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Tanu hurried and sent the rest of her text, then proceeded to delete it from her side. These small things needed to be done right then and there. Otherwise, they become the dangerous big things.
What are you doing in there for so long?
The question was a few mins late today. Usually, Ma interjects within the first five minutes of her being in the loo. Mothers have a sixth sense after all. So they know when their married daughters are spending more time than they should doing their business…
Coming. Tanu hurried and sent the rest of her text, then proceeded to delete it from her side. These small things needed to be done right then and there. Otherwise, they become the dangerous big things. Clearing chat on phone, ensuring call records are clear – all minutia but critical.
Who were you talking to? Ma enquired. Tanu knew she had the most inquisitive of all mothers, no small feat to achieve for an Indian mother. Ma noticed everything and cared about putting her nose into everything. This had made Tanu’s school days beyond miserable, but now, in her forties, Tanu didn’t care. Ma and Baba were both aging. There was no time left for complaints. And also, life is the most effective idealism killer. The things that seem unacceptable and so wrong when one is young; life slowly adds terrible wrongs into the recipe to make them seem not wrong at all.
Here. Ma smooshed the red powder on her again. Tanu sighed. Even with all of life’s perspectives, this was going to be a hard couple of weeks. Despite explaining about a thousand times to her suddenly religious mother that she didn’t believe in Sindoor, Ma ambushed her every day with the pretext of a conversation and put some on her parting.
Ma had never been the sindoor type all her life. Neither was she ever traditional. But then again, she had never been religious either but now, every morning, she spent about two hours on the ritual of laying out food for the gods and serenading them. Her puja, which was only the last part of this if measured in terms of what Tanu would consider an act of worship to be, now had to be done every day at the exact same time.
I have told you not to do this. Tanu muttered as she wiped the vermillion off her.
Who were you talking to? Ma asked again. It was probably not a pretext of conversation then today. More an actual conversation.
A friend.
Why not Sameer? Ma asked as she tried to put the thali back into the top shelf – her puja veneration storage location.
Because your son-in-law doesn’t have time to talk. He is very busy at work. Tanu grabbed the thali and climbed onto the small enclave by the bedroom door – a perfect perch to reach the top shelves. As she pushed the thali back, more red powder sprinkled out of it all over her.
See – that’s a sign. Ma smiled. You should talk more to Sameer.
Image source: a still from the film Agnisaakshi
Tanushree Ghosh (Ph. D., Chemistry, Cornell, NY), is Director at Intel Corp., a social activist, and an author. She is a contributor (past and present) to several popular e-zines incl. The Huffington Post US ( read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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