The Date

She felt her life was sprinting away from her as she scrubbed baby food off the kitchen floors and folded baskets of laundry. Wasn't she more than just a mother? She read books, sang songs and was more than capable of holding a conversation on any topic under the sun for over 10 minutes.

Yet here she was making sure the carrots and peas did not touch each other on the plate, arranging onesies and pajamas by colour and looking under crib and beds for fat, green worms to make soup with.

She needed a date. No, not need, wanted. Yes! that's the word. She WANTED a date. An evening with her husband; two adults enjoying a peaceful meal away from bibs and babble. A date was set, after frantic phone calls a reliable babysitter was found and the baby was informed. As long as the carrots and peas didn't touch, she didn't care two cents about dates.

The Day finally dawned. She spent hours in front of the mirror rehearsing what she would say at dinner. She felt like a teenager going on a first date. An evening to reminisce about Oscar Wilde and Balzac, of red wines and candle light...an evening as a young, intelligent woman.

"So guess what? I am sitting on the couch reading an article on Eezham and she comes and takes the mouse and says, 'Amma , whatyoudoing? elp?' Then she picks up my book from the table and goes ' This libaly book.' "

He smiles at her fondly as he refills her wine glass. She hardly notices the twinkle in his eyes as she continues,
"Oh my God! Yesterday she sang the entire ABC song. I swear, it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. No other 20 month old I know can say ABC much less sing it. And then, did I tell you she can completely dismantle our remote and hide the batteries and act as if she doesn't know what we're talking about? and today she..."

He leaned back in his chair.
This was going to be a beautiful evening.

Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to moms folding laundry or scrubbing floors is completely intentional.

Writing Workshop

Two weeks back The Mr came home early from work and I rushed to our local Barnes & Noble bookstore for the weekly writing group. Alas!They had disbanded months ago and I returned home quite crestfallen. Somehow I thought meeting my long lost friends would help resurrect the dormant writer.

I came back and found a few short stories I had written at my last few visits, as late as Feb 2007. To appease my broken heart, I shall post couple of them and assume I wrote it just now :p

Prompt: Write a scene in which shoes figure prominently.

The Shoe Fairy

Did you know you could see a person's entire life just by looking at their feet...their little dreams tucked behind their worries, their fears and their prejudices, all as clear as the overgrown toe-nail?

In my twenty years I've seen them all. Like Rajammal, the English teacher at a famous school in the city. She came to me every fortnight to mend her sandals...Sandals that were an imitation of the original, bought from one of those dime-a-dozen pavement stores that have cropped up all over the city. Bad leather that bit into her flesh as she ran to get onto the 7.40 A.M bus, already brimming with half the city in it.  

By now there were more stitches made by me than by the original shoemaker. I asked her to throw it away but Rajammal insisted there were few more lives in them...her tired smile telling me what she left unsaid. Money that could be saved and used elsewhere.

Then there is Vikas, the neighbourhood Romeo. Oh! He never sets foot into my shop, but would instead park his bike under the tree and stand on the pavement waiting for his girl. One look at his shoes with those funny check marks, I knew this was a boy who knew no struggles.

I always knew Vikas' girl had come by the click of her heels on the stone. I've always wanted to hold those shoes in my hands, feel the softness of pure leather, admire the workmanship that crafted those wonderful straps...straps which elegantly caressed those feet. How did one maintain balance and grace while walking on such thin heels?

Every month those feet were caressed by a different pair of shoes; flat-heeled red shoes in March, those chocolate brown sandals in April, embroidered silk shoes I never thought existed but in story books...she had them all. 

Then one day, those feet entered my shop...my gunny sack covered floor with a tarpaulin for a roof shop, my two-by-two pavement shop...the Shoe Fairy entered it. I looked up at her face as she dropped a plastic bag at my feet.

"Amma wants these fixed" the angel said.

I opened the bag and the worn out, brown sandals of Rajammal stared right back at me.

Sprinkle some Golden Magic

The early morning sun noiselessly creeped into the nursery, its long golden hands trying to nudge the inhabitants awake. Princess Maya slowly opened one eye and peeked; Did her toy horse just twitch and try to push the Sun's hand away? Or did Missy Pig flutter her wings? Now she was fully awake.

She got up and tottered to the edge of her crib to check on her animal friends. No, the animal carvings on her crib rail were just that...wooden and unmoving. She stretched her tiny hands towards the window to catch a fistful of the sun. Maybe if she rubbed their back with the sun, they might just wake up. Just then the door to the Royal Nursery opened and in walked Little Princess.

"How's my little sunshine today?" cooed Little Princess as she lifted Princess Maya off the crib. 

"Great!" answered Princess Maya, "I just want to go out and play in the garden. Let me down. Now!" 

Afraid she was going to drop the squirming baby, Little Princess held onto her tightly as she danced her way to the divan by the window. She laid Princess Maya on the divan and proceeded to tell her the story of The Raven and The Owl while dressing her in clothes appropriate for royalty.

Littlest Princess gave her mother an exasperated look.

"Can I go to the garden now? I am all dressed." she said and tried to wriggle from her mother's arms and out the window. Little Princess pulled her back and smiled sweetly, "There! Look how pretty you look. Now we need to go for breakast with your father. You know how he dislikes being late for The Royal Court".

Princess Maya shouted, "But, but I want to climb that tree and pull all that grass and, and..." Why wasn't her mom understanding what she was saying? Little did she know that all that her mom ever heard was "Goojibooji boo gaaga baaji" in different tones.

Maya looked out the window, at her favourite mango tree and the crow sitting on it and sighed, "Isn't there anyone who can understand what I say?"

"I can" said the crow.

Princess Maya stared at the crow and then she smiled. She knew the Golden Sun was magical. If only she could sprinkle some on her mom. 

"Wait for me. I'll be back" she crooned from her mother's arms. The crow smiled back at her and winked as the tiny hands disappeared behind the door.

Mistress of the Basket

Nothing ever is the same once you've jumped off the cliff. Or picked up a wailing baby. The Man felt no different. Princesses may appear magically but sadly there's no magical way to satisfy all their needs.

The entire kingdom was turned topsy-turvy the moment Princess Maya arrived. The best carpenter in the kingdom was beckoned to build the sturdiest and yet the most wonderful looking cradle in the world while the Royal seamstress was asked to weave soft sheets of silk.

The Man paced outside the nursery with the baby as The Little Princess tried to create a whole new world inside. The baby in his arms crinkled its eyebrows and The Man could sense a cry forming. Princess Maya let out a soft whimper. Just when he thought he couldn't hold off any longer, the door opened and he stepped into the nursery.

The Little Princess and her bevy of helpers had truly outdone themselves. The cradle was a masterpiece crafted in rosewood, and the sheets were as soft as satin. The Man softly laid Princess Maya on her bed.

The moment she touched the bed, Princess Maya wailed. The Man held her tight; the Little Princess rocked her back and forth but no avail. Princess Maya just couldn't be pacified. The Queen and The King rushed in to help, but all the lullabies in the world weren't enough to soothe the tiny baby. The Man and the Little Princess looked bewildered.

Then The Man rushed in search of the Royal seamstress. Maybe cotton would be softer. The Little Princess ran to the Royal garden. Maybe a nightingale's song would quiet the baby. The King walked up and down the room, nodding his head as that's what he did best. While they each tried to find a solution, the Queen held Princess Maya and tried to rock her to sleep.

Minutes passed into hours. But Princess Maya hadn't slept a wink. The Little Princess slumped into The Man's arms, unsure of what to do. The King was snoring in a corner, next to a broken basket. The Little Princess used to play with it as a kid. An exhausted Queen slowly placed the crying baby in the old basket and flexed her arms.

After a few minutes as she bent down to lift the baby, she found Princess Maya fast asleep, her tiny hand tightly clasping an old blanket. The little one had drifted to sleep in the comforting smells of old wood and worn down wool.

Little Princess smiled at The Man. Raising a princess wasn't a new tradition to be learnt. It was simply forgotten and need to be remembered.

Love in Sweltering heat

Love is beautiful. It sounds contrived but seriously, it makes so much sense to me, especially now as I find myself lost in her. Some say The One is the reason for my existence but they are folk who haven't seen her. To me she is The One; the beginning and end of everything.

She has one of those wonderful smiles that lights up the entire space. No wait! That's another one of those contrived sentences picked up from a book. I looked over the shoulder of a girl reading a novel the other day and the line caught my attention. Why does Love make me so happy and light yet brings out the worst of my poetic self?

How long have I been in love, you ask? From the moment she smiled at my antics I've been smitten. Last week, I pushed a lock of her hair, more a tease than a taunt. She smiled indulgently and pushed it back behind her ear. On some days when I am at my naughtiest best, I pull her dupatta but the second I see her biting her lower lip in a struggle to wrench it from me, I give up. She looks so vulnerable it pains me.

And I know she misses me if I am not around. Take yesterday for instance, it was the hottest day in Madras. Not a soul was out and nor was I. I did have my duties to attend to but I preferred cooling my heels inside than venture in that unforgiving heat. But she was out, my unlucky angel, draped in a cotton salwar which unsuccessfully did nothing to ease the heat. Her eyes, usually bright and lively, were dull and looking towards the distance, as if searching for someone. Who else? Me, of course.

For a moment, I thought I should go and swoop her in my arms and relieve her stress but my work was not in that area. If someone knew I was working places not in my schedule, I would be in serious trouble. So I stayed at my spot and just looked. Tomorrow, I can meet her. Oh! How I long to surprise her when she least expects me.

I couldn't sit still all night. I roamed the streets, singing and dancing, making the neighbours smile in their sleep. Somehow in Madras, noone ever begrudges my singing or dancing! The day finally dawned and I ran to the bus stop to meet her, knocking a couple of bicycles on the way. I'll treat those kids later. As I arrived closer to her, I stopped dead in my tracks. She wasn't alone. And she wasn't looking out for me either. She was holding hands and laughing with another man. My angel with another man?

I stood rooted to my spot and stared at them. I saw the silly boy take out a letter from his pocket and give her. That's when something snapped within me. A mad rage filled my mind and I charged towards them and snatched the letter. "Nobody gives a letter to My Love", I snapped and rushed away.

As I walked away, I heard my angel shout, "Aiyyo, somebody catch hold of that paper please!The wind just blew it away". I turned back and watched as they tried to grab the paper from my hands. I smiled.