This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton
“We should be able to show the money to the judge before he starts the hearing; but she still hasn’t arrived with it. Where is she? Call her,” my lawyer asks me frantically. “She does not have a cell phone; but she will be here any moment,” I reply with a heavy sinking feeling in my stomach. “What? How come in today’s age, she does not have a cell phone?” I choose not to reply. This lawyer won’t understand the measures that one has to take with a young beautiful wife. But at this moment I wish I had allowed her a cellphone.
I hope I reach in time with the money; after all everything depends on me. I sat inside the auto, holding my handbag tightly, as if anyone may come suddenly and snatch it away. Its a question of my life now.
I look up at the Magistrate, rather, the man who will decide my fate today. He is a man with a small build, thin moustache and a balding patch in his head. But today he seems to be the God, sitting in judgment over my life. He had conveyed through his clerk that he will favour me if I pay him Rs. 50,000/-. When I heard the amount, I had laughed out loud. Just that much? He has absolutely no idea of my wealth! But then, no one has, not even my wife. No one knows where I stash away my wealth. I was initially wondering whom to reveal my secret location, to bring out the fifty thousand for the bribe. I finally decided on my wife – after all, she is dearer and more reliable than my crooks and I had already decided to start a new life with her, after this fiasco was over.
The Public Prosecutor started the proceedings. “Your Lordship, its a clear case of homicide. The accused, Charan Shaw is a local goon at Kalikapur, who has always terrorised innocent shopkeepers and vendors and extorted money from them”.
My lawyer jumped to his feet. “Your Lordship, my learned friend has no business describing the accused in such a manner. The question before the court is not what kind of a person he was but whether or not he had dealt the blows to Haru which resulting in his death.” The judge tells the prosecution lawyer to stick to the facts of the case. I look at him and try to figure out whether he has already received the money or not. But then, where is Smita? I look around the court room trying to locate her in the crowd.
I still remember the day he forcibly married me and I became the young wife of a man, ten years older to me. I was 19, beautiful, poor and vulnerable. Just when I started dreaming about beginning college and a whole new life, my father lost his job. Charan, the local goon showed immense concern for him, got him a part time job and in the process, made his move on me. I was forced to agree to his proposal by my father, by circumstances and by the love of my life. “I am in no position to marry you now and I cannot fight Charan,” he said remorsefully. I could not help but hate him from that moment and resigned myself to a life-long misery.
“Your Lordship, on the night of 12th December, at around 10 pm, the accused was sitting in the local club with three other persons, including the deceased. A fight broke out between the accused and Haru, one of the three present there, and the accused struck Haru in his face. Haru fell down on the floor and the accused repeatedly struck his stomach with his shoes. The other two pulled the accused away and Haru was taken to the hospital, where he finally succumbed to his injuries. Your Lordship has the doctor’s report and the post-mortem report before you to prove that death was caused by the injuries inflicted by the accused. I now pray your Lordship’s leave to present my witnesses.”
I am beginning to get restless. That thought again nagged me. What if Haru’s words had been true? “Charan bhai, keep a check on your wife. I saw her talking to that Madan Sahu in the market yesterday. I am sure you know of their old romance.” His words were cruel, demeaning and insulting. How dare my subordinate talk to me like that? Who is he to say such nonsense about my wife? Did he think that just because I considered him my best friend gave him the liberty to be insolent? Yes, I know that she had an affair with that boy before she married me. I had asked her too. She has told me that all that is behind her; a thing of past. And I believe her.
“I call upon Gouri Jha, one of the prime eye-witnesses before Your Lordship.”
I felt a nervous twitch in the hollow pit of my stomach. Gouri is Haru’s brother. He will take his revenge now. I did not hear what the prosecution lawyer was saying. I just waited for my wife to arrive with the money. May be I can be free if the judge is given the money after the trial is over; there’s still hope left.
“Auto, stop!” Madan climbed in and looked into my face. “Thank God, I found you. Why are you so late?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Did you get the money?” I showed him my hand bag. He smiled. “At last, we shall be free. I have waited for so long just for the day when both of us can start a new life.” I look at his handsome face, a face I have once loved and then hated, both with equal passion. I loved his free-spiritedness, his gay laughter and his boundless jest for life. And I hated him for his weakness of character. He abandoned me at a time when I needed him the most.
“What are you thinking? Do you still hate me? After all that I went through for your sake? Listen, I have told you that had I protested then, that goon would have mauled me to death; like he did to Haru. He is a killer. Instead, I waited for the perfect time. See, even God is with us. He gave us the best opportunity we could have ever thought of.”
“Do you love me?” I asked what sounded like the most irrelevant question. “Smita, what are you talking of? Don’t you know yourself?” “Please answer me, I want to hear it from you.” I looked searchingly into his face. I needed the answer because depending on it, I was going to betray the trust of my husband.
“Your Lordship, both the prime eye witnesses have established beyond doubt the innocence of the accused. They have both unanimously stated that the deceased fell from a broken chair and hurt himself. The injuries in his stomach were caused when the sharp edge of the chair struck him before any of the other three could help him. Its my humble prayer before your Lordship to give his verdict and acquit the accused of all false, baseless and frivolous charges.”
I could barely believe those words of my lawyer. Gouri and Vasant lied to save me! I looked at their faces, beaming with unmatched loyalty. Did they love me so much? Was I going to win the case despite not being able to bribe the Magistrate? Where is Smita? Has anything happened to her? Was Haru speaking the truth? I kept asking myself that one question. Everything else seemed pointless now. Suddenly it seemed that it no more mattered whether I win or lose; I just wanted Smita to be present at the court, with the money. I wanted to prove to the world that she had not strayed.
“He is not a bad husband, really,” “What are you talking of? That man forced you to marry him. He never really gave you any freedom. He was always suspicious of you. Didn’t you yourself say that you feel asphyxiated in that marriage?” “Yes, but do you know something? He did not believe Haru, his best friend. He never believed anything any one else said about me. Do you realise that he could have just killed me, or both of us, based on what Haru told him?”
Madan looked at me flustered. “Listen, I know what this is all about. Plain and simple guilt. You are too soft, Smita. Now give me that bag and meet me at the station in 1 hour. We should not be seen going anywhere together.” “I shall bring the bag to the station,” I said, thinking what if I was taking the wrong decision. Madan insisted, “Its not safe for you to travel with so much money. Give it to me.” I stare at Madan’s face.
The court room was abuzz with discussion. I was led out of it by the policemen and instantly hugged tightly by Gouri and Vasant. The lawyer comes and smiles at me. “I can’t believe we won despite no bribe!” Even I could not believe the turn of fate. Gouri looked at me “Boss, I can never betray you. He was my brother, but you are the brother I have always admired and worshipped.” His words reminded me once again of her betrayal. I was not a killer, but my blind love made me one for life.
I stand at the bottom of the stairs, feeling scared that I may be too late. I can see him surrounded by his friends, laughing, patting his back. I do not understand the celebration. Did he win? At that precise moment, I catch his eyes.
What if I had believed what Haru said? I may have taken two more lives, without knowing the truth, which was standing a few feet away from me.
What if I had run away with Madan? I would have never known true love, which was standing a few feet away from me.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Its my most favourite festival; even more favourite than Durga Puja. Especially in Bengal, Saraswati Puja has a different charm all together for a number of reasons.
Saraswati is the Goddess of Knowledge and is mainly worshipped by students, usually at homes. Call it a tradition or a religious diktat, one is not supposed to study on Saraswati Puja. Now, who needs a better reason to cast aside books for one day and have fun? and that too, legitimately! I used to place all the books of my most dreaded subjects and the pen which I would use during the final examination beside the idol for the whole day. Next day, I used to collect them, write “Om Saraswatya Nama” on a piece of paper and then start studying vigorously. After all, final examinations always used to be some 2 weeks away and I had to make up for one day of lost time 
Saraswati Puja is the Valentine’s Day of Bengalis, especially for the teenaged lovers. Its a day when they can go out of the house, spend as much time as possible with their loved ones and not be questioned by their parents. You can roam around with ten different boys throughout the year, but the one guy you will be seen on Saraswati Puja is sure to be your boyfriend! On one particular year, I was going to a friend’s house and met a common guy friend on my way, who was going to the same place. We went there together and for the next two weeks, I had to fight rumours of that guy friend being my boyfriend! After all, we were spotted together on Saraswati Puja!
I have seen so many love stories make and break on Saraswati Puja. Cupid manages to strike Bengalis in strange ways on this particular day. While I was in school, I used to visit a friend’s place every year to offer pushpanjali (offering of flowers). After the puja was over, both of us used to carry prasad to neighbouring houses. My friend had been eyeing a particular guy in her neighbourhood for quite sometime and, finally managed a chance to speak to him on a particular Saraswati Puja, when we went to his house with prasad. It should be mentioned here, that his house was a bit further down the lane and not one of the houses, where we were instructed to visit
On Saraswati Puja, girls always wear a sari, notwithstanding the fact that her age can be anything between 5 and 25 years! Saraswati Puja is probably the only festival where even young girls embrace sari in the most enthusiastic fashion. And the preferred colour is usually hues of yellow
I wore a sari for the first time I was in class IX, on the occasion of Independence Day celebrations in school. Its better to say that I was forced to wear a sari on that day, and I returned with half the garment in my hand! Since my mom had managed to break the barrier, she insisted that I wear a sari on Saraswati Puja, later that year. I did, again with disastrous results. At the end of the day, I somehow ended up looking like I have been shooting for Draupadi’s bashtra haran scene for a movie! Hence for me, sari and Saraswati Puja were not synonymous, unlike all other Bengali girls.
The founder of my school, Gopal Krishna Gokhale was a member of Brahmo Samaj, the sect which does not believe in worshipping idols. That is why, Saraswati Puja was never celebrated in my school and this was always a big regret for me. I used to be quite jealous of my neighbourhood friends, who used to go to school on that day to offer pushpanjali and have khichdi for lunch. For all the years of missed-out fun, I more than made up for it during my law school days.
Saraswati Puja is a wholly student-managed affair in my college. Right from buying the idol, to shopping for the puja, to cooking the bhog, to even doing the puja, the students do it all. I have been involved in the affairs every year, and always took active part in it. Each and every year holds special memories of the occasion for me.
Being creatively inclined, I used to take the initiative about drawing a rangoli in front of the idol every year. I always had to wake up at around 5 am, gather all volunteers and finish the rangoli before 8-30 am, before the puja is started.
And despite all my disastrous history of managing a sari, I almost always wore one during the college celebrations And that too, in Bengali style
The puja is also conducted by the students. Any interested student of any caste, creed or religion could be a part of the puja celebrations. I sat for puja for two consecutive years from my batch and it had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience. There is always one student, who knows all the rituals and guides the rest of the students through the process.
In my final year, my first cousin got married the day before Saraswati Puja and there were a number of rituals lined up for the next day. I gave all that a miss, rushed to college, sat for the puja and then rushed back post-lunch, just in time to catch my cousin’s bidaai function. Despite all the rushing to and fro that I had to make across the length of the city that day, I was glad that I did not miss my final Saraswati Puja in campus.
Lunch in college always comprised of delectable khichdi, mixed vegetables, eggplant fry, chutney, payesh and sweets. Students line up on the floor and are served by the volunteers. Being a senior in law school always meant forcing the kid of the first year to serve extra helpings of sweets or payesh.
Evenings used to be spent by organising one of the most popular programmes – inter-batch antakshari competition, where, somehow, every year, the team comprising of the final year of students used to win Sometimes, one or two enthusiastic faculty also joined in to give a hard competition to the students.
Dinner again used to be vegetarian affair, but I, being the hardcore non-vegetarian that I am, for once, never complained about it
Today is Saraswati Puja – my most favourite festival. No more college celebrations for me. Moreover, it does not feel like Saraswati Puja any more.
I now have to go to office for some urgent pending work, despite it being a holiday 
I decided to google my name and check out the results which were thrown up. Apart from my LinkedIn, Facebook profiles, this blog, a few legal articles written for the University Journal, this also appeared in the search results. I checked the link and was completely elated.
Well, the link is nothing much to get excited about. Its a web reporting of one of the cases where I appeared before the Court, and hence, my name is also there But since I am just 4 months old in the profession, this turned out to be a truly “Yaay” moment for me.
Tada! Introducing a new category in my blog: Fantastic Friday Fictions…
After all, a week began with a mind blowing Monday deserves to be ended with a fantastic Friday
Its been a long while since I attempted fiction; even though I have come out of my writer’s block quite some time back. Just to motivate myself enough to create fictions once more, I decided to introduce this category. And before you label me as a narcissist, let me clarify that “Fantastic” qualifies only “Friday” Whether it qualifies the fictions or not, it depends totally on my readers.
For my first edition of Fantastic Friday Fictions, I attempt, for the first time, the genre of writing known as Fiction-55. Please give me feedback regarding the two pieces written on one common theme – murder.
55 Fiction is a micro-fiction within a word limit of 55 words, containing the following four elements: a setting; one or more character(s); conflict; and a resolution. Fiction 55s are usually dramatized so as to get the maximum effect within the restricted word limit.
THE KILLER
The figure followed her in the dark alley. She sensed his steps and broke into a run. Suddenly she was lying face down on the road. A hand raised a dagger and brought it down at her throat.
“Cut. I think we should change to a sword for more drama”, remarked the Director.
A MATTER OF HONOUR
“I want both my son and the girl from the low caste hacked to death”.
“It shall be done”, I replied.
I could see the two lovers in the dark, lonely park. I approached stealthily with my knife. First the son, I thought. The moment I struck him, the girl looked behind and screamed “Baba”!
Image copyright: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mavadam/3480359060/
Time for another Mind Blowing Monday, since its been a long while since I attempted to make your Mondays more interesting than any other days of the week.
For today’s version of Mind blowing Monday, I chose a brilliant short story by one of my most favourites bloggers, Karthik, who churns out brilliant short stories every time he takes up the pen (or hammers in the keys). His forte is thriller writing, with the most unexpected twists and climax you can ever imagine. Read this post and his blog to know more.
Enjoy! and let me and also the author know if you like it
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Before reading on, I would request you to first read my entry for Blog-a-Ton 4 here, since this post is a sequel. Without having a look at the first post, this one might not make too much sense. Cheers
Anushka, my love,
I don’t know why I am replying to your last letter now; I know I do not need to, after almost two months. I have already spoken to you the very next day after the incident. But I feel there are lots of things that remained unspoken then.
I was disturbed when I read that you expect me to break up with you. Hence, I thought I should tell you now why and how I fell in love with you. I was the super brilliant law school senior, on whom scores of girls had a crush on. I was the typical hero-worship material – class topper, excellent in debating, captain of the university football team and.. a little good looking, too. I never had the time for any girl in my life then, and I was not interested in anyone, too. That, I guess, made me the most eligible and sought-after single guy on campus. I used to be cornered by girls, approached in the guise of request for academic help and even propositioned openly. But I never cared a damn.
Then one day, I received your letter! I could not believe my eyes that anyone could write a letter in this century! I must confess that I loved your letter- each and every word, the style and the language. I could clearly picture a person through those sentences. I imagined you would sit on your table, rest your chin on one hand and write neatly, in perfect handwriting, words which conveyed your whole personality.
You wrote to me on behalf of your friend and beseeched me as to why I was not paying any attention to her fervour proclamation of love. I was curious and wanted to meet you to know whether what I thought about you was correct or not. I remember cornering you in the corridor the next day, asking you to meet me at the cafe for discussing your friend and…the rest, as the cliché goes, is history
I never told you this, but believe me, I guess I understood you more not because of our frequent dates but from all your letters. I realised you were vulnerable, soft-spoken, emotionally scarred with a longing for care and love; even though it was not apparent on your ever-smiling face. You wrote in your last letter how you never expressed to me the neglect that you suffered throughout your life, but I guess, I always knew the bitterness. I always had this supreme urge to hug you and ease away all your pain. Did I ever tell you that I love you like no one else? I want to protect you from all worries and neglect; and give you all the warmth and affection I am capable of.
Never ever think of killing yourself again. Didn’t you think for once how it might affect me? I know there have been issues between us, due to the distance, but all that is past us now. When I received your last letter, I remembered your first letter to me and I immediately realised that instead of those international phone calls, we should have conversed only through letters. I can read your soul in them. And I see mine in them, too.
When Ayush called me next day to inform me of the incident, he also told me something else. He told me that he always shared with you whatever love he received from your parents, by loving you with all his heart.
You just have to extend your hand, and you shall receive all the love that you always craved for, but missed till date because you were blinded by hurt and bitterness.
Yours and yours only,
Randeep
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
While taking a leisurely sip of my morning cup of chai on a nice chilly Sunday morning, I opened the Metro supplement of The Telegraph and found an article on 50 reasons not to marry a Bengali Woman! What the ^%*#$ !
Being the quintessential Bengali woman and the lawyer that I am, I couldn’t resist making out a defence on behalf of all the Bengali woman out there. For 50 such reasons, I can cite 100 reasons to disprove the case. Some of the reasons apply to woman generally and hence I treat them with indifference; some of them are downright stupid, which are again ignored. But some are serious allegations and demand special attention. I have first copied the reason from the newspaper and then given my take on it. Also click on the link given above to read the main story.
#1. She will fight with you but treasure all signs of being married to you. So she will wear that shankha pola and sindur with jeans, and that gold-covered loha with her cocktail dress. She has adopted the mehndi and chooda too. And the mangalsutra is a must slip-on every time she steps out of the house.
It goes on to show how pativrata a Bengali woman can be; the male chauvinistic society has always preferred such demure ladies as wives and here she is, right in front of you.
#2. And yet for all the fighting, her “modern woman” airs are gone after marriage. “O bolechhe” is the final word then. In private they snub, in public they idolise to an uncomfortable degree.
Well, how is that a negative point? She is being the best wife you can ever ask for! She follows the rule of “criticise in private and praise in public”.
#3. She tries too hard not to look Bengali. She will never have the Punjabi oomph, or the south Indian sensuality. But she will persist in trying. What’s more, she will tell you with a big smile that so and so storewallah thought she was a Punjabi today. Contradict at your own risk!
A big fat lie! What’s the use of Punjabi oomph which turns into layers of fat after 4 years of marriage and South Indian sensuality which gets lost in litres of coconut oil! Bengali women have the grace, charm and poise much beyond such petty hotness; she has the ability to kill with her eyes
And such a Bengali woman shall never be happy being identified as a Punjabi!
![Suchitra%20Sen.5[1]](http://debosmita.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/suchitra20sen-51.jpg "Suchitra%20Sen.5[1]")
#4. Like the accomplished women of Pride and Prejudice, they all sing Rabindrasangeet and Nazrulgeeti, dance, paint and recite poetry. God help you if she takes her talent seriously
Hello! It shows she is talented… and if she takes her talent seriously, you will have a celebrity in your family, since any accomplished singer, dancer, author or poet is an instant star in Bengal.
#5. She will never get along with your mother. It is a matter of principle.
All the Bengali men out there, at least be happy that here’s at last someone who has taken all the revenge that you secretly wished, against someone who made you recite notes ten minutes before exam, discussed your stomach ailments to an embarrassing extent with strangers, packed luchi alur dam as tiffin when all you wanted was chicken sandwich and made you wear muffler and monkey cap to school in winter, when rest of the class used to turn up in half-sweaters. Worship this diva!
#6. They will pet and spoil their husbands like overgrown babies and then they’ll ask you not to be a mamma’s boy. The truth is they’d rather you be a “wifey’s pet”.
As if Bengali men hate fawning! They enjoy all the attention very much, thank you. She asks you not to be a mamma’s boy for one simple reason – you possibly can’t be a wifey’s pet and a mamma’s boy simultaneously; it will be injurious to your own health. And also combine it with the other points here and you will have a perfect caring wife.
#7. Her brown nail polish, and brown lipstick.
That’s because it suits her dusky skin tone; at least she is intelligent enough not to streak her hair blonde like some women from other parts of the country. She knows what’s good for her.
#8. Saris are a must on all occasions and most unattractive at times. It’s invariably a taant or a dhakai in the mornings, which fluffs up around her already generous middle and makes her look dumpy and unsexy. It isn’t as sexy as a crepe or vibrant as a Kanjeevaram.
The maker of this statement hasn’t seen a Bengali woman, in a crisp tangail or a taant or a dhakai sari, which lends a beauty missing in the thin crepe and loud Kanjeevarams. Who says, one has to wear clinging and colourful saris to show off her carves? A Bengali woman knows what is her trump card
#9. Her cotton printed maxis. Or the way she drapes a dupatta on it to get the door.
Men – admit that a maxi is the most convenient garment during the *ahem* act; you don’t even need to struggle with *uh* drawstrings
#10. She will force you to make the morning tea and the afternoon tea on weekends. Unlike a proper Indian wife who’d know that it’s her job to do so!
Men! its just tea! so run fast and make it for her… At least you are spared from cooking proper meals on weekends and saved from the plight faced by husbands belonging to other communities. Where else will you find such considerate wife?
#11. She is dominating. She will control the colour of your underwear if she had her way.
First part is true; unless you are man enough, you will suffer her dominating ways throughout your life; but the second part? Bengali women are not that jobless! They would rather shop for their matching blouses and petticoats than your underwear! C’mon, since when has the colour of men’s underwear become important?
#12. She prefers stability over risk. So she wants you to settle for a fixed deposit over the stock market and a good MNC over a “start-up with possibilities”. And then complain when those risks taken by someone else pay off.
I agree, traditionally Bengali women have been known to favour the Government employee as a prospective husband; these days, its the Engineers. But let me assure all you men – its just a trend like anything else. So the chartered accountant or the entrepreneur out there, wait for your turn patiently
#13. The really beautiful ones leave for Bollywood. The ones who are left behind are not worth marrying AND #14. She is supposed to be a mix of Bipasha’s oomph and Konkona’s intellect. Wake up, kid!
Lie! lie! lie! Not all beautiful and intelligent ones leave for Bollywood; some also become lawyers
#15. She’s sexy. There something about those eyes and the dusky skin. She looks like she has promise. But she seldom lives up to it.
Only if you are an unfortunate man, will your wife not live up to the promise. Most Bengali women do
#16. All you can do is ogle discreetly. She is a firm practitioner of mind over matter. She’s the quintessential tease.
Now you know the reason why you fell for her hook, line and sinker; the spark was always kept alive
#17. And yet, despite it all, she is just too good for you. Sorry men.
Now this is how an article is signed off, when written by Bengali women
Images are sourced from Google images; the images of the few celebrity Bengali women here doesn’t mean that this is the end to the list – for one celeb, there are at least a minimum of 50 similarly beautiful, intelligent, smart and independent women among the common public
My best wishes for a cheerful, exciting, challenging and satisfying new year. May you all
SING
DANCE
and….
HAVE LOADS OF FUN
in
Few years in life are full of milestones and always remain etched in memory. One such year for me was 2004. I passed out of school, put some unpleasant incidents behind, managed to crack an all-India law entrance exam, entered the phase called ‘college days’ and began a whole new life
Similarly, 2009 will be cherished and remembered for reasons more than one –
1. It began with a job On 8th January, I gave my first face-to-face interview of the season, got questioned for more than 40 minutes, waited for 3 hours for the results and yes, bagged it finally. Recruitment worries were over for me at that point of time. I knew, after 5 years of carefree college life, I had gained passport for entry into the professional world.
2. First job brought with it first experiences of a workplace. Worries, uncertainties, late nights, bosses, deadlines, clients, colleagues became part of life; work pressure and stress became part of my lingo; evening snacks time with colleagues became part of my routine, leading to a gain of FOUR unwanted kilos The year was suddenly all about juggling professional and personal life, with the former demanding a greater share. As I finish this year, I complete 9 months of work life!
Images copyright: Debosmita
3. Its strange how sometimes one tends to loose him/herself in a myriad complexities of life. Its equally strange when lesser-known facts about oneself are discovered, making life a bumpy ride. I realised that I tend to make the same mistake twice, with no lesson learn from past misadventures. I am glad that despite experiencing a few dark hours, I still have a bit of resilience left in me.
4. I gave rebirth to my blog and simultaneously, a rebirth to myself. As I started writing here, I began to be at ease with my own self and finally came out of the self-constructed shell of mine. After all, life is too short to mull over the few black patches, which are almost always hidden by the awesome rainbow colours. Blogging gave me some recognitions too. I participated in Blog-a-Ton 4 and received good reviews, my last post got selected as Blogadda’s Tangy Tuesday Pick and I also met some uber cool bloggers. Most importantly, I am back to my old passion of writing.
Image design copyright: Solilo
5. I never knew how I would feel if something I want actually happened in reality. This year presented me with that feeling, too.
6. Last but the most important one – just before the year ends, I have written super fat cheques in favour of a Builder who promises to build my own house To put it differently, I fulfilled my mom’s long-standing wish of a larger, better, airier, quieter flat in a high rise apartment complex. And right now, I am unable to withdraw any sum larger than a few thousands, since otherwise I run the risk of getting booked under Section 138 of the Negotiable Instruments Act 1881 for dishonour of cheque.
Image copyright: Debosmita
What a year, sirji! As I bid this year goodbye, I hope and pray for an even more exciting and challenging 2010 for myself.
Image courtesy: http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/
Adieu
P.S. I realise its the end of a decade! And I also remember that at the beginning of Y2K, I was in class VIII!!! How time flies!
Copyright Disclaimer: All images except the ones mentioned are sourced from Google Images. .
This post was selected by Blogadda as their 
for the last week of 2009 Click on the icon to read more about it.
While commenting on a post by IHM on whether parents should make adequate investments for their future or be dependent on their off springs, I remembered something, which I had told my mom some time back. My mom was generally remarking about the fact how lonely she would become, if I leave home, either for job or after marriage and I had told her that I want her and dad to come and stay with me. She was perfectly fine with it, as long as it was for a job; but she told me that the same would be difficult in the case of marriage.
After all, you are a girl child! It won’t look nice if the girl’s parents are staying with her and her in-laws!
In my usual way, I started “So what I am a girl child? If my husband’s family can stay with me, why can’t you two stay with my husband? Why can’t both the sets of parents stay together?” But we did not end up discussing it further and the issue lay buried then.
Its strange how so many stereotypes are imposed by the society on the girl child. And to each and every one of them, I feel like telling
So What if I am a Girl Child?
1. If I am expected to take care of my in-laws, why am I not permitted to take care of my own parents, whose only child I am?
I do not subscribe to the school of thought of daughters-in-law who prefer privacy with husbands over responsibilities towards in-laws. I will very much like the shelter of elders in the family, unless of course its impossible for them to stay with us for some reason or the other. Similarly, my parents can expect my company and support in later years of their lives, in the same way they would expect from a son. Till date, I have never let them feel anything amiss just because I am a girl child. So, why things should be any different after marriage?
2. Its ok for a guy to be late from work, but why is it difficult for fathers to understand that they are not required to stay up till midnight waiting for their daughters to reach home from work? Why can’t they stop calling or messaging their daughters to find out their whereabouts the moment its past 9 pm?
My father, for instance, refuses to acknowledge my age and my grown-up status My work demands frequent late night conferences, which are a cause of regular strife between my dad and me. He is ok with the whole thing, just that he awaits my return, even if its midnight! I remember once when I had to travel to Delhi all alone for an internship, my dad insisted on accompanying me. I fought with him for two whole days and dissuaded him from coming all the way to and fro Delhi. I hate troubling my parents for such stuff, especially I know that they would not bother with safety issues had I been a son! I eventually managed to travel alone to Delhi, and thereafter to Mumbai. I was glad that my parents had the confidence to let me travel alone.
3. Why is the Girl’s side inferior to the Guy’s side during a marriage? I understand taking care of the guests and welcoming them properly are a few of the responsibilities of the bride’s family, but why are so many other conditions attached to it?
I know someone who married her long-time boyfriend recently. So it was not even an arranged marriage where traditionally, the bride’s side is inferior in status. There is a ritual in Bengali marriages known as exchange of “twatto” meaning gifts. The close relatives of the bride and the groom are given gifts by either side of family.
I overheard a conversation between the mother of the groom and the father of the bride:
M: We had asked for 28 cotton saris and 15 silk saris; you have given us only 14 silk saris.
F: Oh! That was a genuine mistake; we are sorry. We shall carry the one silk sari when we come for the reception.
M: No, no, there’s no need for that; we shall buy that silk sari today since we have to give it to the aunt of the grandmother today only; she is not staying back for the reception. Please don’t take any trouble of buying the sari. Its absolutely fine.
I was wondering how the father of the bride was feeling at that point of time. And in every such situation, I shudder to think that
I too, am a girl child.
Your blog is smart, insightful, and always a quality read.
