The Flight

 

Ranjita sat near the window, trying to see through the window panes at the distant snow clad mountains. These days her mind strayed often, she found it hard to remember, perhaps if she rested for a while; it would all come back to her. Her tired mind chased faded scraps of names and faces that haunted her.

Long lines of people, crawling endlessly through the countryside, their backs bent under the burden of what they had been able to salvage and save. Some of them lost, broken, lagging behind but yet they walked on. At times a desperate wave of hate rippled through the scraggly crowd of people and animals, and then there was bloodshed, it was mindless, brutal and it would leave those not dead crying for an end to this unwanted, uncalled for apocalypse.

After that there was only darkness, try as much as she wanted, there were just gaping holes of fear and despair. Once she found her way out of that it was the relief of being carried to safety and to oblivion. Who were those people? Why were they calling out so loudly?

As the noise reached a crescendo, Ranjita panicked and wanted to run away. Forgetting that she couldn’t move, she tried getting up from the chair and realised that she had to call for help.

The sound of the bell brought a woman to her side and Ranjita asked plaintively, “Where is Bitty?”

The woman spoke in a soothing voice, gave her a drink of water and waited for Ranjita to calm down. The staff looking after Ranjita had orders from her daughter Asha to be careful not to unsettle her mother.

Asha had no idea about Bitty’s identity, whether she was dead or alive but lately Ranjita had been calling out and looking for her ever so often.  It upset Asha to see her once strong and active mother lost to the present, trying to uncover a past that refused to yield almost nothing from its buried remains.  Arvind’s death had closed all the doors to Ranjita’s past, all queries would remain unanswered.

 As Asha grew up, Arvind would remind her, “Always be kind and patient with your mother, she has suffered a lot.”

 “It wasn’t only mummy. You also had to come away, leaving behind your friends and lose so many of your family when you came to India.”

 “Yes ! But it was one country that was thoughtlessly divided in two by rivers of blood. Yet until the partition was decreed, we all belonged to one land. History changes names but the land remains the same. The misery and suffering, the killing and plundering changed us forever but your mother’s story is a skein of broken strands that can’t be tied up.”

If there was one thing that Asha dreaded, it was Ranjita’s migraines, when her mother remained behind closed doors, a stranger to the household and out of reach to even her near and dear ones. These attacks became longer and more severe as she aged, she began to be troubled, disturbed by events that were shrouded in the past.

Ranjita’s earlier silence about the past had changed, now people and places from hidden corners of her mind began surfacing in her conversation. Asha found Ranjita’s frantic search for Bitty the most upsetting. No amount of questioning would lead to any information except to reduce Ranjita to prolonged bouts of crying. 

  The property had been with the family and it was impossible to imagine other owners. Over the years, several acres of fruit orchards had been sold but Hill Top and its large overgrown garden still belonged to Asha. Her husband’s death had compounded the problem as looking after the old house was not only expensive but needed supervision and labour. A set of rooms, that had been used by her mother had been locked up for several years. Cupboards and cabinets had been cleared haphazardly, Nobody had bothered about the trunks and boxes piled with old and discarded stuff. Some parts of the roof had sprung leaks; a few of the rooms were possibly unsafe unless major repairs were carried out soon.

Just the thought of strangers living in Hill Top was giving Asha sleepless nights. The house had too many memories of Ranjita, it was almost as if she was forsaking her mother.  May be her daughter Minny and the grandkids would give her the much needed push to come to a decision.

Hill Top had increasingly been used as a retreat from the fierce summer heat of the plains.  Once the rains came, the family left for the city and the house remained shuttered for the greater part of the year.

“Tanya, Aneesha, we are going up to the hills to Nani’s summer home for a few weeks,” said Minny.

“A sure fire way of rusting in the backwoods!! Mummy, these are your famous last words at the beginning of almost every summer. We might as well be under house arrest,” said Tanya.

“No dissent,” cut in Aneesha, “Agreed. For once am siding with my respected older sister.”

 Minny sighed deeply, “Do stop fussing. Both of you have a change of heart, the moment we arrive at Hill Top. Also this might well turn out to be our last visit. Nani is considering selling the house as she says she is now too old to go up every year.

Asha welcomed her family’s arrival, young voices livened up the sleepy house .She wanted to hear their opinions, “Girls, now that you are here, tell me whether I should sell HillTop?

 Minny rattled off, “You know my decision, sell out and move to the city. This is too large, old, needs a lot of maintenance and may be risky as far as personal safety and medical emergencies are concerned.”

Seeing Asha’s face fall, Tanya decided to be tactful, “You could start a guest house and that might help pay bills as well as provide company.”

“Rent out the house to tenants, keep your mother’s suite for your use, then you don’t have to worry about looking after guests or cash,” suggested Aneesha.

“There have been a few offers but I haven’t considered any seriously. One of the local families has made a reasonable offer but before I go ahead, I need to clear out a lot of junk.  Do you think Minny you could help clear out Amma’s rooms?”

“I’ll help but you know that I won’t be here for more than a week as I don’t have much leave. Tanya and Aneesha will be here for longer and they will lend a hand.”

Minny’s daughters weren’t too happy at being left behind and Tanya mumbled in an audible whisper,”Amma’s rooms are a bit spooky.”

 

 

Minny spent  a couple of days looking through all the paperwork and bank accounts, “Daddy and you have done a reasonable job of looking after your books but you will have to dip or should I say dive in to your savings to keep Hill Top in good shape. Do you really want to keep the house? Since I have time on my hands, I will see if there is anything worthwhile rescuing from Amma’s rooms.”

Damp, dank and dark, the rooms would need to be aired before  they could enter. Too many memories flooded Asha’s mind and she could almost see Ranjita sitting in her armchair, looking out from the window. Going in to those rooms was painful; the task was better left to the younger family members.

First the rugs and other furnishings had to be carried out to be dusted and sunned. The windows had been opened out, sunlight streamed indoors. “Thank goodness the rooms are bright and well lit otherwise who knows what might pop out from one of the corners, “said Aneesha.

“It’s not that bad, it is just the general mustiness. Let’s take a look at the cupboards and cabinets. Ani don’t get worked up,” said Minny.

Ranjita’s personal belongings had been given away after her death and the cupboards were almost bare except for a couple of coats, shawls and some linen. They were in poor condition and not worth saving.

“Nothing much to frighten you Ani unless a skeleton drops out from under the bed,” teased Tanya.

They made their way to the study, hoping that clearing it out would be as easy as the other two rooms. Daylight streamed in through the big picture window, the armchairs attracted the youngsters’ attention. They plopped down, making themselves comfortable while Minny was pulling open the drawers in the writing table.

Minny turned around hearing Tanya shriek and leap out of the chair, “Oh my goodness, there is some creature moving in the cushion. I’m not staying in this room.”

“Don’t be silly. The cushion cover must be worn out and the stuffing is poking you.”

 Using that as an excuse, the girls rushed out, shouting that an unfriendly spirit had attacked them. Minny continued to browse through the files, none of them seemed of much importance, old newspaper cuttings, some of them so yellowed and frayed that they were almost illegible. On careful reading, she saw that the cuttings were from different dates otherwise all identical, asking for information about Ranjita Kaur from Sukhanwala village in Pakistan.

Along with the papers a sketchbook tumbled out, Minny thumbed through the pages, they were portraits and a few landscapes done in pencil and charcoal.  While Asha’s portraits as a child were easily recognisable, many of them were of unknown people.

Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the once familiar sights until it rested on a magazine rack standing in the corner. There were some dog eared and grime encrusted newspapers and magazines, stacked along with an equally battered register, the type generally used for keeping accounts. Minny decided to take that along as it might be interesting to compare prices that could be close to a century old.

Minny made a note of the furniture that was still usable and took the two books along with her before locking the doors to her grandmother’s suite

“I found some books, papers and drawings that might interest you. The drawings could be family heirlooms. I think Amma was the artist,” said Minny.

“Let me see what you have retrieved. A few years ago I framed a couple of her drawings and put them up in the living room.”

Minny handed the drawing book and the ledger while she tried to read the yellowed newspaper clippings.

It was the landscapes that caught Asha’s attention, they were   shrouded in a miasma of death and destruction, people broken and bent by desperation and fear. There were just a few sketches of young boys smiling, a fleeting ray of happiness. They were all done in bold pencil strokes as if it would be a travesty to use any colour.

Looking at the sketches made Asha uneasy; they reminded her of the stories that she had heard when people fled helter skelter, unsure about their future.  In villages and towns, generations who had grown and lived amicably were now uprooted without a minute’s notice. 

Families had been torn apart, separated when they fled from the villages and towns of Pakistan to disperse, to rearrange and restart their lives. 

Asha’s father’s family had farmed the fertile lands of Lyallpur and it was her grandfather who had at first migrated to Lahore to start his own business. The prosperity from the lands had helped the next generation to reap the benefits of education. 

There had been talks of an imminent partition but not many gave credence. Why would a people who had so much in common be sliced by a pen that would in time to come, make them the most hated of enemies?

Asha’s grandfather and uncles paid with their lives for delaying their decision to leave. They were looted, the house burnt and nothing remained but the charred remains of bricks and bones.

Arvind was visiting his mother’s family in what had now become a part of India. The news from Lahore was about bloodied corpses, of families broken and bewildered and tales wrapped in layers of rumours and lies.

Asha remembered Arvind saying,” Neither could I sleep nor keep awake, I was in a trance, a force greater than myself was pushing me towards Lahore. I slipped out in the early hours of the morning, fearing that I would be prevented from going over to what was now being called the ”other side” of the land.”

It was a wrong decision as Arvind had got trapped in the cross current of a movement that swirled through the corridors of humanity driven by their religious beliefs and fuelled by the uncertain political future. The word citizen now assumed manifold meanings and people looked for bits of paper that certified their existence. New and unfamiliar boundaries now chose indiscriminately whom to accept and whom to reject.

Asha decided to stop looking at the drawings as they stirred emotions that only made her uncomfortable and sad. She leafed through the pages, there were a few of herself as a young child, some of the faces were familiar but her attention was caught by a young woman’s face, it bore a close resemblance to Ranjita. She noticed a line written under the portrait of a young girl. It read, “My mehendi was coloured with your blood.”

“Mummy, you are looking tired. Leave this for another day though you should keep Amma’s drawings. Have a look at the old ledger and maybe I can keep it as a family heirloom.”

Asha was still loath to sell the house though she had been talking to a few prospective buyers. Minny hoping to bring the matter to a close said, “Mummy, you can have your cake and eat it too. Amma’s suite is built as an annex to the main building. Sell the rest and keep that for yourself.”

“I am determined to conclude a deal as I know that I can’t look after all this by myself. There are a couple of people who have made reasonable offers. I will keep in mind your suggestion too.”

 Minny had left and the children’s vacation was drawing to an end, Asha wanted to have a farewell party for the granddaughters. Hours were spent on discussing the guest list and the food but they were all agreed that a big bonfire and fireworks would mark the end of the festivities.

Tanya and Aneesha were busy collecting wood for the bonfire that would mark the grand finale. Asha was emptying out the piles of papers and trash that would find a fitting end in the fire.

 As she looked through the papers her gaze rested on the two notebooks that Minny had recovered from Ranjita’s room. Remembering Minny’s request about preserving the ledger, Asha kept that aside along with the drawing book.  She turned her attention to the ledger and the first few pages were just household accounts, Asha thought that those pages could provide a history lesson for the present generation. Currency, weights and measures had all undergone drastic changes and now the decimal system was possibly the most commonly used in many countries all over the world. May be she could gift it to Tanya and Aneesha as family memorabilia. As she was putting the book away she noticed that there were a few pages that were covered with closely written script.  Curious to know the contents, she found that it was written in Gurmukhi, the language that Ranjita had taught her. Though Asha could speak fluently but her ability to read Punjabi was a bit rusty.

Asha carried the ledger to her bedroom as she knew that it would take her time to get familiar with the script as well as decipher the handwriting.  She wondered who had written in those pages, it had to be someone belonging to the family as the other pages were devoted to sundry accounts.

The ledger lay forgotten on Asha’s table until Tanya noticed it. “Nani did you look through the ledger?  May be we could gift it to a museum? Do you know there are museums that are showcasing clothes, letters, personal items about the Partition. This ledger might make an interesting exhibit?”

Aneesha looked a bit disparagingly at the dusty, dog eared book bound in red cloth, “I bet you no museum will want this moth eaten copy!”

“Aneesha, history is about the past and museums display old objects. Don’t be so disdainful. I will go through this before trashing it though your mother had mentioned that she would like to keep it.”

Asha decided that she would browse through the pages before she went to bed.

As soon as Asha came to grips with the handwriting she was reading a tale that was familiar and yet unknown though the writer’s identity wasn’t difficult to guess. There were words that had been crossed out, blotted and blotched but the writing had continued in a firm hand.  No matter what the cost, the author was determined to complete her narrative.

“My headaches are returning, through the pain, I see the same scene over and over again. I hear voices calling out for help, begging for pity and the blood, red splashed all over. Then there is nothing but darkness.

I have kept this hidden deep in my heart for many years but with each passing day, it is preying heavily on my mind. In these peaceful times it is difficult to imagine the swiftness with which our lives were turned upside down.

The news of the partition hadn’t been taken very seriously by the men in the family. Whereas others around us were leaving, my father didn’t believe that we would have to forsake the land of our forefathers.

Once the pen had drawn the line the two countries were officially divided, it turned Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims in to enemies forever. There was a mad scramble to cross over and each passing wave of humanity left behind debris of unbelievable cruelty and sorrow.

My father, uncles, male cousins finally decided that the move had to be made and we would join the kafila that was being organised in our village. Nobody knew what was happening, we didn’t know where we were going but we knew we would have to move, to leave behind the very dust that we loved.

Everyone was concerned that the women had to be guarded and all the females were locked up in one room. My aunt reminded us,” Your honour is in your own hands. Use the kirpan if it is necessary.”

The Kirpan was a mandatory item of our faith but none of the women had really thought of it in terms of a real weapon. Each one of us looked at the kirpan in a new light; it was a dagger that could kill.

My brother Jagjit called me aside ”Ranjita, look after Bitty, she is my only daughter, don’t let her out of your sight. Be careful of her honour as well as your own.”

At first the kafila was small, everyone was known but with each passing day, it was swelling with people as well as their belongings and farm animals. Tempers were running high, rumours of looting, killing and rape had become commonplace. At night, the women were asked to stay in the centre of the camps, they weren’t supposed to move out unescorted and fires were lit on the peripheries.

One night, Bitty came crying,”Bua look at my salwar, it is sticky with blood. Where has all this blood come from?”

We were both crying as I held her in my arms. It was possibly the last time I would do so.  I thought it best to take Bitty to one of the less crowded areas and help her with her personal fear and problem. A girl should have privacy to mark her entry to womanhood.

It was a decision I would rue all my life, as the spot I had chosen was not well lit and unmanned.  As I was helping Bitty change and calm down, I heard the sound of men rushing in our direction. I had hoped that the darkness would provide us with cover but the torches lit up the ground and focused on us. Above the din of the men’s voices I could hear Bitty calling out to me.

I rolled on top of Bitty to shield her from the men who had encircled us. The two of us were no match for the quick hands that tore us aside. The kirpan was in my hand but my untrained moves were mostly ineffectual though I had drawn blood and heard a couple of agonised shouts. Pinned to the ground, unable to move, I lost sight of Bitty. There was pain and horror overshadowed by the deep sadness that I hadn’t been able to look after my niece.

It was morning when I came to my senses, around me lay mangled bodies. One of the corpses had fallen in such a way that I was covered from view and left for dead. The kafila had moved on and it was with difficulty that I was able to sit up.  I dragged my broken self around and found Bitty lying close by writhing in pain. Her half naked body and her vacant eyes told her story. Just for a minute, I lost all sense; I put my dupatta around her neck and pulled it hard. There it was over, her shame and suffering had come to an end.

I didn’t remember anything at all except that I was rescued by a man who was also running away from rioters. We took refuge in a makeshift shelter used by shepherds and I began my life with a stranger in a new land.

I have not been able to unburden myself to any one not even to my husband who has been so kind and loving. Am I murderess or did I really save my niece?

These headaches are gruesome, the shouts never cease and the blood lies spattered all over, covering everything in sight.”

Asha was trembling as she couldn’t picture her gentle, soft spoken mother as the same woman who had killed her niece. The guilt and pain that had weighed on Ranjita had finally broken her down.

Should she destroy the book lest it fall in to other hands or should it remain in Asha’s safe keeping? The contents were like a knife being twisted slowly in her stomach.

It was the bonfire marking the end of the farewell party for her granddaughters that seemed to be the best repository for the ledger.

Asha quietly threw the book in to the flames. The yellowed pages were lit up for a few seconds before the fire consumed all that came in its path.  Nothing remained except sadness that lay tangled deep inside Asha’s heart

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brownie Points

 

Koely sat at her work desk, stared at the blank computer screen and didn’t want the list of tasks and timelines to spring up and demand immediate action. Neither her personal nor professional life was going according to plan. Decisions were being pushed back. Did she need a break? Perhaps a week off from work might do the trick.

Lately Lila had been perturbed by her daughter Koely’s behavior, who unlike her former self was offended easily or clammed up. It was no point behaving like a long suffering martyr if Koely didn’t want to share her problems.  It was difficult to live in the same house with a daughter who was like a tinder box ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

Lila dialed Uma’s number and hoped that her mother might be able to help. Uma listened carefully, waited for the long litany to end and then asked, “Does Koely know what is bothering her? Has she discussed anything with you? Will I have a free hand while I look for a solution?”

“Koely goes about with a long face but won’t speak openly. The pressure of constantly rushing at work is affecting her wellbeing. Currently she shares almost nothing about her personal life. I leave it to your discretion as to how you unravel the knots.”

“You must be very upset if you are willing to let me have a free hand. Solutions can rarely be found overnight.  Let me ask around as well as get Koely to agree to my suggestion. I will let you know if I make any progress.”

True to her word Uma asked around and it was her cousin Srila who as usual came to her rescue. Srila responded, “I was remembering Koely. Is she still taking orders for cakes? There were some enquiries and I wanted to know if she is free?”

 Uma asked, “Oh yes and I was wondering if we could meet for tea and see if we can proceed further.”

There were a few more phone calls between the two cousins. Several questions were asked until they were both satisfied that a meeting could be arranged.

Lila heard from Uma, “Srila hopes that Koely will have an open mind and if it progresses then discussions could proceed further.

I will call Koely, ask her to bake brownies for her grandfather and spend the weekend with us.”

Anil reminded Uma, “These days young people are ultrasensitive. Be careful about how your suggestion is received and neither Srila nor you should be upset if she vetoes your plan.

 I would like to remind you that I don’t want to be deprived of her delicious home baked pastries and cookies.”

It would be a welcome respite for Koely to visit her grandparents. They enjoyed her company and were not critical about her life style. The past few weeks had been exhausting. Life was forever in flux and it was a race to meet work goals and find time to communicate and make and maintain relationships. Official deadlines often cancelled out personal life. If only she could find someone and nurture intimacy and permanence. It was becoming increasingly challenging and she genuinely wanted to meet and build a genuine connection that could end up in marriage.

Koely was greeted by the sight of Uma bending awkwardly in her effort to pick up stuff that had been upended from her writing table and was scattered on the floor. She rushed to help Uma retrieve all the stuff and put it on the table. An old envelope had split open. Anil smiled and handed it over to Koely, “Do you think you can recognize the winsome maiden?”

“Of course I can. Doesn’t Dida look lovely?”

“These were forwarded along with marriage proposals and circulated among the prospective groom’s family,” added Anil.

Koely turned around, “Dida your photographs made the rounds?  Did girls get a chance to see what the guys looked like?”

“If one was lucky, there would be a thoughtful sister, aunt or friend who would slip in a photograph. It was a momentary glimpse and one hoped for the best. Opinions were rarely asked or considered. It must seem old fashioned to you. Nowadays everything happens in a minute and blows over in a second. If the match was approved then enquiries would be made with due diligence.”

“Do you know the heartbreak it causes? It isn’t easy for many and often impossible to find a man that you would like to marry,” retorted Koely.

“We depended on our family to do the needful and accepted what was primarily their preference whether it was clothes or a life partner.

These days you have many aids or apps to help you at every step in life. Look at the options at your fingertips. You are spoilt for choice. “

  “These matrimonial sites aren’t what they are made out to be. Some of them can be downright scary. I would like to find somebody reliable, you know, husband material.” Koely added ruefully, “And then those you eye are already taken. So what is a girl supposed to do?”

 Uma thought that this was probably the right moment to make her point, “Many marriages are still arranged by families. These allow for better information and background checks. Nobody can foretell the future and marriages fall under the same unpredictable category.”

 There was a hint of disbelief in Koely’s voice, “Parents have the last word and only photographs are exchanged? This sounds like the dark ages.”

“Times have changed and often it is advisable if snaps are exchanged as refusals are easier if you don’t meet in person. Sometimes if both sides are agreeable then introductions can be made. Nothing is written in stone. No two situations are the same.”

 “Your lives were definitely sheltered and guardians had the final say. It is not so with us and the hardest part is to know what we really want.”

“Maybe a helping hand could be the answer. You could try and see if you like a person recommended by the family.”

Anil was reading the newspaper but his ears were tuned to the conversation between his wife and granddaughter. He wondered whether Koely would like to try out the older version of the modern matrimonial site and trust a system that had the family’s help and support. He was aware that Uma and Srila had thought of fixing a wedding between the two families. Uma had suggested that Srila along with Navin, the young man, might drop in for tea and also meet up with Koely. There was a fierce debate between Anil and Uma as to whether Koely should be taken in to confidence.

“No,” said Uma, “first impressions are important and it would be wiser to find out details after they have met. Then there won’t be any complications if they don’t want to pursue it any further.”

“Youngsters have minds of their own and hopefully they won’t judge you as unfair in being high handed and keeping them in ignorance,” reminded Anil.

“We are trying to set it up on modern lines and unlike when we were paraded under the families’ critical gaze. The adults didn’t care to ask for our opinions. Srila and I have double checked on the family and Navin. There will be no hard feelings if they don’t meet again.”

As planned Srila arrived with Navin and it proved to be a pleasant evening with free ranging discussions. Srila and Uma left the room on the pretext of brewing a fresh pot of tea and Koely offered the remaining brownie to the guest.

“Is that the last one?” enquired Anil.

Navin hesitated for a second and then offered Anil the pastry.

As he wiped off the crumbs, Anil said proudly,” “Why take a chance?  A brownie in hand is worth two in the oven.

 Koely has a light hand with pastries.  Don’t be disappointed as she does take orders and you can find her on the internet and Instagram under Kooky Koely.”

Navin took out his phone and after a few quick clicks looked up at Koely. She just nodded, typed and smiled and Anil looked from one to the other. He thought there was a slight change in the air but the conversation continued as usual.

 Anil asked his wife, “You had a brief chat with Srila. What was her opinion?”

“We will find out tonight. They were easy and relaxed and might take it forward. If they are agreeable then they can set it up according to their plans and expectations.”

Anil put in a good word for Navin, “The young man gave me the last brownie. As a guest he had the first refusal. He showed respect for my years.”

Uma retorted, “He deferred to your greed.”

“I mentioned Koely’s side business. After all one good turn deserves another and if nothing else she will have gained a customer.”

Koely and Navin would find out that weddings were often like a well baked cake made according to a recipe that had the right balance of ingredients and timing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

A Chance Encounter

 

Ayna looked at the invitation propped on the living room table. It was positioned to catch her attention and hopefully provoke her to act.

“Ma I’m not attending. I won’t react favorably even if it is the first thing I see in the morning.”

“How long are you going to mourn that your wedding was called off because the groom had a fatal accident.”

“On these occasions people don’t take kindly to my presence.”

The arguments would have continued but for the entrance of Ayna’s best friend Vinny.

“Promises are meant to be kept and remember what you told Rani. Let’s have a look at your wardrobe. Why don’t we look at your wedding trousseau and choose an outfit before it becomes dated or you outgrow it.”

Ayna laughed, “You know how to outwit Ma and smart enough to remind me of a promise made long ago.”

“I have my own agenda. You know Manish’s buddy Jiten will be there and he is interested in you. Give yourself a chance before you find yourself on the shelf. And you hadn’t even met the man you were going to marry. It was all on the computer and none of us were comfortable with the process.”

“Yes, it was hurried and all the expenses and prep were futile as he was seriously injured and then vanished without a trace. I got a short message from his family about the accident and after that just silence. I haven’t been able to deal with the trauma and the guilt of putting my family through this drama.”

“Attend the engagement party. It is going to be huge because the wedding is going to be only family. There will be guys that are interested in girls like you, there will be dancing and music and you will be one of the many having a great time.”

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Ayna was pleased with her reflection but she still hesitated to enter a room filled with familiar faces. Vinny’s gentle push and the general spirit of gaiety helped her find her feet and she moved effortlessly in the crowd, carried by the music and the bonhomie around her. She greeted old acquaintances and even met Jiten and had a quick short chat. After all she couldn’t afford to disappoint Vinny who knew when Ayna needed to be propelled in to action.

A breath of fresh air became absolutely necessary in a room packed with high energy. Ayna made her way out of the gyrating dancers, the noise had gone up a few decibels and the pulsating music was becoming a bit tiring. She managed to find her way to the verandah that led to the garden. A brief breather would work wonders to restore her energy.

The verandah was dark and only caught the lights spilling out from the main rooms. Ayna looked around for a chair and found a few stacked in a far corner. In the dark, she misjudged her step and stumbled. A man’s hand stretched out to steady her and she realized she wasn’t alone.

A voice penetrated the dark, “I hope you haven’t hurt yourself.”

The man’s presence was unexpected but she hid her nervousness, “Thank you. I’m afraid I didn’t see you.”

The man carried on making small talk and put her at ease. No names were exchanged and Ayna asked, “You must know the town and the family.”

“I didn’t live here but spent a few childhood holidays. We went for picnics to the old fort near the river.”

The old fort was a conversation spinner until they were interrupted by Vinny’s phone ringing insistently. “I’ve been looking for you. We are going to raise a toast to the couple. Please hurry up.”

Anya stopped speaking midway, “Must go now and I’m sure you will join me.”

“Please carry on as an old injury has slowed me down and it takes me time to stand up and start walking. I will be on my way.”

 Ayna hurried back to where everyone had gathered. The party was drawing to a close and Ayna was caught up in saying good byes and agreeing to future meetings.

It was only as Ayna drove back with Vinny and Manish that she remembered briefly about the stranger.

Manish teased her, “My friend Jiten is totally impressed and wants to meet you soon.”

Vinny laughed, “Amazing that you were so much in demand after your long absence at social meets.  I noticed you were missing for a long time?  Who was the lucky man?”

“It sounds foolish now but the conversation flowed seamlessly and it didn’t occur to me that names weren’t exchanged. It was like strangers you meet at the railway station or airport, travelling in different directions and saying hello. I didn’t think I had sat out for a long time.”

Work pressures pushed back memories of meeting with the nameless stranger. Ayna was surprised when an envelope was hand delivered. It contained an invitation that read:

We met at the engagement party and parted without even exchanging names. It took me some time to find you out and to ask if we can take this a step forward.

Would you care to join me for dinner at The Electra on 13th December at 8 pm?

Regards

Ramesh

Ayna read the letter several times and debated whether she should respond to the letter. Not only did she not know his name but in the darkness she had barely made out his features. It was almost like a blind date but she was familiar with the restaurant and decided to be impulsive.

Remembering a past practice from her teenage years, Ayna had informed Vinny the details of her dinner date. Their rule was to inform if the situation looked dodgy and before matters got out of hand.

Ayna had barely time to look around and was greeted by a smartly dressed man who introduced himself, “I am Ramesh and am glad you decided to accept my invitation. “

He led her to a table for two and which faced the entrance to the room. After some casual conversation Ramesh looked intently at Ayna. His hands were on the table almost asking to be held, “I’ve something to confess. I met your fiancée briefly, before he had the accident…”

Ayna stared; slack jawed unable to utter a word, her eyes filled up with tears.  “Did you know him?”

He touched her trembling hands, “No. We had both stopped for a break at a wayside tea shop and exchanged pleasantries. He was happy and excited and said that he was getting married shortly to a girl from Sonepore.

I started a little later and was delayed by the news that the road was blocked because of a collision between a truck and a car. It was your fiancée’s car and I helped some of the bystanders to extricate him from the mangled remains.”

“How did you know that I was the bride?”

“I had come to the party along with my friend who works for an event planning company. You had briefly turned your face towards me when I overheard one of the invitees point at you and mention in detail about the accident.

 You walked in while I was waiting for my friend to be free. By the time I had gathered courage to speak about that terrible incident, you were gone.

 I’ve wanted to meet you since that night.”

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn when the phone vibrated in her bag and made her uncomfortable. Instinctively she withdrew her hand and looked at the message on her phone. It was from Vinny and read DON’T MOVE. JITEN COMING. Confused she looked up to see that three men had appeared from nowhere and encircled Ramesh who aimed a glass of water in her direction. Instinctively she dodged and the contents sloshed her before it hit the wall and broke.

Involuntarily Anya screamed, covered her face and started to sob while a few waiters and diners led by the restaurant manager crowded around. Embarrassed and scared, Anya started to cry loudly and before she could make herself understood heard a male voice taking charge of the mess.

It was Jiten and he was able to calm Ayna. In a few minutes he had extricated her from the pandemonium and led her out.

As he started the car he asked, “Where and how did you meet this man? Did you know anything about him?”

“I met him at Rani’s party and it ended there. I didn’t know his name. A few weeks later he sent me an invitation for dinner and it was signed Ramesh. I thought ….”

“Sorry to interrupt but he uses several aliases and is a clever cyber-criminal. You could have landed in deep trouble.”

“At the restaurant he provided me with information that sounded authentic and I found no reason to be suspicious.”

Jiten listened carefully to Ayna’s account and then said, “Men like Ramesh are wily and smart. Witnesses have confirmed that he was present at the site of the accident. Luck was on his side as he noticed Arun’s phone in the debris and pocketed it. He had accessed information from the phone that provided him with personal data. I doubt that he heard anything at the party. His reasons for attending the party are unknown. Maybe he had come along with his friend and had nothing planned.”

 Ayna regained her composure, “How did Vinny know you were at the Electra?”

“This evening I visited Vinny who mentioned that you were dining at the Electra with a mysterious date.  I told her that I would be also going there and she laughed and asked me to report about your date.”

Ayna looked intently, “You appeared at the exact moment and it was too much of a coincidence.”

“I work for a cybersecurity company that provides services to banks, financial institutions, credit card companies and others. Mr. Ramesh is the master mind behind a group of criminal hackers. We have been chasing him unsuccessfully.

The hotel uses our services and informed us that Mr. Ramesh had used fraudulent credit cards and hadn’t checked out. We often work with the cyber police department and they were told that Mr. Ramesh would be dining at the restaurant.

My curiosity to identify Ramesh had brought me to the restaurant. I was worried to see you in his company and called Vinny who warned you and alerted me.”

Ayna sat silently; her voice choked as she tried to make sense of the evening’s events. She wondered why Ramesh had wanted to meet her.

Jiten was in no hurry and waited until he guessed that Ayna was had composed herself. He spoke gently, “Today’s incident was unreal and I don’t know why Ramesh planned this dinner. Trust is in a way spontaneous and Ramesh had given you no reason to disbelieve him. I don’t think he wanted to harm you.”

Ayna shivered and her voice trembled, “He aimed the glass at me. I could have been hurt.”

“He acted on the spur of the moment, most probably to distract the police and escape.”

A smile quivered on Ayna’s lips, “You have been the knight in shining armor. Could I return the favor by asking you out for dinner?”

“Tonight let me have the honor and I’ll take a rain check for another evening.”

 

Ayna rang up Vinny, “My dinner date has changed. Don’t worry until further notice.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Cloud Kitchen

 

 

Preety Lata Biswas was a housewife trained under the supervision of women who were a part of the extended family. They considered it not only their duty but tradition to ensure that every young woman who crossed their threshold as a bride learnt all the necessary culinary skills. It was a rigorous training on par with that of a Cordon Bleu chef. The women were instructed how to peel, chop and cut vegetables followed by gutting and cleaning fish, deveining shrimps and after they had satisfied the piercing gaze of critical elders were they allowed to cook a dish. There were many other skills that they learnt along the way and to be honest not all of them were brilliant but a few of them like Preety Lata surpassed even her teachers.

Families had shrunk and the Biswas family and their progeny no longer lived in the same house. Time had also changed the taste buds of her sons and they wanted something new and untried.

Preety Lata was now a matron confident and an acknowledged head of her household and ready to have her sons married. Many young people were now finding their own life partners but her sons handed the parents this task. At first it had appeared not only the right decision but increasingly proved to be a far more complicated business. Both the sons had specifications that weren’t easy to meet but stipulated that their future wives should have careers. If the sons had their requirements then so did their mother.  There was one specific skill that had to meet Preety Lata’s exacting standard. The prospective daughter in law would not only satisfy the basic requirements of looks, education and family but know her way around a kitchen.

Mrs. Biswas shuddered when she remembered the travails of tutoring her daughters in law who looked askance when they used basic kitchen appliances like a knife. Young women who used the computer keyboards at lightning speeds would take hours to peel potatoes. Of course Preety Lata was demanding but she also knew when she had arrived at an impasse. Nevertheless it was to her credit that she did impart the basic skills with hopes that her sons wouldn’t deprived of decent edible meals. Young couples are smart and found a way around tears shed while not only chopping onions but one of genuine frustration. They moved to different cities away from the daily kitchen dramas and ate their way happily through home delivered meals.

It was not much of a surprise when Preety Lata’s youngest son Abhik announced that he had found his match and would be happy if his mother agreed to carry out the required formalities that a wedding entailed. It would be wrong to say that Preety Lata would have been liked the first refusal but she was relaxed as it hadn’t been easy with her older two sons.  The Biswas family met the fiancée and her family and found no cause for worry. They were happy that Roma was supposedly in between jobs and for the time being would be staying at home.

The so termed honeymoon period for the newly wed couple had minor hiccups and all four of them settled to an acceptable daily routine. Roma was interested in cooking and would spend time in the kitchen along with her mother in law. Preety Lata was pleased with Roma’s attention to small details and even shared some of her expertise.

It was a few months later that Roma started going out every Friday morning and coming back in time for dinner. She informed her mother in law but didn’t give any more details. It hurt Preety Lata as she felt disrespected but couldn’t bring herself to ask any thing.

 As with most matters, Preety Lata brought it to her husband’s notice and he disregarded it with masculine disdain. After a few weeks of constant refrain he advised, “Why don’t you ask the concerned parties? Does Abhik look worried?”

“I’m not sure that he even knows. Roma is home before he returns.”

“Don’t look for trouble,” was his final advice.

All kinds of misgivings flooded Preety Lata’s mind and she hoped that Roma’s actions weren’t besmirching Abkik’s as well the family reputations. Was Roma having an affair? What was the importance of Friday? And above all why had Roma not shared any details? All this fretting and guessing affected her relationship. Who could she confide in? She would rationalize that it could all be very trivial or who knew when future catastrophe would strike.

 Preety Lata had been married early and to a family where the men had the first and last word. She would hardly have lifted an eyebrow if it was Abhik. In her experience men enjoyed liberties that women whether married or single were not allowed.

Roma was preoccupied but had noticed the cooling off between Abhik’s mother and herself. She decided to make the first move. Choosing a quiet moment she asked, “Ma, have I offended you in any way. Are you unwell? Is there I can do?”

Tears came rolling down and Roma looked askance. Preety Lata choked, “I thought you trusted me. Obviously you don’t. You are out every Friday and I don’t even know where you have gone.”

Quick to realize why she had fallen from grace Roma apologized profusely. “I should have told you earlier but wanted it to be a surprise. I am planning to start a cloud kitchen and….”

 “What is a cloud kitchen? I didn’t know that you ran a business.”

“It’s a long story. When I was young my parents were hard pressed for money. My mother is a good cook and she decided to supplement the income by taking on   catering orders. We three sisters gave her a hand and also learnt how to handle cooks as well as clients. My mother has scaled down her business and on Fridays I look at the accounts and other stuff.”

Preety Lata was taken aback by Roma’s disclosure.  Except for the occasional compliment nobody had acknowledged her skills. It hadn’t occurred to her that she could earn and have her own disposable income.

Roma continued, “A cloud kitchen takes and delivers orders but doesn’t serve food on its premises. I have been visiting banks, talking to suppliers, cooks and other staff but I need to rent kitchen space. My mother’s kitchen isn’t large enough and rents are high.”

“Is your mother agreeable?”

“It can only be temporary and we want space closer to home.”

“Do you think our kitchen and the adjoining covered space would suit your needs?”

It was an unexpected response and Roma wasn’t too sure but here was a suggestion that could take care of the kitchen space.

“The existing kitchen will need renovation and reassigning space for the family and the business can cause upheavals.”

 “The kitchen is my home but the house isn’t mine. The proposal will have to be made to Abhik’s father and he has to agree.

All these years I believed that I didn’t have the expertise to earn. I have realized that my cooking may also have commercial value.”

Preety Lata’s husband stared in disbelief at his wife and the mother of their three sons, who had always taken the quiet back seat. She spoke confidently and with conviction and was not at all like the woman he had known for so long. At first he was inclined to be dismissive but hearing her speak, he listened to her impassioned plea.

Preety Lata’s husband refused to have the privacy of his house invaded by a cloud kitchen. But his wife’s fervor backed by his daughter in law made him take an active interest and he helped them to secure rooms to start the kitchen. He told his wife, “I thought it was my responsibility to find you the space but after this whether you sink or float is truly your business.”

Preety Lata realized that cooking was not only nourishing others but nurturing her creativity, of getting recognized for the value of her culinary craft.