Dear Amma,

Happy birthday. For a change, a series was dedicated to you and you weren’t there to see it. I couldn’t stand in front of the images for even a minute, everything rushed back and made it difficult for me to remain steady. But this should bring me some closure and hopefully, I should let go, of everything before, I get very sick. Hid behind my mask, the way I hide behind my camera, deriving comfort from the distance it creates between crowds and myself or the way SC hides behind SB. If they thought my walls were fortresses earlier, they should try talking to me, now.

I miss you…miss your body more than you can imagine, not in an incestuous way. Incest makes me digress but this is hilarious. I was watching Badhai Do, with Dad and Rajkumar’s character is gay, so to avoid marriage he tells his parents-‘I’m in love with a Muslim woman’ , playing on the prejudice of his family. So Dad burst into peels of laughter and asked me, ‘are you sure, you don’t like women, that’s why you’re not getting married and these Muslim boys around you are all just to keep us distracted because you think no one will agree? I’m agreeing beta, you bring anyone!’ It’s like no one understands that living with someone scares the shit out of me, whether he’s a Sikh man or a Muslim man or even a woman for that matter, ewww, to constant physical proximity…no can do!

Anyway, back to the point. I miss your hugs, your kisses and lying on your tummy for hours. Why don’t men feel like you and your son? But your sister does! She came down especially for us, it was the sweetest thing and I wanted to hold her forever but I was worried she would get freaked out. Had an amazing time with her. Missed you at dinner the other day. It would have been nice if you had been there, too. Masi gave me some mothering, not like you, you were a bit of a baby but like two adults having a conversation about life, what’s it like to be a woman, sweet at times, encouraging and yet stern. She said the kindest words of encouragement. She told me stories of you about Tullika. I always forget the other doll’s name and how you loved to dress me up just the way you dressed up your dolls. If you were to see me these days, you would immediately disown me. Went to parlour after many months and got fired by Kalpana didi. ‘Mama ko dekha tha na apne kitna dhyaan rakhti thi!’ She said the sweetest thing after that- ‘ Ma’am you’re a very lucky woman. Only sons get the privilege of taking care of their parents. God has blessed you, that’s why you got so much time with your mum. My mother had two daughters but it was my sister who got that privilege because I was in Delhi.’ She always talks about you and I’m a sucker for anyone who does that.

Oh PD, had such sweet things to say about you, as well. How you took her shopping when she was a teenager and then SK showed me the first gift you gave her. Of course since morning, I’ve been getting such lovely messages for you. Even before I woke, there was a message from RB for you on my phone and NB, sent a message a Facebook. Then umpteen messages from your nieces and nephews. Acchi thi na tu. Me? The world will forget in two hours. Dad keeps telling me I will rot in my basement alone and I tell him, the plan is to die on the highway to Kashmir, after the Banihal tunnel, when there’s a nip in the air and the music is right, death can take me anytime it wants and strangers can bury me. My favourite people will be waiting.

It’s been two years since you left, to be with your favourite child. Please don’t bother to deny it, he was my favourite person, too. It’s been eventful…is that an understatement? Have you enjoyed the show from your vantage point? Me too, tortuous but come on! our love for the dramatics makes everything entertaining!

I sat across the doc at Kolmet, the other day and as he tried to figure out the root cause of my high diastolic levels…when I answered all his questions he looked at me in all seriousness and said, ‘ if after two years, just talking about your mother makes you this emotional, you require intervention!’ Cute, all the therapy in the world, ain’t fixing this head. You and my men would vouch for that, did you all not try every trick in the book to fix me? Some people aren’t fixable, they’re broken in a different way. ‘ I’m alright, plus I am in therapy!’ I replied. Of course, he tried to get me on a sedative, of course, no freaking chance in hell, one is getting on that.

But I thought about it later. Mourning is a privilege, that’s not really granted to us. It’s a gift we give ourselves, if we can take out time from our lives, away from the fear of death, pain and longing, to truly cry over someone. To grieve the part of us which has died with them. Like the part of me, which will never be able to smell that particular fragrance of yours (which has evaporated from your clothes, by the way) – a mix of talcum powder, pee, age and pears….there’ll be no stomach I can lie on for hours, doing nothing. Or the part which will never have anyone standing at the door, singing, ‘ oye meri Gudiya, oyee, oyee, oyee!’ and doing a silly little dance. The part which will not jump out of bed, hearing you yelling and abusing on top of your voice. The part which never be able to look at someone, in awe, disbelief, anger and adoration! So, its okay if I grieve but its really the softer side of me that I mourn, which was capable of feelings. It’s a bit complicated to make anyone understand that.

Anyhow, like we are supposed to think uniformly so are we meant to feel, like everyone else. Sometimes, I want to yell, ‘ I’m sorry…I wasn’t made at the same production plant as you! Don’t use your manual to understand me!’ but why upset the apple cart more than I usually, do? So, I nod my head in agreement to most things or just use my classic ‘ I’m too dumb to get your point’ expression! It always worked like a freaking charm, has kept me from getting into many unnecessary altercations, over the years.

I wish I could say everything is as controlled as my expressions, though. Honestly, as I age and I yell at everyone, ‘ don’t think I’m my mother!’ the more I realize, how much I truly am! Not as nice but as cuckoo as you could be on your worst days…okay, not…almost…there. Thankfully, I’m yet to find ( and hopefully shall never find) a love I can’t live without…go nuts over and a daughter I I can beat up ( oh don’t feel bad honey you were really sick). But I feel so scared of myself, Amma, as the mood swings get really bad, I find myself yelling at someone or the other and in the midst I remember you and I tell myself I can’t go down that road. The good days are so freaking good…totally charged and meglomaniacal to the point where I feel totally invincible. Like I am going to take on the whole world and its mother on that particular day….work…work..party…party!!! The bad ones are getting terrible, hours and hours of crying, total lethargy, the worst flashes. It suddenly catches me from my flight and buries me right under the ground.

One does feel really feel sorry for you, as one struggles, oneself. You must have been terrified, overturning cars, not having control over yourself and getting violent. Those electric shocks, I know scared the crap out of you, for years to come, as they do me. Unlike, what I thought, you were good for my sanity. There was at least some grounding, especially in the last few years. Plus, you were so loud and dramatic all the time, Amma, that there was always something going on. Now, there’s an eerie silence, in this house and in life.

When I went to Kashmir last, the hotel staff got totally freaked out and entered my room one evening because I was just having one of those days, when I don’t eat, lie in bed and cry all the time. Like you tried with all the pills in the world, I too try with books, shares, music, smoking ( yup that’s back) endless binging on videos of gay couples just being so crazily in love with each other (don’t know why but that calms me down..still in love with…..love) but I don’t know how long it will work.

My assessment stated- my state is deteriorating! Sometimes, I wonder. Maybe its not…maybe I’m just too painfully aware of myself, every single thought and feeling gets exaggerated because of fear. Maybe because I saw you, I’m more conscious or I’m slowly tumbling down the road, each freaking psychological assessment, astrological chart, boyfriend or doctor predicted. Who knows? But I ain’t going down without a fight, that’s for sure. On days when I can’t, I remember you biting, clawing, abusing three to four people, trying to hold you down in a hospital room and think ha! I came out of that four feet, seven inches tall, fierceness. I can’t give up! Who would have thought, something that embarrassed me so much, would become inspirational and help me through my struggles?

Your husband misses you, more with each passing day. The initial partying, ‘ I’m going to remarry, yeah!’and euphoria, to deal with your loss has worn off. Thank God! I was so freaking pissed, I’m telling you, it took every fibre in my being to control not breaking every single thing in this house! Especially the first two months. But I understand, a little now. Forgive, I don’t know but I’m trying. It’s hard because I was grieving and it looked like for everybody else, the best thing had just happened. I’m a judgemental shit, though. I look at him, now and I realize, everybody copes with loss differently and denial is as good as wrath! Now, when I look back, I think I behaved exactly like him after Dustu passed. I immediately went back to work, I had an exhibition after a little more than a month. I travelled like crazy and in fact, one of Dustu’s girlfriend’s commented-‘it looks like a party!’ So, what a freaking hypocrite one is, to get mad! God knows what’s going on in his heart and head? Things are never what they seem and I’m sure they’re tougher than he shows. You loved him so much and that’s truly the worst addiction. I think it’s easier to get over someone you love more because that’s all you, a person can snap out it whenever they really want but when you get used to being looked at like you’re the centre of someone’s life, if their eyes light up when they see you and they worry about you all the time, it plays on your narcissism! That’s not easy to live, without! It’s dawning on him l think, that no one will love him like you did, with all his flaws and weaknesses. That’s tough, he struggles with that. You don’t visit me in my dreams, you should meet him in his. Poor Dad, misses being loved by you!

Dear Love,

Years pass by…everything changes but nothing really does. Though, each time I find you slipping away from my memory, I touch my chin and there you are, going ‘chi chi’ as if I’m a toddler needing to be amused.

I hardly pass by the cremation ground these days. …I’m not supposed to (docs orders, to let all four of you go). You of course are the hardest to stop clinging to, of all those who occupy my heart. The one person I loved without the fear of loosing, who looked at me as if I was the queen of it all, my confidant and most importantly the bridge between me and the rest of the world. How well you navigated through this world- calmly and always detached from the drama around us! ‘Why do you care? Just stop reacting. Iss jungli suar ke gusse ko control kar!’ By the way calling someone a wild boar, is highly disrespectful! You would be amazed at the way I would spiral out of control and I was confused by your ability to sleep through it all.

I miss you more than usual these days. When I’m sad I want to see you pretty face but when I’m saner or happier, I want to see it more. The shrink said to me the other day, ‘ you’re making progress…you want to bring someone to meet me, so we can plan, the days when you struggle?’ ‘ The only person who would have understood is dead and the rest are trying to convince me this is bullshit. So no thanks!’ Remember the last year of your life, you got help from M. We were both a little frailer than most, I guess.

I was sitting in a cafe, in Kashmir a few weeks ago. As I looked out of the window at the Dal, sipping my coffee in this quaint place, I recalled how your friend SG, would pull your leg. ‘Diya at forty will be reading a book and sipping coffee by herself in Ladakh and Dusty will call her, ‘ Diyu my kids are troubling me, come and scold them!’ and she’ll rush back!’ Forty two love, all alone, sipping coffee by herself but you’re not there to fight for. These day, one fights for oneself though. It took them a while to figure out, this one is programmed a little different. ‘ This is bad for your mental well being. Do it so you can sleep well…do it for this that and the other.’ Then they said ‘babies’ and I said bring it on. I wish I could make a few like you but considering my luck and our genes, I shouldn’t take that chance. Imagine, if they turn out to be like me, freaking horror show…no…no..no!

Over lunch a couple of weeks ago, a friend was talking about how men are and I said the men in our house weren’t dominating. ‘ Maybe your brother was a little docile because you’re like this. He must have been giving you space to be yourself!’, I guess, he was trying to make sense of my aggression. ‘ I wasn’t always like this!’ is all I could say. You weren’t there to tell him how I was or how we were as kids, growing up the way we did. Totally different and yet connected, almost completing one another. You -more in touch with your feminine side, mostly in the company of women, peaceful, practical and level headed. Me-with my high testosterone levels, in love with high speeds, chase and drama, perpetually getting into trouble with the parents, hating the whole world and it’s mother other than you (and whichever man I was involved with at the time). Now, when I look back, not only was I fiercely protective but almost territorial about you. Sometimes, I wonder, is loosing you to death more painful or would loosing you to life have been more difficult for me?

Let’s pretend this is a monologue akin to the many you and I have indulged in, where I would speak/write and get no response. It’s not a complaint, you get what you give and many who knew me before you, would accuse me of the same kind of non reactiveness that can drive another person nuts.

‘ I’ll get over it when the fat lady sings!’, I kept telling myself. I didn’t know, it would take so long and I hear it’s going to happen, soon. Somebody popped on my friend’s suggestion on FB and I figured from the common friends: that’s who it is! She seems sweet- like you and tailor made, to adjust to the family. After all these years, this seems to be the best time to really let you go. I’ve held on to you- clung to you for dear life, ever since I met you. Not just during all those years, when we knew each other but up until, now. Was I hoping you would come back? Na, I knew that was an impossibility. Did I want you to? Not as a man in my life- I’m going to end up with someone who looks at me like I’m a Christmas tree and I loved you too much, for me to fake a friendship. Can’t be friends with exes you carry residual love for, that’s just asking for trouble. So, I didn’t know why I wasn’t letting you go!

Up until, I trekked up to a water fall, with someone who knew you and we ended up having a chat about how wonderful you are! It turns out to be guilt. Yup, I hate to admit it, love yes, but more guilt. You would assume, that it’s because of how it ended but it’s not, because for that I have to feel guilty about a love that saved me from drowning…it’s for the way it started. The beginning they say determines the end. In our case it was just as terrible!

The onus of the disaster, that was unfortunately your first real relationship, will always be on me. They say, ‘Talli do hathon se bajti he!’ Na, when you’re in a relationship with a child and I don’t mean in terms of age ( well you were twenty and I was twenty five) but in terms of mindset, sheltered upbringing and barely any real exposure to women, the responsibility of not getting into it, is on you. But you were just so raw and cute, like a rugged version of Diljit Dosanjh right out of a pind. ‘ Tujse naraz nahi zindagi, heran hu mein?’ would play on mind, sometimes when I would look at you. Innocent and how! We were so different and yet you were so perfect, that inspite of my gut instinct telling me to run in the opposite direction, I just couldn’t.

How much Dustu, tried to explain to me, that I was just replacing him with you, like my maternal instincts have always been off the chart and I needed someone to mother. But I didn’t and you already had too many maternal figures. It’s not like all my options weren’t open at that time…it’s not like you were the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on. You weren’t the smartest or the richest either, like people have accused me. In fact, I would have had to adjust to your lifestyle, when I met you. But you were the kindest man I’d met and you were as nice to people who had less as you were to people who had more. That’s priceless. You didn’t smoke, you didn’t drink, you prayed and loved everyone. Plus, I’d always had a thing for mumma’s boys. They say, we look for what we aren’t in a partner and that’s what you were, the exact opposite- nice, kind, stable and most importantly came with a loving family. The black sheep had finally found the chunga munda, with ironically fair skin ( you know how obsessed my family is with it).

I ofcourse never got the same approval ratings from yours but I never have ( other than twice)…that’s on me, not on them. Plus, after loosing Dustu and especially after loosing Mum, I can understand their fear. My Dad, is as paranoid about someone enticing me for the wrong reasons. Did it all make me feel really insecure and undesired? Yes! Did the fact that it was never really a ‘let’s meet my friends’ or ‘this is my partner’ or lack of pubic display, make me really uneasy and unsure? Yes! Did the lack of intimacy, make it worse? Yes! Did the pressure after Dustu get to me? Yes! Is that an excuse? No.

I should have walked out and I did try. Right after the Singapore trip, I did call it quits. But it seems it was never really off the table. Not completely and totally. So it was complicated and screwed up and I should have been stronger and wiser. But I wasn’t! I was desperate, you were my last chance at redemption, it seems. The bad girl found the good boy and had a happy ending. But she couldn’t because her happy ending was supposed to be by herself!

My regret comes from corrupting you. You were a nice boy, who did the right things and thought the right way when I met you and I saw you transform into a man I couldn’t recognise. I wish it would have been for the better. My instability, I always feel rubbed off on you, while we were together. You couldn’t make me like you but I did make you a little like myself. That’s why I regret it. I regret I met you, not because of what it did to my life. My life would have ended this way, in any case. It’s what it did to yours! The one good thing is that through it all, I was brutally honest! You couldn’t stand to hear the things I had to say and I couldn’t take the things you hid! I did very dramatically, curse you for it, the last time I stormed out of your house, ‘ I know, you know and God knows what you did! It doesn’t matter what the world says…we’ll see how it goes!’ When I heard how things ended for you, I felt bad I said that. When I saw you last…you seemed to be the ghost of the boy, I once knew. That boy who hit me on my forehead to show affection, laughed uncontrollably, had to be held back by four men during a fight and listened to loud Punjabi music, the boy I looked at and thought, ‘ those are the best genes for my babies’….I will always love that boy but he no longer, exists. He grew up to be someone else. But the rest of you…I’m letting go off. I hope somewhere in the future , a few decades down the line…we can be friends. May new love bring you luck, a sense of direction, stability, the ability to take a stand and make you the best version of yourself. Love and light…now and forever.

P.S- you’ll probably not see this for years to come. But someday, when we’ll be old and grey, we’ll be sharing a drink and reading this. You surrounded by your family and I’ll probably be with a few cats.

Amma,

Everyday since you’ve passed, I have wondered how could you have survived your life, any other way? ‘ You know why you yell, I’m not my mum at people because you are scared that a part of you is!’, they say. Ya, ya..who do you think SC is like? My child ego state is like you, that’s why I keep it nicely tucked away but apparently not well enough.

Dad hates it! It infuriates him no less, that people say the worst things about me and I still don’t turn them down if they ask me for something. ‘ Just like your mother!’ he said to me last evening as he kept recounting what some women say about me and what they did to you! Misogynistic, much? Yup but in your story as well as mine, men were nicer to us, always. Well, I’m nice until someone makes me furious, then I wouldn’t give a person a thing or a single penny…I’m as vindictive as him but don’t have such a great memory. With time I let it go…I feel too intensely, otherwise it would consume me. How much you hated our tongues!

I tell the ones who are helping me though, ‘ you expect me to get along and not be so ‘self protective’ yet most people show me there’s very little to trust! Everything is a matter of convenience, they think I’m too rigid and I think they are too flexible. Their opinions and their stances, depending on whose going to butter their bread and nothing that withholds the test of time. I respect a true hater, someone who really goes after me passionately, they have my admiration.’ Remember, when I was around twelve, I was part of this group and a particular girl from that group would be nice to me, when she would meet but truly hated my guts? Even at that age, I was confused by this behaviour, ‘ why are you talking to me? I don’t like you and you don’t like me so why are we doing this?’ Of course we didn’t speak for a few years after that and eventually when we grew up, became close. To her credit, she said ‘ you know I don’t like you either!’ Respect! I appreciate spine. You of course were very disappointed in me…you genuinely liked people and I on the other hand am amazed at a social construct that will demonize the person, who says exactly what they feel ( unless it’s nice, ofcourse) and appreciates and applauds conniving!

You think any amount of therapy is going to make me less anti social? I really doubt it! Am I going to miraculously wake up one day and appreciate the utter waste of time, energy and resources, in faking niceness? No! Am I going to understand why I’m supposed to be your sister and not have your back? You remember how much Dustu’s girlfriends hated me? I had no problem with it, I made my choice and it was him. I always made that choice, consciously, so much so that I argued with friend’s parents who tried to diss them infront of me. I choose the side I am on, until for some reason I decide it isn’t a side I am going to remain on…give a piece of mind ( or two) and move on! The Wall, is like that, very different from me, in any and every other way but this. I ain’t going to win any popularity contest. That’s for sure and no one will turn up for my funeral, I’ll die alone in my old age but so did you! Inspite of how lovely you were. So, I have to find a good reason to learn to bite my tongue and play nice because fear of social ostracism, loneliness, rotting in my basement alone or hell, ain’t working! What could it be? Maturity, I guess!

Dear Love,

Woke up missing you, desperately. Maybe, it’s because the father is freaking me out a bit. Yesterday, he got damn emotional. Ever since The Wall, has landed in India, he’s been going on and on about marriage. Last night, he was trying to convince me again, with these reasons, ‘ This is India, women can’t live all alone in this society.’ My reply to which was pointing out all the women we know of, who are unmarried. To which his reply was, ‘they all have siblings’. Obviously, I hate being reminded of that.

As far as the boy is concerned, I think because the Father knows how difficult I am, he likes the fact that this one is even tempered and not perturbed by me (at all) Plus he argues, ‘ you’re not speaking to anyone in the family since you’re mum has passed away. I worry no one will be there for you, if I fall ill or if something happens to me! How will you manage, everything? There’s too much to take care off!’

‘ I’ll manage’, I lie through my teeth. Some nights I get anxious thinking about it. It scares me too but you know I don’t let fear dictate my life choices. Other than marriage of course, which I fear more than death, itself. For the rest of my life, I will have to sleep in the same bed and look at the same face, every single day and you know, how I am in love- a clever man can make me do anything . How long will I fool , someone with SB and you know how clingy SC, is? Thanks but no thanks!

Let me just shift the blame on you, please na, for one minute. You guys have spoilt me rotten, you and our mother. First of all, no man looks at me like you did, second no one is going to be smiling, singing, dancing nor kissing me, when I enter the house, like you and our mother did. I’m not going to get enough hugs and looking at married people, I’m guessing I’m not going to get laid enough. I can’t tell people this, na, that once I hit menopause, maybe then? The prudes will just faint!!! Those Brahmakumaris were trying to convince me, a few years ago, that women don’t feel the need to do it after a certain age. High hopes! As far as how things will be managed, we survived our very interesting childhood, heartbreaks, you died I learnt to live with that, mum died and I am still managing! So, let’s see. Baki Khudda to hai hi, each time someone leaves, he sends someone to help me deal with it. Whatever shall be, shall be!

Tere bin sano soniya, huar koyo nahi labna..Jo de ruh nu sakoon chuke jo nakhra mera.

Dear Love,

Sunshine, happy now? This year must be better, with mum by your side. If we actually buy the story about heaven and hell, I seriously doubt our extremely adventurous Mother, would have landed up in the same place as you. Is God as forgiving to women as he is to men or does he too hold them by the same standard as society does? Is God a woman? If so she might have been kinder to our Mum or maybe worse. I wish you could tell me.

But I worry less about you. Do I love you less/ miss you less? Hell no! Itna cute koi aur nahin he na iss duniya mein, now that our Mother has gone, too. You know, how I would sometimes joke that my soulmate took one look at me and told God, ‘ hunne hi chukk le menu, ae dene di jagaah!’ . Maybe, our soul mates are not our lovers, maybe you were my twin soul. Who knows? Dil ko behlane ke liye, yeh sarre khyaal acche he! No man/boy still looks at me, the way you did, with a little bit of amusement and a lot of love. That doesn’t stop them from claiming it and it doesn’t stop me from not believing it. Eyes never lie.

Life, unfortunately, goes on without you. Suddenly, like you I find myself, wanting to go out all the time. Human contact has never been my style of escapism but it’s a new experiment. Meet people, listen to the good stuff, listen to the bullshit and not get hassled by any of it. Neither by the brick backs nor by the contempt. I better learn now or forever be misanthropic, which suddenly, seems like a waste of energy and an opportunity to tap on another aspect of oneself.

Jess took me out today and she was saying, ‘Diya I know you, since we were little…you’re not going to start meeting random people.’ Well, from one minute to another, I don’t know myself. Who am I in any case? The person who drives or dances with complete abandon, ecstatic some days. The person who some times can’t bear the idea of living one more day? The girl you loved or the woman the various lovers did? They all too will vouch for different versions of me! Tu bata de! Tujhe pata he? Tell me in my dreams, someday.

Amma,

This is the first time I have stepped out after you’ve passed away and I didn’t realize how hard it would be. For starters I can’t call up and fight with you as usual. ‘Why don’t you ever call me? You don’t love me.’ I can’t ask anyone that. Neither can I ask Bhaskar how you are doing, nor are you going to be there when I go back.

A part of me, kept shutting the other away and the silence here just awakened her. I keep shooting and walking the entire day, listening to music so that SC’s fears don’t drive me nuts. ‘How are we going to survive? What will we do? I can’t take it anymore. Let’s just jump into the Dal and die.’ She keeps whispering into my ear. I on the other hand block her out with deafening music, playing in my ears. She cries all the time. Today, she wept so much, a young boy actually came to comfort her. I was so embarrassed, uff, I rushed to the nearest coffee shop, where people recognised me. Sat there for sometime, listening to the owner talk about everything under the sun. The sound of other people’s voices just pulled me out of a dangerous place,

It’s one of those days, when I’m feeling more hopeless than most. A few days ago, father dear, got absolutely hammered and started cursing the neighbours and your dear sister, infront of them. Mr Bhaskar called me up. Apparently he even flung a stone, till I reached home and yelled. The minute he hears, SB, like most men, he calms down. But the other one gets really scared, in any case, she’s terrified after you’ve gone. It’s a strange phenomenon, the part that is scared has become more afraid and the part that is aggressive, has lost it’s shit.

Today, after your dear family pulled another one she came out in the worst way possible. ‘ I’m giving you a last warning. If you don’t stop this slander, I will literally pull out all the skeletons from your closets and then I will prove in a court of law that you cheated a psychiatric patient.’ But nothing your husband or I say, will change their behaviour. Like a friend said to me today, ‘they can’t digest that a girl can lead the life that you do or inherit anything from their parents. So they will not stop. Just stop feeling bad.’ Two of your sisters passed away before you. No one asked their sons about their belongings or their work, no one tried to meddle in their house. So you think they have this audacity because you were unwell or because your husband is an alcoholic or because I’m unmarried? What do think it is? Or is it because that’s what it’s like to born a woman in this country?

Each time I read about a rape case, I think, our souls are raped in our homes long before a man lays a hand on us. Each time, our brothers are told they are the be all and end all of everything. Each time, the daughter is educated less, fed less and made to feel less. This lessening, mitigation of us allows every man to feel he can overpower us- physically, emotionally and financially. If he’s from a better class, has more money, has a good job then he grows up feeling more entitled. The brothers end up whacking their sisters, as do the fathers and then the men in their lives, if they don’t physically hurt them, go ahead and damage their very beings. I don’t even want to comment on my sister’s marriages but one thing is for sure, if their husband’s knew they had someone to fall back on, they wouldn’t dare. We get violated every single day by our people, who turn a blind eye to the flaws of men. What are we going around expecting from strangers?

P.S- These days I end up thanking GD, for not marrying me. I would have been a puppet in everyone’s hands. I wrote to them today saying, I will never get married. No man, no cry, Amma or actually, no man, no yanking around!

Amma,

So, the deed is done. We have apparently settled all that belonged to you. The stuff you saved for me, I’ve kept, the rest of it I have given to your husband. SB wants to whack the shit out of SC for indulging the misogyny but there are more important things on my mind. It’s funny how once we die, only the ‘value’ of things matter and not the sentiment with which they were collected. You’re the sweetest. I promise to atleast make the effort to wear something, sometime.

Grapevine has it I’m eloping, with the one you insisted I should marry. As sweet as he is and I really don’t give a rat’s ass about his class (which is something I got from you) or education, the relatives don’t know that it’s the last thing on my mind. If it didn’t piss the shit out of me, I would be rather amused. Can you imagine their conversations? This one is ALL wrong according to their criteria-1) Muslim ( it’s still apparently scandalous in 2020) 2) No money ( they are having a field day with that one) 3) 12th pass ( oh my God! What will people think?) Well, if I ain’t doing someone, I’m definitely not marrying them. Just for the cheap thrills of how scandalous this is ( which suddenly makes it sooo tempting) I should definitely check out if I am missing out on some action. Uff, wait karna padega. But alas! my rabbit is better at it than all men.

What a pity, if somewhere down the line, I actually did end up with this one. Not for any other reason but only because I would always wish, you were alive to see it. But alas the heart loves what it loves and mine is still stuck somewhere a decade ago…torn. I’m snapping out of it real soon, that’s mission no 1.

Anyway, enough of my ranting. Dream no 1 is not to get laid but to start the Jaswin & Deepika Kochar Foundation, soon. There needs to be some good I should do, with the privileges that I have. Have to make it happen, sooner than later. Once it’s a legal entity, it can be a part of my will. Planning…..planning…planning is happening right, now.

Dear Love,

Another year has passed without you. I’ve missed you lots, the past six months, I’ve cursed you more than usual. Not just because our Mum has one foot out of the door…is slowly slipping towards your side. But there are plenty of other things.

So, I won an award and kept driving around, crying not wanting to come home because you are not here. The joyous, celebratory moments are harder, since you were not great at handling the tough situations in the first place. Though, having you around to handle the father would have been a blessing. He’s loosing it and how! Uffff and double uff, there are more complaints I get about his bad behaviour than he must have gotten about mine, during my teenage years.

Then there are the boys. The moment I threw that box and ran out of the car, I missed you more than you can imagine. You would have sat me down and tried to calm my, commitment phobic brain the way you did, a million years ago, before I started seeing Kts or we would have burst into peels of laughter at my reaction, the way we did in the past. If you were here I would have apologised for thinking you were being melodramatic, when you said you loved two people at the same time. It took me a long time to understand the depths of those feelings. That’s the funny thing about love- a person can do anything in the world for you and you won’t feel it for them and if you do separation, distance, death nothing changes those feelings.

Today was tough-

‘We haven’t seen you in such a long time, I wasn’t expecting you’, he said, as his wife glanced over her shoulder.

‘You were the first person I saw at the hospital when my brother died. Did you really think I would forget that?’ I though to my self. But I just smiled sheepishly, when I looked at his grief stricken face. Plus, I had to be there for old time’s sake. It’s obvious I think about you, at prayer services but don’t judge since you couldn’t handle any morbid situation, in any case.

Our darling mother told me the other day, that I am her mum. Reminded me of you. When I started seeing GD you said, I was transferring all my feelings for you towards him. I don’t know about then but I most definitely did after you passed away and now I have transferred all those to her. When she goes what will I do with of all these feelings? Or maybe I’ll be seeing you before she does. There’s a lump, has been for a while…

Anyhow, you’re a lucky bastard, you have someone who misses you everyday. Hum marenge sala, koi do ghante nahin royega!