Its weird how life brings back people we think are so far gone from us and then it all comes tumbling back. Wish I could say there wasn't any pain in the parting. The deliberate rupture caused by my demons that demanded isolation.

You look the same as I had left you. Older physically but the same warmth nestles in your eyes and your persona- steady. And I too am the same in ways of the past- still demanding space, still fighting cursed imps and burning bridges but this time all in my mind.

To renew the bond explanations would be required and raking up the past isn't something I am good at. Maybe its best we treat the meeting a cheap shot taken by fate. For I will hurt you again, not that you will ever let me but why take a chance.

It sure was nice running into you but I guess now I will run away from you for your own good.

She met the quiet eyes of her husband in the rear view mirror and gave a nod.

“Could you call Ma and tell her we will be home in another hour?” he asked as he overtook a slow mammoth truck packed up with goods like a muffin top- a hazardous vehicle no other vehicle wanted to be stuck behind.

Darshini pulled out her Nokia phone from her small evening bag and speed dialled her mother in law’s number. Sounds of religious bells rang in her ears along with a pious voice singing shlokas in Sanskrit. She waited for a few minutes and was about to cut the line when her mother in law answered.

“Yes, Beta? How far are you from home? How was the wedding?” the sleep crusted self assured voice of her mother in law grated her nerves. The lady was nice, enough.

“Wedding went well. Surabhi looked very pretty in her bridal clothes and Ashok looked very handsome.”

Darshini went on making polite conversation and Aarti woke up as well and smiled at Darshini. Darshini’s lifted her lips in a reciprocal smile and stifled the restless urge that coursed through her senses. Open the door and jump out clamoured her senses. She could see herself jump out and get lost in the teeming humanity, to be lost forever and never to return to the web of niceness layered with unspoken pity.

The ghost identified with Dashini’s tumultuous rage. He was familiar with the overwhelming clouds of despair that drowned the human spirit in a deluge of grief and powerlessness . He held on to the masts of her spirit that lay low in melancholia and wondered what broke her heart. The hurt went deep within the caverns of her soul. His anger ,her anger, their grief, he wondered if she could feel his presence or was so she mired in darkness that her soul had lost its rights to safeguard its own body?

Her impatience gave him the impetus to speak in her mind. Why? He asked and she ignored the question and his presence. He was startled at her lack of reaction. He spoke louder in her mind Why do you suffer?

She heard the voice speak boldly in her mind and bit her lip. Her eyes swept across the car and she gripped the phone tighter against her ear and spoke hurriedly “We will be home in another hour’s time, mom. Pradeep wants a cup of tea.”

“ Me too!” Karan turned around and gave his sister in law Darshini a smile packed with happiness. His playful eyes and twin dimples in his lean cheeks
irked the hollowness within her.

She spoke again in the phone “Karan also wants tea, Ma”

“Don’t worry. I know you people will turn home hungry. My children are so spoilt. I know none of you eat properly at the wedding. I will have some hot fresh aloo paranthas ready for you along with tea ready by the time you get home.”

Her mother in law’s generosity rubbed salt against her heart.

“Ma, You don’t have to put in so much effort. And I shouldn’t have woken you up so early as it is.”

The older lady laughed in her ear “I love feeding you. Don’t worry about me. It’s just one of the ways I make sure you youngsters can’t live without me.”
Her light hearted banter made Darshini wince. She wanted to be without the old matron of a mother in law, she wanted to be without her husband, her brother in law, her sister in law. She wanted to be without the urge to have a baby. What was wrong with her? She was blessed with a happy home but she wanted to throw it all away. She wanted to drown in the dark pit and never crawl out of it. She wanted to die and never breathe ever again.

Never breathe again? What is wrong with you?! Do you know what death is all about? He asked in her mind and she promptly negated the question. Voices spoke in everyone’s mind. Only the sick took them seriously and she wasn’t sick.

Her fingers trembled as she disconnected the line and shoved the phone back in her purse. Tears clouded her eyes and she blinked them back. Why did she want to cry at every given moment? Damn! She admonished herself and missed the concerned look her husband flicked her in the rear-view mirror. Misery was her constant companion and she was so tired of herself, tired of the hunger that eat her from within, tired of the hunger to be happy, tired of the irrational desire that a baby would fill the dark void with innocent brilliance. She wanted to put an end to it all once and for all.

Hanging. That's how most take their lives. He remembered those days when the skies refused to weep for the earth and cracked soles of human feet hung from trees.

She tilted her head slightly and a slight whimsical smile slipped across her face. Suffering had become an addiction and she knew no better. Death seemed like a feasible option but hanging was an ugly mess. She preferred sleeping pills. Drink down those seemingly harmless pills and never wake up. Be gone forever. Oblivion.

There is no such thing as oblivion. He whispered and remembered eternity of suspended living. The life of an insignificant wraith chained to a tragedy long past. He wondered if there was any way he could get across to her and show her the preciousness of each moment lived.

Delusion that death wiped away all pain gave the foolish courage to take their own lives. But to feel nothing after the death was far worse. But there was no way he could let her know.

He heard the faint beating heart of the unborn child. An empty shell still waiting to be housed by a soul. But it wasn’t his right to take what could easily be his. He wouldn’t commit another wrong. If only he could reach through to the woman. His own pain was a residual of past, leavings of a ghost but she was alive.

Happiness is a state of being. It is the perseverance to go on despite all the hurt in the world. It is to believe and to hope. He whispered softly and remembered the warmth of his child snuggled in his arms, the love of his wife and the life he had led no matter how short and for that he was grateful. Peace descended over him and for few precious minutes Darshini felt a balm over her exhausted heart.

He left Darshini as easily as he had become one with her soul. The detachment was natural for he was still one with her in compassion.

The moment passed and Aarti took Darshini’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. Darshini let her hand lie in Aarti’s warm clasp for a few minutes and then removed her hand and curled it in a tight fist. She had come to hate unexpected human contact.

She continued to stare at the countryside with unseeing eyes.
They reached home sometime before six and her mother in law hugged her at the thresh hold and she bore the hug in silence, then muttered something about wanting to freshen up and broke loose. Aarti and Karan followed in. Her mother in law caught the arm of her elder son, last to enter and asked in a whisper

“Pradeep, did she take her medicines? How was she there?”

Pradeep ran a tired hand over his eyes and replied “So far so good mom. She hasn’t been irate but there still is something going on within her. And I feel we should ask the doctor for more effective meds.”

Her mother in law peeked inside the house to make sure no one was listening

“But beta, those pills will numb her down completely. She won’t be the Darshini we so love.”

Before walking in Pradeep replied “At least she will stay alive mom. Better numb than dead, don’t you think?”

His mother sighed in frustration and followed her son inside the house and went into the kitchen where her daughter in laws were pulling out plates to lay the table for fresh aloo paranthas.

The cherub seemed no more than three years old. His nether parts were barely covered by a coarse cotton cloth held together by a yellow diaper safety pin. His hair was the color of spun gold and in his hands he held a bow, a heart shaped arrow and a quiver on his back.

Tacky she thought and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Her fingers tightened over the rough leather collar of her dog - Banjo the Rottweiler. She could feel the tremble of the dog's low growl caused by the intruder's presence.

The thin bedsheet that covered her naked breasts slipped and pooled around her waist. Like gentle hillocks the breasts rose from her emaciated rib cage and the narrow brown nipples capped the slumbering volcanoes.

The cherub's smile widened and he pointed the tip of the torrid heart on her breasts. She lightened her clasp over Banjo who was mesmerised by the tiny dangling pink toes of the child stranger and the low growling increased a notch. Even the dog knew that the intruder before them was not human.

She cleared her throat and asked "Lets get one thing out of the way first. I am not dreaming, right?"

Cupid raised an eyebrow and raised his arrow to her head.

She nodded and spoke as if she was making an everyday observation "There is a little greek god in my bedroom and he has a weapon in his hands. Tell me why I shouldn't let my dog have his way with you? That is if you are real and I haven't lost my mind."

Cupid shrugged and she watched his pudgy arms stretch into action. The bow's string became tight and the arrow was aimed at her head.

"Bummer!" she muttered as the twang sang loudly in her room and the arrow sliced through the air to swarm her mind with hearty heart love.

Cupid sucked in a breath. It was his turn to feel the sharp echoes of surprise resound in his mind. Couldn't be, he thought.

The arrow had stopped just inches before her forehead and was clasped between her joint palms. She threw the arrow away and glared at him.

"You are a Ninja Assasin! They are extinct." His words of protest made her smirk.

She pulled back Banjo who had risen to his haunches in attack mode and replied "No. I abhor violence. This is the result of yogic meditation. I recently mastered the art of time suspension in the local YMCA evening classes."

"YMCA?! Is that some sort of a warrior community?" he let his bow fall to his side and spoke again. His words reminded her of smooth Maple syrup over hot pancakes, of musky heat between sheets.

She let out of a husky laugh and ignored the desire that curled between her legs. "Sort of" she replied and asked "Now do you mind telling me what are you doing here before I ask my dog to fetch me your wings?"

Cupid perched himself on her bedpost and his visibile weenie disconcerted her and reminded the dog of sausages his mistress shared with him without fail for breakfast.

"Why my wings when you can have me?" he asked mischievously.

"I'm not into cherubs. Thank you very much" she replied and crossed her arms over her breasts causing the nipples to get squashed. The dog put his head down next to his mistress's covered thighs and fell asleep. There was no threat apparently and he had sleep to make up.

Cupid relaxed and laid the bow over his pudgy little knees and replied "Well, tonight I have to be in this form. That was one of the conditions I had to agree to."

Her lips tightened and she asked "Conditions? What are you talking about?"

He shrugged and looked through the French windows at the moon that silently guarded the sleeping world "I was called in to carry out a hit on you. A favor for someone in high places."

"High places?! you are not making any sense. I don't know any god, demi-god or ..or-"

"Or anyone who worships us? We haven't been worshipped for a very long human time. You want to know who made me come here to make you fall in love?"

"Of course I want to you to tell me who conjured you up so you could..." she raised her hands in wide circular motions and then pointed at his bow.

"Make you fall in love." he completed her sentence. He watched her with the eyes of a hawk watching an innocent field mouse "It was Karan."

"Karan?! That techie who sits in the next cubicle at my office? That fellow barely talks to me!" she threw off her sheet with vicious kicks and the dog raised his head at the sudden movement and gave her languid look of protest.

"You humans make things more complicated than they need be." Cupid shrugged. "All he needed to do was tell you how he felt but I see now why he couldn't."

"What do you mean?" she thundered and looked around for her robe. Cupid's eyes followed her slim form, the play of her buttock muscles and her elbows that jutted out like dry knobby branches.

She yanked open her chest of drawers and pulled on a large t-shirt instead. Cupid looked at the dog and rolled his eyes in disappointment. Humans and their defense mechanisms always began with ensuring their bodies were armoured with clothes.

"Okay!" she walked over to the little perched god and asked " How did he get you to come over?"

"My mother runs what you people call a flower shop just round the corner."

"Your mother?" her mouth fell open

"She gets tired once in a while and likes to play - agony mother to humans."

She corrected him "Agony aunt."

He nodded and eyed the shirt that read - no fucking me if you won't kiss da frog

"Why do you want people to kiss frogs?" he asked

"What?" she glared at him and shook her head "Oh! its just a stupid t-shirt. Doesn't mean anything. So Karan put a hit on me?"

Cupid left the bedpost and his dimunitive form stood on the bed quite close to the Banjo who opened one eye, looked at the little child he could easily maul and went back to dreaming of pork sausages.

"No, my mother put a hit on you. I came here as a favor to my mother. If it was Karan I would have come as me."

"As you? what do you mean?" She put her hands on her waist and demanded

The cherub gave a feral smile that drowned her vagina with heavy passion. She took a deep pranayam breath in all the way to the pit of her belly and exhaled.

"I would have come as Apollo. This form is made by human perception. You would have liked that?" he asked softly.

The lust on the young face sat strangely and made her feel disoriented but she refused to take her eyes off him.

"Maybe not. Banjo would have killed you in a nano second. Your child form saved you from becoming Greek or Roman chops."

"Fair enough. Now what are we to do? I have a task to carry forward." he asked her softly and let his eyes run over her body.

"Do you always follow what your mama tells you to do?" she whispered back and felt her nipples tweak.

The god in his small form let his bow and quiver full of arrows fall on the bed "No. Not always. But it is a hit and I have to follow through."

She licked her lips and whispered back "I am not stopping you but you must hit me in your true form."

He stood still and replied " If I do that the hit will be mine and not Karan's."

"Fair enough." She answered back and felt her knees tremble with anticipation.

"There won't be any going back. There will be repercussions." he warned her

She shrugged and as she lifted her over sized t-shirt he changed form.

The room brightened for a second. She suspended time, stared at Apollo's muscular divinity and muttered "Oh my!"

The mother was busy looking at Tupperware and my heart melted. The mothering instinct came to the forefront and I remembered the snuggly smell that babies exude, the gooey angelic smiles, the crawling, the first steps - you get the drift.

Then, I remembered sleep deprivation, bouts of colic, the trantrums, the terrible twos, the general increase in noise pollution around the house, the constant questions, sibling fighting and the - 'have another baby' instinct tumbled down to the deepest recess of my heart.

Babies are lovely but I agree whole heartedly with my mother. Having given birth to two beautiful angles the natural way I am of the firm opinon that its easier to give them birth than to bring them up.

Being responsible for those pattering feet is often overshadowed by how we were brought up and on their shoulders we either lay our own baggage or we fuck them up even more by trying not lay our past on them and make even more grievous mistakes.

But my sympathy still lies with the parents since its a big burden to carry. We are responsible for how the child's mind is mouled. Some parents do a fantastic job despite all odds and some raise individuals who are carbon copies of their obnoxious selves and add more reasons to be stressed in the external world.

And I for one know that beyond two I cannot take care of a third. The third would be let loose in the world without much restrain or training - call him/her wild Mugli in toddling diapers.

No amount of hormonal glamour will work on me. For once I have total control over my body.

Shrabani weaves the last ten years of Queen Victoria and her relationship with Abdul Karim, her Indian secretary ( also called Munshi) with brisk yet detailed narration. The love the Queen bore for Abdul caused great deal of fur flying not only in her household but also became a cesspit of gossip for the court and a source of irritation for top brass of the British bureaucracy ruling India.

Initially one may get the impression that the opposition Abdul Karim faced from the Queen's household, nobility and even her children was based on racism and social discrimination but Shrabani delved deeper and showed that Abdul's shameless desire to elevate his status and that of his family to the level of royalty was one of the main causes for his unpopularity amongst the Queen's entourage and amongst the Royalty.

Unfortunately as Shrabani points out after Queen Victoria's death most of the letters that were written between Victoria and Abdul Karim were destroyed on King Edward's command such was his shame regarding his mother's relationship with Adbul and his resentment against the Munshi.

To be fair to those who hated the high handed ambitious Mushi the Queen's preferential treatment towards her Scottish gillie John Brown in the near past made them fear that the same routine would be played out with the young Abdul Karim.

To be fair to the Queen as well, her love for Abdul Karim was that of a mother and her childlike dependence on him was probably a sign her advancing age. And despite pressure from the household, her children and despite the hawk eyed surveillance that was done of Karim's movements both within Britain and India he remained in their midst and the Queen's constant companion till the end of her days.

The rise of Abdul Karim from a vernacular clerk at the Agra Jail to being the Queen's urdu tutor and a gentleman who hobnobbed with Kings and Queens made him a darling of the press both within the country and in Europe and inflamed his enemies even further.

The skirmish between the Queen and her household continued for ten years and the go between the Queen and her employees was Dr Reid who obviously suffered the worst casualty in the war of words and veiled threats. His personal diary in fact was filled only with the pall of gloom that lay over the Queen's household over this issue.

Apart from showing the close relationship the Queen had with her Munshi Shrabani also provides detailed insight into the intricate social protocols of the time that existed amongst the highest echelons of the British Empire and how Abdul and even the Queen blundered and broke many of the sacred rules and ruffled the feathers of the lords.

The detailed research that Shrabani Basu did for this book both in Britain and in Agra has also been narrated in a matter of fact yet delightful manner.

The book till the end was intense and hard to put down. Its a must buy even for those who are not interested in history.

You sigh and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyes stare at the migratory cranes that fly across the sombre cold moon and their woeful cries are the last echoing sounds you remember.
In death I release you from the shackles of flesh and you feel lighter. But a thin chain of grief holds you back from floating away like a cloud responding to the call of a wayward wind. Your soul turns and looks at the empty shell that housed you held by another vessel that brims full with your blood.

You watch as I hold you closer still and cry dead tears. You gaze up again at the luminescent moon and stars that seem closer. Home, you think and become one with the energy of life. I lay down your corpse still warm with our embrace and head towards the bright lights and laughter. The hunger remains and the grief- a constant companion.

Passion for online publishing left me and I began to float on the river of life like debris . No struggle, no breath to be taken. Writing died a quiet death and yet resurrection continued to wait patiently around the corner. Anything could have caused the spark to become a roaring bone fire and I'd be transported to a universe where words streamed from my mind to the medium of communication.

But to stay in that rhythm is hard for the world always beckons and if not the world the internal resistance to expressing all that is grand brings the work to a grinding halt. And for someone like me those moments are plenty.

Its kind of tough to believe my work is grand. Its like hearing -- 'you are pretty' and not believing it. In a twisted way being humble means not accepting what makes usbest and we let the doubts gnaw at our talents till there is nothing left but a mass of quivering desperation to break free.

The world doesn't beat us down. The world is what the world always has been. We do it to ourselves. We beat ourselves down and lock away what we are good at. And thats whats happened here. I locked away what is the best of me and threw away the key down a endless ravine. The fears are all mine. None were sown in me but were born from my own drowning insecurities.

The site continues to be a part of me. A reflection of a writer's mind and its diminishing presence a staked claim of a scared mind.

It wasn't as if they all were drooling over me. For most I could be a fly on the wall but there were those dumb jackasses who gave me the once over while I worked out.

At the gym its all about being asexual. That is one of the unwritten but well understood rules. The last straw was while I was doing the crunches a dude just sat on the mat and watched. Anger clouded my senses and I had a hard time taming the Kali in me. I wanted to stamp the dude's face to a pulp and feed his nasty eyes to the crows.

I picked up my stuff and left. I could have made a scene but it would have served no purpose. But I am mulling over talking to the management about it if this sort of behavior continues. Maybe they can put up a sign - Check self not others. Not funny, right? neither is my need to tick those a-holes off either.

Naturally Lisa Ray's blog -The Yellow Diaries deserved to be the Blog of the Year given her extraordinary fight against Cancer.

Much honored and surprised. Thanks India Today.

On our recent Christmas holiday to Kolkata, we decided to visit the place along with some Western friends. The journey was a varied ones, passing through many versions of India, from colonial buildings to modern crowded streets.

The temple was closed for viewing, but the queues of visitors waited patiently for the doors to open.

The central temple has an Orthodox Russian feel to it. It is a traditional Bengali Navaratna style, though, with nine spires.

Close to the temple grounds, are an array of shops and small restaurants.

There's also a wide array of people, poverty, and animals.

We took a boat ride across the Hooghly from Dakshnineshwar to the Belur Math. Many people are constantly bathing, alighting, and crowding the ghats.

This was an unusual sight, I'm not sure what was happening here.

Check out the complete set on Flickr.