The Strangers on the Page

They are strangers. All of them. But after reading their dear ones describe them in loving words, you suddenly feel as if you know them all. Every single one of them, featured in the newspaper’s obituary page, where the memories of the departed are shared with grief, love and gratitude.

Today, there’s a father who is lovingly remembered for his commitment and dedication. His legacy of hard work and honesty is heralded as greatly motivating. I read this, and this dad comes alive in front of me - in flesh and blood – a warm and suave gentleman who is always there for everyone, and suddenly I miss not meeting him in person. There’s a beautiful lady too, who I read, was an intelligent and loving mother, and a dedicated and hardworking wife. I read about her pleasant smile and see it lighting up around me. Then there are grandfathers and grandmothers - the dadas, dadis, nanas and nanis - who have left for their heavenly abode and are now being remembered and missed by their children and grandchildren. I read it all - the names and the adulatory messages, and look deeply at the photos and try to guage if these strangers died content and happy, whether they had a fulfilling life. The warm and happy faces of these elderly give nothing away and so I assume that they died happy.

Then there are those who share another corner, staring straight, proud in their military fines. They are the fighters, the martyrs who laid down their lives fighting for their country’s cause. Here they are now, remembered year after year, by their families, fellow fighters and brethrens.  From all ranks and files, they are lauded for their bravery and thanked for their invaluable guidance and noble thoughts. I read it all – their names, their ranks and the unit they belonged to, and imagine strapping groomed men full of fervour and zest for life, charging ahead and taking the enemy head on.

But almost always there are some announcements that leave you sad and disillusioned. The prayer meetings, rasam kriyas and chauthas. Of people who must have been in the prime of their life. They are gone, and now have their best pictures announcing their untimely departure. Their beaming, happy, cheerful faces next to the obituary notes look so out of place that you naively wonder if there’s been some mistake and that probably the press men bumbled and put up wrong photos. All of 23 and dead? No, this surely is a mistake! That’s not an age to die! 18 and gone? There must be an error here...the heart goes. But deep inside you know it’s not a mistake. You read about the freak accident, the sudden illness, the massive heart attack...the words ‘untimely death’ prefixed everywhere. Ah. The grief stricken list breaks my heart. Father, mother, brother, sister, grandparents...you read on, realising it all too well that life for them would never be the same again.

To Knot or Not?

This post is a borrowed one, or should I say bartered? Exchanged in lieu of an earliar one lended to a very dear friend. But since charity is not my middle name, I decided to lurk around and pounce on any chance of redeeming the favour I had done. And to state the obvious, I actually got my chance!

But considering my penchant for postscripts and asides ( thanks to the many Shakespearean works that I was made to learn by rote, and which I gradually fell in love with ) there have been some minor and major changes in the plot. (For one, the title has been changed.) Sorry Smruti. Well here goes the newer version.

BRIDE WANTED

Wanted convent educated, tall, fair, slim, homely girl. Well, every time somebody starts the topic of marriage, I can’t help but recall the above headline that dots the matrimonial columns of weekend newspapers. And I dread the day when I will be reduced to such a headline…the possibilities are enormous and I say a small prayer every Sunday, when I read the classifieds and don’t see my name or description featured in it.

It’s become a daily chore now. Well almost. To avoid the topic of marriage. Invariably someone or the other brings up the topic and somewhere down the line, everybody deems me the unfortunate victim - someone who has been passed on and will never know the pleasure of married life. And guess what...in the same sentence they will crib about their own spouse and the many pitfalls of married life, but hey that’s another topic, they say.

Right from near and distant relatives to well meaning and not so well meaning friends, almost all have the same concern - to see me married. So that they can all say in chorus "Another one bites the dust". It’s as if all the married people in the world are raging a silent war against the single population and they will not rest unless we join the fraternity, unless we pledge alliance to the secret society of unrealized expectations and everlasting nagging.

But now my friends have taken a different approach. One wants me to jot down the qualities that I need in my man so that she can go about looking for one, and a critical search on the many matrimonial websites is on. But she insists on the list, blissfully engrossed in her trousseau shopping. Now...well, my dear friend, if you so insist...here's the list. But let me clarify...My Love Don't Cost a Thing...Well...Really! Here's the tentative list :

1. Should love me, for all that I am and am not.

2. Money (Will make do with a decent amount)
3. Should be witty

4. Body (A reasonable physique will do. No six packs please!)

5. Have a political opinion (if it matches mine, that’s great…but even if it doesn’t-no problem, but should have one… most people I meet don’t have any political opinion of their own. Actually!)

6. Read books…fiction, non fiction, anything...(so that I can borrow and gift him some…it’s the bestest gift idea! But then again, no second hands please...And mind you, here I speak from experience!)

7. Should be passionate about travelingl…Andamans, North East, Backwaters, Ladakh, Rajasthan, Macchu Pichhu...infact....anywhere..!

8. Should have the time and money to go on such trips with me. (Well, if he's busy, I'll adjust. Just his money would do.)

9. Should be in love with both the sea and the mountains

10. Should not be protective or possessive about me

11. Should not talk to me for more than 2 hours in a day. ( And less, if I am NOT in the mood. Random phone calls are a strict no no. And Please, no enquiries about my diet regime, breakfast, lunch, dinner, et al.)

12. Should not be messy
13. Should not throw things on the road
14. Should not encourage beggars
15. Pet peeves would be allowed, but only once in a while.

16. Should be independent
17. Should not be mama’s boy
18. Should have at least one major relationship (That would take the pressure off me)

19. Should be active (one lazybones is enough, read me)
20. Should be practically impractical
21. Should be romantic without being mushy

22. Should love all my my friends

23. Should be willing to be part of my hare brained enterprises
24. Should manage to surprise me
25. Should be willing to yell at me once in a while (once in a while, I repeat)

26. Should be able to spend time with me without talking
27. Should be able to understand my moods
28. Should be able to understand how much he means to me without me ever saying it.

That's all for now. I know you would say, how considerate. But that's what I am, have always been.

And She Lived Happily Ever After

The story in this post was actually forwarded by a very dear friend. I am posting it here with an added post script, the content of which is entirely my view on the 'other' advantages of singlehood. The story goes:

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl 'Will you marry me?' The girl said: 'NO!' And the girl lived happily ever after.

She went shopping, dancing, camping, drank martinis, always had a clean house, never had to cook, did whatever the hell she wanted, never argued, didn't get fat, traveled more, had many lovers, didn't save money, and had all the hot water to herself. She went to the theatre, never watched sports, never wore friggin' lacy lingerie, had high self esteem, never cried or yelled, felt and looked fabulous in sweat pants and was pleasant all the time.

Secret Sorrows

Someone committed suicide today. About a couple of hours back...somewhere around Connaught Place. This man was well educated, financially well off and had recently returned from United States. Wonder what drove him to take such a gruesome step. But then life goes on.... he’ll gradually fade away from everyone's memory.... only for his aging parents perhaps.... tragic for them.... They’ll be devastated, living every moment wondering what went wrong, analyzing their dead son's life bit by bit.... assessing themselves bit by bit…

Then again there's this mad woman who wanders around my hostel. At times, I find her sitting on the footpath, blabbering away.... I wonder what she must be thinking about...who or what drove her to such madness?
Errant son? Death in the family? Wayward husband? Some other family problem? I wonder what has made her so miserable.... There have been days, this winter, when I saw her without a sweater or shawl...without a care in the world. Sitting on the same footpath...blabbering away...Tried coaxing her to shift to the safer side of the footpath...but she wouldn't budge...kept murmuring in a strange language...

Two sad people...sad for different reasons.

“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”

- H. W. Longfellow