I'm Beautiful

It never failed to amaze Ayesha how easily her mother could kill her self- confidence. She had arrived home after a 6- month gap to attend her cousin's wedding. One look and her mother had pronounced her fatter than she had ever been before, meaning, unattractive, undesirable. "How do you hope to attract any attention at the wedding? How will I ever find a match for you?"

Ayesha knew from her previous experiences that a wedding was the perfect place to showcase your marriageable sons and (specially) daughters in hope that someone would suggest a suitable match. What better way to present your daughter, all glamorously decked up, for everyone's approval?

Ayesha accepted that she had put on a few pounds. Working behind a desk all day long, only option for food being the greasy road side fare and having no time for any physical exercise, she had gained some weight. But was her outer beauty all that mattered? 

Ayesha knew she was reasonably pretty. Her school friends and pronounced her so and she had complete faith  in the judgement of her classmates in the IInd Standard. One day when she was about 15 and looking at herself in the mirror, (as girls that age are prone to do), her mother commented, " Your facial features are all right, but your bum is too big". Needless to say, that comment did not work wonders with her confidence. But worse, it gave her an inferiority complex which always made her make the wrong choices in life, thinking that she did not deserve any better.

In the 24 years of her life, Ayesha never once remembered her mother praising her looks. She knew that she would never win any beauty pageants, but she felt that with a little touch of kohl, she could make her eyes look deeper and brightly coloured lips really went with her complexion. She had a little sense of fashion and could carry herself well. But under that smart working woman lurked a little girl who craved for a little praise, just once.

Ayesha didn't know whether she would ever get to hear those words. But if she knew something, it was her mother. She knew her mother belonged to that school of thought where praising your own child is considered conceit. Even if she had nothing to criticise about, she would definitely find some reason to do exactly so. Realising this, there was only one thing for Ayesha to do. Ignore her mother's baseless criticism and be content with herself. She couldn't let her mother or anyone else do this to her. She was beautiful, if in no one else's eyes, than in her own. Standing at the wash basin, she looked into the mirror at herself and smiled. Without conceit, without a complex, without any anger, without any traces of narcissism, she thought,  " Yes, I am beautiful the way God made me."   

An Obituary

The evening stands clear in my mind. I was studying when I had a phone call from a friend. After the routine formalities she gently broke the news. "M passed away this afternoon. His neighbours found his body dangling from the ceiling fan, attached by a rope which he had apparently bought the day before for this exact purpose."

M taught maths at the coaching centre. He was young, brilliant and was already earning a handsome salary. He was a great favourite with his class of students. He was a part- time student at one of the country's leading B- schools. I still remember him wearing his stylishly torn denims and a Lee Cooper t- shirt, leaning against the board, one foot against the wall, fiddling with a marker. One would wonder what reason such a person might have that compelled him to end his life in such a drastic manner.

I had last seen M a couple of weeks before. He had resigned from the coaching, joining another one nearby. I was walking home and I saw him getting a smoke by the roadside. I stopped to say 'hi' and chatted for a while. We exchanged numbers and he asked me to call him up regarding any doubts that I had, though technically I was no more a student of his.

I couldn't bring myself to believe what I had just heard. I dialled his number once.. twice.. . It was switched off. Next day I went to the coaching. The counsellor confirmed the news.

Ever since I have asked myself plenty of times, what could have been the reasons forcing him to take his life. Surely his problems must have been of an extremely grave nature. I couldn't see an intelligent person like him rushing into something of this magnitude. He must have thought it out carefully. Had the pros of being alive been so outnumbered by the cons? Did any of his friends see it coming? Had he talked of his problems to anyone? Why was nobody able to help him, console him? Had I been more observant, would I have noticed something different in him that day at the roadside? When he shared his number with him, should I have called him up? Could it have made any difference? Would he be alive today, teaching and guiding more students on the road to success? A teacher as good as him can make a great difference to so many students. How did his death fit into the larger scheme of things?

These are the questions that will never be answered. Maybe I am not supposed to know the answers. You would think how could the death of a guy who taught me maths for a couple of hours each week over a period of eight months affect me so much. But I guess that is life for you, or maybe that was M.

Rains

Today the sky is heavy and leaden,
Heavy and laden with clouds so grey,
The clouds have brought down heavy rain,
To relieve us of heat and make us gay.

The rain falls pattering on the rooves,
The children are enjoying the sound,
But they are a trifle downcast,
For they are not allowed out.

Though the sky is full of clouds,
I see the winds blowing them away,
The day will again be sunny and gay,
And the children will rush out to play.

... And Love Bloomed

She said, "If only I could sing like Celine Dion!"
He said, "But Celine Dion would not sing to me in the middle of the night."

Had it been anyone but him, she would have brushed it off as mere jest or even flattery. But, it was him and she knew that the words spoken were meant to be true. And once more, like in so many other moments, in so many earlier memories, she felt the depth of his feelings towards her.

She had not been this trusting from the very beginning. Oh no, she was very much a lady of the world, not trusting good dreams to come true, only having faith in her worst nightmares, in short, a cynic, a pessimist. She hadn't completely believed him when he had promised a world full of happiness to her on their first conjugal night. Life had taught her the hard way that the roses are far apart and densely interspersed with thorns. She just took his words with a pinch of salt, quietly resolving not to be overtly critical, as was her nature, when he failed his promises.

But nothing, neither her dreams nor her wildest nightmares, had prepared her for this. At first, she didn't know how to deal with it. Whether to believe it, or patiently await the blow of disappointment.

She had never imagined that life could indeed be so wonderful, that someone could love her so selflessly, so completely, love her even more than she did herself. She took some time getting used to it. Accepting the fact that someone could love her with all her flaws, not be mean to her or play on her insecurities. But by and by, she regained her trust, her faith, her confidence. The mists of cynicism and pessimism were clearing, not all at once but gradually.

The hollowness within her was receding, being filled with love, contentment and peace. This reflected on her face, her eyes. He noticed it as she turned to smile at him, her whole heart in her eyes, believing his promises and returning them all with the same intensity.