief.

It is a mermaid infant.

She is crying continuously.

“She must be hungry but what can we give her to satiate her hunger?” questions Chinnamani as she lifts the baby mermaid from the sand.

As she clasps the baby to her bosom, the intensity of the cry decreases drastically. The baby mermaid starts nuzzling her lips against the bosom of Chinnamani and miraculously the milk starts to spurt through her undergarment. Chinnamani removes her blouse and let the baby mermaid latch on to her breasts. Today, Chinnamani is experiencing the complete sense of motherhood at the age of fifty-two. As the baby suckles on her breasts, the tears of ecstasy trickle down her eyes.

Gunasekaran is witnessing this surreal, magical moment with brimming eyes. Today, he is watching his wife experiencing the joy that even several grams of gold had failed to etch on her face so far.

“Since there seems no one to take care of this little one, I will take her with us, I will look after her, what you say?” asks Chinnamani.

“Sure, why not?”

They bring the baby mermaid to their bungalow and spend rest of the days taking care of her. The little one also develops an unbreakable bond with both of them. They all seem to be familiar with each other since eons.
Since the time, the little one entered their lives… time just flew by.

One morning when they are busy playing with the little one, Prithvi appears.

“So, now your time is up in this place…prepare to come with me to your world,” informs Prithvi.

“Could we take the little one too with us?” asks Chinnamani.

“No…she belongs to this place only…this is her world…now get ready to leave this place and this little one,”Prithvi turns down the request bluntly.

“But now she is our world, she is our life…we cannot think of parting with her…Prithvi you are also mother of innumerable children, please understand my situation,” pleads Chinnamani along with Gunasekaran standing with folded hands.

This scene melts Prithvi.

“Look she cannot survive in your world…one thing I can do but only if you agree.”

“What is that?” asks Gunasekaran.

“Since, she cannot go with you to your world in that case you will have to stay here if you want to be with the little mermaid… but for that you will have to forgo claims on your house and your bank balance in your world…would  you agree to do so?” asks Prithvi.

“Yes we would,” say the couple in unison.

“Look… the blinding happiness that we have found in this blind date is far more precious than the materialistic wealth stashed in bank accounts in that world,” says Gunasekaran.

“But then all the luxury that you have had here till now will vanish in next two hours, I will provide you only with bare minimum needed to stay at this place…do you still agree?” asks Prithvi.

“Yes…even if you take away all of luxury we would prefer to stay here as long as our little one is with us,” says Chinnamani.

“Ok then, I bless you both and the little one a wonderful familial life of a hundred years…enjoy your stay here and contribute to keep this part of the world as flawless as your ‘pure soul’. God will be very happy if you could do so. And yes you will get everything that you need to stay here happily and comfortably. Oh! Now it is time to leave for me,” says Prithvi and dashes out of the bungalow to take her Lufthansa flight like last time.

Thus Gunasekaran, Chinnamani and the little mermaid get a brand new lease of blissful life of hundred years together and wave their goodbye to Prithvi, ensconced on the Lufthansa plane, from their window.

###

#TheBlindList    #SayYesToTheWorld

Friday, October 12, 2018

Poroborti Station: Dakeshwari Mondir!




It is the time of the year when Durga Puja is just round the corner. The Kolkata Metro trains are plastered with posters of ‘Sharod Shubhecha’ . The sweet and soft version of winter has started to seep in and the milieu of whole city has got drenched with intoxicating fragrance of Durga Puja err… Pujo (to put in true Bangla perspective).

Amid the exhilarating excitement of Durga Pujo that has just started to get the city under its mesmerizing thrall, I board the Metro Train at Mahanayak Uttam Kumar Station (aka Tollygunge) to go to my office.

I work with a private company and to attend the office, I travel every day from ‘Mahanayak Uttam Kumar’ Station to ‘Central’ Station. Generally, I carry an English book with me that I pretend to read sometimes during the journey. Actually, in the Kolkata metro, I have seen professors (teachers) checking exam papers (and that too of statistics: which is enemy of my (this) incarnation, I hope that in my next life I would be able to understand Binomial Distribution et al.), and others reading English books. I have seldom seen people reading any Bangla or Hindi Novels for that matter. Actually, the English novel creates an impression that you are erudite and polymath that Bangla and Hindi novels fail to create. So, to make the impression of a well- read guy, I also carry an English novel. However, the truth is that I find it difficult to read in a moving train, I feel giddiness. But only to create a façade of intelligence for the people, whom I don’t even know, I carry English novels.

Anyways, as I have already boarded the train, in a few seconds, I get a seat to sit. And I open my book to pretend. Some minutes pass by, the metro train announcement system blares: Poroborti Station: Rabindra Sarobar. There boards a throng. And with this throng boards a girl. She is wearing a pink Patiala suit and a captivating smile (Of course she is not smiling at me but at her friend, though I wish she would have smiled at me). There is everything right about her personality. She is chubby and she is cute. 

Incidentally, our hypocrite society, that always wants things according to its rules, finds it difficult to digest that being chubby is also about being part of the grand nature and being chubby is by all means being beautiful as well. I remember one incident that happened some days ago, where the society proved that its evolution is still sketchy. One Vlogger had posted a vlog with his wife and the still- to- be- evolved society taunted his wife for being fat. This is other story altogether that how a befitting rejoinder the society got from the supportive husband that shut its mouth!

Moreover, while I was doing my post-graduation, I had seen girls, who were on chubby side, suffer from crude and insensitive jokes from other students (who were supposed to possess a rational ounce of grey matter, given they were doing their PG). I had seen girls running in the morning to lose weight in the college lawn and squeezing lemons in spoons in college canteen to shed the flab. I mean it is okay if the doctor has advised you to lose weight for health reasons, but to lose weight to satisfy the societal yardsticks of beauty or to get married, shows how rotten the system of society is that takes pride in its self- acclaimed sacrosanct canons without caring about how the jeers and jibes affect the psyche of the girls.

Frankly speaking, I like girls who are plump rather than girls who are skinny. So, this girl has certainly caught my fancy. I am stealing glances at her while feigning to read my book. The announcement system again blares: Poroborti station: Kalighat. The station name Kalighat conjures up the image of the fierce Goddess Kali. When she had got furious, the male god had to be under her foot to calm her. And here we males miss no opportunity to belittle the women. The announcement system again blares: Prorborti station: Park Street.

The girl in Patiyala suit with unforgettable smile descends at Park Street. The train, again, chugs along leaving me only with reminiscence of her cherubic smile. I bury my head in my book to pretend and to spend some time till my destination.

Suddenly, a whirring noise occurs and the lighting of the coach starts fluctuating. Next moment the power supply of the train shuts down. The train stops and so does the AC of the coach. People start complaining about the metro management. After five minutes or so the power comes back and passengers take a sigh of relief.

After sometime, the announcement system blares: Proroborti Station : Dhakeshwari Mondir (Next Station Dhakeshwari Temple)

“What? Dhakeshwari Temple…but how is it possible? It is in Dhaka, Bangladesh,” I wonder.

The announcement system next says: Ei shesh metro station, ekhane niche pete, daya kore (This is the last metro station, Please get down here!)
I am in complete bewilderment. 

Everybody in the train starts getting down as if they had boarded the train for this destination only. There is no sense of shock or surprise on their faces. They get down as if it is routine for them.

I also get down as left with other choice, because the metro cleaning team has got on the train.

I see the board on the station building…it is exactly written Dhakeshwari Temple Station (In English and Bangla). I come out of the station and see the same ambient and same familiar faces that I experience in Kolkata. I hire a hand pulled rickshaw with whatever broken Bangla I know for the temple. The rickshaw-puller reaches me to the temple in ten minutes.

The temple is quite a site to watch. Today, it seems to have overcome the painful past of 1971 destruction. It is teeming with devotees as Pujo is round the corner. The serene environment with chirrups of birds; the humming of mantras; the garden with riot of flowery colours; the translucent lake:  all make a soothing ambience for a spiritual refuge. 

The wooden doors with floral motifs; marble- alter for proffering worshipping articles; the spandrel of arches of temple building decked up with lions:  all are telling the story of a respect that a national temple must have. 

The Idol of Goddess Dhakeshwari is a wonderful replica of the power of womanhood with all ten hands spread to impart succor to humankind.

I also offer my prayers to the Devi and savor the Prasad

After taking a tour around the premises of the temple, I sit at the steps of the temple. I am not feeling as if I was in a different country. It seems completely own. The people, the language: everything seems familiar not foreign.

“Why the Aryavrata had to be dismembered into different pieces? Why Shaktipeeths and other Devi temples had to be divided among India, Pakistan and Bangladesh? So many sages have been born in the land of undivided India; couldn’t they stop the dismembering of the mother? If they were really God-sent people, why did they allow the partition of India? Or is it the God herself wished the partition because we don’t deserve 51 Shaktipeeths under the umbrella of one country, given we don’t hesitate to outrage the modesty of even 6 month old babies,” several ripples of thoughts keep undulating in my mind as I sit at the steps.

The day is melting into evening…I become worried as to how I will go back to Kolkata? First, I dither to ask Dhaka people about a metro train going to Kolkata as they might make fun of me, but then I remember the normalcy on the faces of passengers getting down the train. So, I ask the hand pulled rickshaw-wallah about the train timing and he replies without giving me a strange look that the train to Park Street will leave at 4’o clock from Dhakeshwari metro station. I feel a sigh of relief. I hop on the rickshaw.

As I am passing through the Dhaka traffic, I see a big billboard of Lufthansa Airlines’ Dhaka office. And I see a slew of people going to the office to emancipate their dreams from the borders of their own limitations to attain towering achievements in life. I hope someday our Shaktipeeths and other holy places will also get emancipated from demarcated borders. But for that we will have to evolve into a better human being (than what we are today), only then perhaps the Goddess will relent.

I come back to the station after exploring the world hitherto unknown to me and garnering an enriching experience of visiting the Dhakeshwari Temple.
The train comes to the station and I board the train. As I am merged in the thoughts of my visit to Dhaka the announcing system blares: Poroborti Station: Park Street! 

The tour to the Dhakeshwari Temple has been kind of a blind date for me. What are you thinking? That I am dreaming…for your surety, I inform you that it is 4:15 PM in the afternoon and I couldn’t go to office today, for where, I had boarded the train in the morning.
###

#TheBlindList 

#SayYesToTheWorld

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

ये बुतों के गिरने का मौसम है



Featured post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers



Top post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers

चित्र साभार: https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-metoo-movement-shows-its-more-than-just-a-hashtag

ये बुतों के गिरने का मौसम है , 
ये इबादतों के मरने का मौसम है I 

ये परदों से पंगा  लेने का मौसम है,
ये चेहरों के नंगा होने का मौसम है I 

ये ज़ोर के मुर्दा होने का मौसम है,
ये भोर के ज़िंदा होने का मौसम है I 

ये डर की डोर तोड़ने का मौसम है ,
ये अगर की डगर छोड़ने का मौसम है I 
                 
###

पश्चलेख : भारत के मी टू अभियान से प्रेरित रचना I 

Monday, October 8, 2018

हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ...






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हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ,
उस सूरज से जो सागर, 
के गोदी का बच्चा है,
जो दुनिया के पहले,
इंसान सा सच्चा है I

हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ, 
बरफ के उस चादर से, 
जिसने छुपाया है,
मानव मूल का रहस्य,
बड़े आदर से I

हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ, 
तारों के उस मेले से,
जो ले जाता है दूर,
मुझे ज़िंदगी के झमेले से I

हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ,
सेब, अंगूर की उस हरियाली से,
जो मिलवाता है हर रोज़,
दुनिया को उसकी दीवाली से I

हाँ मैं मिलना चाहता हूँ,
कैलाश के उन शिखरों से,
जिसकी बयार ने बातें की थी,
शिव के  कुन्तल निकरो से I


#TheBlindList   #SayYesToTheWorld
 

कुन्तल : केश, बाल

निकर : झुंड, समूह 

Sunday, October 7, 2018

In pursuit of barilliant barain!




Top post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers





Ram Avadh was a paan shop owner. His shop was the epicenter of the hustle bustle of all intellectual talks pertaining to the street, city, and the country. He had a family of three including him. His wife and his 6 years old son completed his world. 

Many people used to come to his small but busy shop that he used to manage with a minion named Tirlochan, who was from his village and had come to the city in search of satisfying his fondness for watching new Bollywood movies every Friday. He was a sucker for hindi film magazines also because it had steamy pictures of movie heroines.

Moving on,Ram Avadh was not that highly educated, he could complete the education only till class sixth and that too can’t be said as completed because he flunked in the annual exams three times on the trot so he said good bye to the studies after the third and last attempt. After that, he joined a small gang from his village that used to steal hens and goats in and around the village. One time he got caught while in the act and the police beat him black and blue.

After that he said good bye to the gang also, though they pressurized him to come and rejoin the gang he declined the offer. Fearing any backlash from the gang, his father decided to send him to his cousin (brother) who was an auto rickshaw driver in the city. This was where he developed a liking for paan and with the help of his uncle he opened a paan shop. Now he was well settled in the business.

Ram Avadh wanted to make his only son an engineer. But the govt. school, where he went to, considered his son a weak student at numbers. He wanted to change this situation of his son. He would like him to be a number cruncher. There was one person, who was a teacher at a coaching institute for engineering and medical preparations, who used to frequent his shop for having cigarette puffs.

One day,Ram Avadh decided to ask him questions about engineering : “How one can become an injineer saar? I have heard that you make injineers in your askool.”

“Well we prepare them for engineering examinations and can proudly say that our students have done marvelously well in entrance exams.”

“Intrance igjams? Bhaat iz entrance igjams…you mean you doesn’t make injineers …you only prepare them for intrance igjams?” asked puzzled Ram Avadh crushing on paan leaves under his stony dentures.

“Look Ram Avadh, entrance exams are like doors that open the world of engineering schools…if you pass the exam you will get admission in the engineering schools,” explained the teacher.

“Bhaat is the prize of preparation saar?” asked Ram Avadh.

“Price… you mean fees, the fee ranges from 1 lakh to 1.5 lakhs depending on the courses students choose.”

“1.5 lakh! Oh my gode… if only you prepare for injineering  igjaams, then bhaat do askools do in so many years( from class one to class twelve) that a chaaild is at the askool… I have heard that they also charge heavy amount for studies… is it not their responsibility to prepare a chaaild for ingineering intrance  igjams?”

The teacher got startled at the innocent but pricking question from the nincompoop and innocuous looking person. In the meanwhile, another customer came and Ram Avadh got busy with him and the teacher got a chance to escape the embarrassing situation of answering the innocent but thought provoking questions of the Paanwallah.

Amid the catering and serving to the customers, Ram Avadh kept searching for ways to increase the mental ability of his son. Someone told him about a newspaper advertisement in which a doctor had claimed to make brain of a child sharp given he/she is under 10 years of age. For more details the address was given to be visited. Ram Avadh decided to go to the place and meet the doctor. The place was away from the city. So, he assigned the responsibility of the shop to Tirlochan and took one day of time off from his business.

He took his wife and his son with him to the journey in pursuit of a brilliant brain. His wife Phoolmani was from his neighboring village and was as docile as expected. She followed her husband to a tee. After going to 50 Kilometers by bus they had to walk on foot for another 2 kilometers. They saw fruit born trees, translucent pond, and a Devi temple on the hill through their journey to their destination.

His wife and his child were enjoying the scenic beauty through and through. Since he considered his wife innocent in the ways of the world and many a times had called her a ‘Phoolis ledi’, was happy to see that amid the strong wind she had managed to keep her pallu clinging to her head.

Savoring the beauty of nature, he reached the destination. There was an imposing building surrounded by the big trees of teak and Jamun. There were many SUVs parked outside the gate. There were a handful of well -dressed parents with their children looking gentlemen and gentlewomen in every right. This gave a sense of inferiority to Ram Avadh. He had never visited any such place in life where people from upper echelon consisted major part of the crowd. He dithered to enter the main gate of the building but he didn’t want to show any signs of anxiety on his face either as this would have belittled him in the eyes of his  ‘phoolis ledi’ aka his wife. So, breathing deeply and summoning some courage he entered the building.

The place had squeaky clean marbles but these he had seen in Banks and Post Offices too, so these didn’t intimidate him. Encouraged, he moved to the reception desk and asked for an appointment with the doctor. The expression of receptionist was an amalgamation of amusement and surprise to see the simpleton guys at the place. The simple dressing of Kurta payjama and  Sutee Saree were a far cry from snazzy suits and silk sarees that sahibs and memsahibs were wearing. They were sartorially a misfit and this they were being made to feel by the scanning eyes of other visitors.

After an hour or so their number came.

“Dakter Sahib, my son is beek at maths and numbers…I have heard that you make barilliant barain, could you paliz make my chaaild’s barain sharp?” asked Ram Avadh.

“Yes…I can do it but it will take some huge money… what do you do for a living?” asked the doctor.

“I am a biznessman saar, I have a paan sop,” replied Ram Avadh.

“I think then it will be tough for you to avail our services financially…I mean such are our charges.”

The reply of the doctor made him feel dejected and he saw in the eyes of his wife for some consolation.

“Bhaat bood be total cost of making barain sharper saar?” enquired Ram Avadh.

“Look… since the brain sharpening therapy continues for five years it costs around 5 lakhs. It means some 8,000 odd rupees per month.”

“8,000 rupeez per month!”

“See, if you could manage at least 7000 per month I can start the treatment of your child. Look once your child’s brain gets sharper, he will do great in life, he will make 1 lakh just in a month… he will go to foreign countries and make big money,“ explained doctor about the bright avenues that could be awaiting his child.

“Bat, bhaat is the gaaranty that my son will become a good human being after making money?… I hab heard about rape of booman in India… bood my son be able to be a man ,after you treatment, who respects  a booman, I have also read that sons who make money, leave their parents for the attraction of foreign land and return only when their parents have died or reduced to skeleton. I baant a eemosnally and mentally responsible human being not a eerresponsible money minting masine. ”

The doctor didn’t have any answer to the blunt questions of Phoolmani.

Ram Avadh didn’t expect such intellekchual sentences from the mouth of his phoolis ledi. For the first time in life he was in awe of his wife.

They left the room of the doctor after Phoolmani made him mute.

Ram Avadh came out of the building a more confident man than he was before entering it. He was proud of his wife. But one thing that was still bothering him was that from where did his wife knew so much about the ways of the world? 

Though he had a TEE.BHEE at his house but he liked mostly the movie and music channels and he had never seen his wife watching news channels while he was at home. Anyways, listening to and watching news channels demanded some sort of intelligence, that he was sure that his wife lacked severely. He always found her busy preparing food, washing cloths and making paper bags (thonga) that he had himself introduced his wife to, to earn some more money in a month.

“How do you know about these things, I have never seen you baach neuz channels?” asked a puzzled and bit embarrassed (because he used to think her a phoolis ledi) Ram Avadh.

“ I baach news channels when you are not at home otherwise you bood hab said that I banted to become kueen bictoria… and I also read the newspapers that you bring to make paper bags(thonga), these heinous and filthy accounts are there  on everyday basis in Tee.Bhee and newspapers,” replied Phoolmani with utter innocence sans any airs of intellectuality.

The travel to this faraway place had been an enriching experience and an opportunity for self- exploration for Ram Avadh. He had come here with perception of a  phoolis ledi’ but returning with perception of  an ‘eentelijhent ledi’  and a caring mother about his wife. The intelligent aspect of his wife was quite like unraveling of a mystery for him.

 “If a mother is so eentelijhent in the ways of the world…she bood surely be able to shape a responsible barain…and a responsible barain is most in the need of our times than a barilliant barain,” ruminated an enlightened Ram Avadh returning back to his home. And during the return he didn’t care much if the pallu of his wife slipped from her head.

“Maa, maa….eroplane!” exclaimed the son.  “Someday, I bood like to be on that plane maa with you and papa,” expressed the son.

“Yes sure, we bood be on that plane provided you do all the hard work…promise me you bood do everything sincerely in your life, be it studies or sports or music,” demanded Phoolmani.

“Yes,sure maa, I promise,” said son waving  ‘Lufthansa plane’ that sowed one more seed in tender eyes to touch the sky!


#TheBlindList    #SayYesToTheWorld

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