Walk the talk

Here's another episode from Adi's diary about her husband...

Aditi hates exercising, while her husband is a health freak. One day Agneya Reddy asked her to join him for a leisurely walk. She eagerly did. No sooner they reached the nearby park than he started jogging and forced her to follow suit.

She protested, cribbed, and took at least 10 breaks and at last squatted down.

The rest is in her own words...

*************************

The following morning, after he left for work as I sat browsing the net and sipping coffee, I heard the door bell ring.

Two deliverymen with a huge parcel were requesting permission to walk in. “Sir asked to install it in the TV room.”

I called up Agy. His secretary Sharon answered the call. “Mr Agneya Reddy’s phone.”

“Can I speak to him, please.”

“He’s in a meeting. May I take a message.”

“Can you ask him to call me back. It’s urgent. Aditi here.”

 “O! Hello ma’am. He’s gone for a briefing session, so he left his mobile with me. Hang on a sec, I’ll get him online.”

Within a minute, Agy was online “Yes, Adi.”

“Some guys are here with a …”

“Yeah, that’s for you, my love.” And then I heard him say, “ Informed? Ok. I’m just there.”

“Hello..”

“Ah Adi, let them install it in the TV room. I'll call you in 30 minutes. Love you.”

The deliveryman, I discovered was given detailed instructions. He knew where exactly to install it and what to be moved. He rearranged the entire room so that the treadmill was facing the home theater system.

Half-an-hour later, Agy called. “Treadmill installed?”

“They are at it.”

“Good. Now my girl will exercise every day.”

“Did I ask you for this.”

“You will never. And getting you to jog outside is a herculean task. So I came up with the best solution.”

“Very smart.”

“Thank you. I know you are not happy. And it’s absolutely fine by me. Beginning today, my smart girl will exercise for an hour. You will have no excuse because you can do it at your convenience, watching your favourite programmes.”

“And if I don’t.” I was pissed off by his persistence.

“No dinner.”

“And it’s absolutely fine by me.” I mocked attempting to get his tone.

His laugh, even over the phone can do wonders on me. “Well, my dear, it’s important you exercise. And the least you can do is walk an hour.”

“I’ll do after you come.”

“No. I’m having the spare guest room upstairs transformed into an in-house gym. We’ll replace the balcony wall with glass and that’ll give it a fantastic look, too. So once that’s ready, we can work out together. Until then you will walk an hour every day alone.” He said the last sentence slowly and deliberately.

“Hello…”

“What do you want.” I snapped and I heard him chuckle again.

“Be ready by 7pm. We’ll go out for dinner.”

“Bye.”

“Love you. Please smile.”

“No. Bye.”

I was irritated by his audacity. What the heck, whatever he thinks has to be done. No way. At least today, he’s not having his way.

I decided to prepare an elaborate dinner.

**************

By 6pm vegetarian spring rolls; hot and sour soup; sesame chicken strips with sweet & sour dip; mixed fried rice and noodles were ready. As I was setting the table, in walked a beaming Agy.

“Not ready? Let's go.”

“I’ve cooked an elaborate spread. Freshen up and come fast.”

“As you say.”

A little later, he was standing examining the table. “Wow! this is, indeed, elaborate Adi. I can’t wait. Where do I start?”

“Soup first. Oops, I’ll fetch the sauces,” I said and went into the kitchen as he picked up the soup bowls. But when I returned he was not there.

“Where are you?”

“Gimme me a minute, dear.” He shouted from the bedroom.

“Adi, come with me,” he said taking me by the wrist after a while.

“Where? The soup will cold, Agy.”

“That can be reheated.”

Shit! He was leading me to the TV room.

“First walk for an hour and then dinner.” He said leaving me beside the treadmill and lowering himself into the sofa. “I’ll keep you company.”

“I walked.”

“You did not.” He said with a don’t-fool-me smirk and shaking his head.

“I did,” I gave him a stern look.

“Well,” he crossed his legs over and folded his hands, and continued, “if you don’t walk, we both are going without dinner tonight. And I don’t want to do that because I’m eager to taste my Adi’s dishes. I’m famished.”

“Let me play some music for you. What would you like to hear.”

“I have no likes. It’s always your likes and wants, right. Play whatever,” I snapped with a sullen face.

He got up with a what-will-I-do-with-you smile, lifted me onto the treadmill, timed it for 60minutes and kissed me. “Yep, here you go,” and pressed the start button. He returned to the sofa and sat watching me.

An hour later, dabbed in perspiration, I slumped on the sofa. He sat up to wipe my face and I shrugged him off.

I ate in silence, while he was his chirpy best.

************************

Back in the bedroom, the anger in me crept up, seeing him lying on the bed reading a book. “How did you know about my walking.”

“I know it all,” he said flashing his naughty smile.

It should be her. I walked out quietly and knocked at our maid's door. The moment she opened the door, I snapped, “From when did you start reporting my matters to Agy.” She gave me a perplexed look. “I don’t like this.” I spat and returned to the bedroom.

“Feeling better after taking it out on that poor woman," he asked as I climbed over.

How does he know it always! "I'd gone to take my lens," I muttered.

I saw him smirk and pick up his mobile. He dialled a number and put it on speaker between us. I heard Savitri’s voice on the second ring. “Yes, Sir.”

“Savitri, Adi is feeling bad about her behaviour just now. She wants to apologise…”

“…No sir, no, no. No problem. She’s a small girl, sir. No problem.”

“Thanks Savitri. Good night.”

I was fuming. “What the heck? I’m a small girl, eh. Small girl!”

“Well, you behave like one.” He said calm and composed.

“My foot I’ll apologise. You ask her to spy on me, so cheap.”

Clearly amused by my outburst, “You are such a kid, Adi. How closely have you observed this home, umm”.

He sat back looking at me, enjoying himself, as I was fuming with a mixed bag of emotions.

“Our home is webbed.” With that same soft look, he continued, “Each room has a camera…”

I was all alert. How did I not notice it all this while!

“…Before you came, I hardly spent time in here. So for security reasons, I had them installed.”

He paused. Then with a cheeky smile, added, “It came in handy only today, though...”

******************

 

An embarrassing moment

A lanky girl walked towards the bulletin board of her school reception, towing her sturdy dad. Though she was confident of making it to Grade 8, there was one other hurdle she had to cross. As per the convent rules then, parents were required to meet the previous year's class teacher and collect the detailed progress card before their wards could begin the next academic year.

Her Grade 7 class teacher, looked at her dad and said, "For all the trouble she gave me in Social Studies, she's managed to pass with a distinction."

Except for the Himalayas, which she was eager to spot at the top of the India map, she dreaded marking anything else. Kaveri, Godavari and Brahmaputra flowed adjacently, states trespassed into one another, too. "When will you get it right?" her teacher sighed each time. Now that same teacher was smiling. "I'm surprised. How did you do it?" she asked.

And the girl was relieved that her customised recipe of taking photographic images of lessons were yielding results at last.

Her tryst with geography had begun then! [She refuses to share the date.]

She simply learnt by rote and vomited on demand, imbibing images of letters, without understanding. At times it back-fired. For instance, she lost marks in Grade 10 public examination because she mistook Green Revolution for Glorious Revolution! So what if one was Geography and the other History; both were Social Studies for her! 

********

Two years later, she no more had the comfort of dedicated and secured transportation. On her first day to college, her over-protective dad accompanied her explaining to her bus numbers, names of stops, alternative routes, etc.

As they got off the at the college stop her dad stood her and said, "Look around. See there's that bridge that goes down there. Take left just before that, and keep walking until you see the gifts shop from where you'll turn left again and you'll see your college. Simple."

"All the stops in the city look the same," she said, to which her dad replied, "It's just a matter of few days, you'll master it. Look out for this huge Raymond hoarding."

She looked up hard and long at the hoarding. Clicked in her mind the size, shape and even the height at which it was placed. The Raymond's model became her knight in shining armour.

Almost eight months later, one morning she noted the bus was unusually less crowded. When the bus got on to an unfamiliar street, she asked the woman beside her, "Isn't this Bus No. 47." 

After a few moments of  awkward conversation, she was convinced that she had missed her college stop.

The Raymond model was replaced with a guy sporting a cowboy hat and cigarette between his lips.

She got to class two hours late.

That was the last she took photographic images.

********

 

A few years later, she enrolled for a professional course called journalism, to the utter dismay of her parents and bewilderment of her close friends.

 

Her first field assignment was to cover an Alliance Française event.

 

The following day, her professor announced in class, "In my 20 years of teaching experience, you are the only student I've seen who can score an A+ and a C- with equal ease."

[By the time, she managed to find the venue, the press conference was over. Her report had absolutely no facts.]

After that she always made arrangements to ride pillion with anyone who claimed to know the route.

********

That habit stayed with her. Married to a man with tremendous patience, she now  euphemised his virtue as her "love to be driven around".

"In a place like Dubai it is very easy to go about. Just follow signboards and remember landmarks," he instructed.

Returning from her first job interview, she told the cab driver, "Bur Dubai." He waited for more details and she remembered, yep landmark! "Near the mosque," she recited triumphantly.

He looked at her as if she were insane. "So many mosques here, madam," he said.

Thank God for small mercies. Mobile phones were invented by then.

So, thereafter, madam got her husband instruct cabbies!

********

Years passed by, when one day her daughter's friend wanted to visit. Her chirpy and cheerful little girl handed over the phone to her enthusiastically and whispered, "Shruti wants to come home to play. Her mother wants our location."

After the initial pleasantries with the other woman, she politely told her that she would be given a call to detail the route map in a minute.

Her little girl was grumpy and sullen suddenly.

"Your dad will call her right now. You will not waste even a minute of your playtime," she assured her child.

"It's not that. What will Shruti's mother think? That my mom is so dumb, she doesn't even know where she stays. It's so embarrassing..."

This time it was EMBARASSING!

PS: I wish not to know her. But if I deny knowing her then I'm not me!

 

Squirrelling around your trust!

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to moms, masters, trainers and orphans alive or dead is purely your imagination!

A grey mommy squirrel was teaching its bony baby how to climb the tree. She explained, "To stay safe, have fun and find food, it helps to claw atop quick, my baby."

Days went by and the pampered baby just fooled around, gaining weight and making attempts strenuous.

An orphan baby squirrel that sat watching the daily efforts, one day approached the mommy squirrel and said, "Teach me how to climb the tree, please. I will learn it quick."

"Of course, my child. You are from my clan. And what beauty you are. Bushy tail and sparkling eyes, a sprint on claws and sharp teeth, with shimmering strips on your back, you are wonderfully gorgeous to be an orphan. How I wish you were my son. I want to see you survive. Your will propel our breed ahead in the kingdom, am sure. Come tomorrow."

An elated baby orphan jumped with thrill and screamed he's going to live in style. Sat in the bush and watched mommy squirrel plead with her son.

The following day, bright and early, he greeted the matron. "Oh!, so nice to see you this morning. How have you been.?

"I am good, matron. Can we start?"

"Yes, you wanted me to teach you. Yep. I have an expert climber friend. I'll let him teach you because you are a very bright squirrel. My skills fall way to short for your abilities. Why don't you call on me, say next week."

"That's great matron. Will do," said the orphan and skirted away happy dreaming of being trained by the best hand.

A week later, when he met the matron, she said, "Hey, smart boy. I was just thinking about you. I will take you to the master on the third Sunday following the next. I cannot rest until I help such a determined boy.”

A little dazed, the orphan squirrel walked back. He checked the calendar thrice every day lest the third Sunday following the next gives him the slip.

After the long wait, when Sunday dawned, he was at the matron's door greeting her. "Oh, my child. How have you been? I was speaking about our bright offspring to the elders at last week's clan get-together. So many of them are eager to help you, my boy. You are the luckiest child."

Waiting for her to finish her lauding, he gingerly asked, "So when can I start."

"Yep, my dear. The best in the clan want to teach you..."

"But when, matron."

"My child, you've been coming so often. I now feel guilty. Let me get the trainer to your home."

The orphan squirrel returned to the bush and sat watching mommy squirrel attempt to train her offspring. He waited, waited and waited in the bush. He felt guilty of being a pest. He was afraid of being called a nag.

After months, when he turned one, he mustered courage to face the matron. "Hey, my boy. How have you been?" she asked with enthusiasm.

"Well, I'm great matron. Was wondering if I'll be getting a trainer."

"Trainer? What are you speaking of."

He patiently reminded her of her promise made, when she said, "Actually, they are not trainers. They are all masters in their fields, and I was told, they do not train babies. And added to that you are an orphan. So it’s their status issue, as well. But don’t you worry, my son. I’m there for you.”

The dejected squirrel, fought hard to see hope again.

"Yes matron. I need your help, please."

"Of course, my boy. You don't have to plead with me, leave alone ask. You have the right to tell me. I have my offspring here, who will disturb us. So I’ll come over to your place. How’s that!"

"Umm.” The orphan squirrel now had his doubts at the matron's intentions. But just smiled and said, "Good. Sure matron. I will wait for you."

"I'll be there when I return from my weekly grocery trip. That should be fine with you, smart boy!”

"Weekly trip means," the orphan mumbled.

"I purchase items every Sunday evening, son."

"Thanks matron. See you on Sunday."

"Sure my child. I'm so proud to be associated with such a bright boy."

The squirrel returned to his spot in the bushes. After each week, he told himself, "Probably next Sunday."

 

When a mynah toilet-trained me

There was a time when my bowel movements were controlled by avians (not aliens). You read it right. Birds.

I would run to the toilet on seeing through the curtain folds of my bedroom window one coffee-coloured bird perched up on the last dish on the terrace of apartment 100 metres across the road, which in turn was 200 metres away from my bedroom.  Guess that’s the primary reason why I never cultivated the habit of consuming a fiber-rich diet. Mynahs did the needful.

Come hail or rain or sandstorm or scorching heat, from far away a distance I could identify a mynah.  One for sorrow – the phrase was etched in my subconscious that I immediately felt sad. Even if I were told a public holiday has been declared, or I don’t have to cook… if I saw a mynah I felt dejected. (By now, you would have guessed my two pet peeves).

My paranoia blew to such proportions that any object seemed like a lone mynah. Especially the water-sprinkler outlets on the pavements were all single mynahs. My heart would skip several beats and the adrenalin rush to my temples by the time I came to the exact spot and I discovered with a heaving ooof! It was just a water-sprinkler knob jutting above the soil.

Black cats have never been an issue with me. I hate felines. Guess that could be the reason when people miss trains and flights because a cat crosses their path as they set out on a journey and they return to their camps, I go ahead with my schedule and achieve as much as I intend to.

People are also touchy about ‘doubles’. A person carrying a child or a pregnant woman crossing their path is considered sure doom for the designated task. But they never riled me.

There are also paranoid souls who never return to collect anything they forget once they step out no matter how important that stuff may be. I’ve collected several items that on numerous occasions than I could care to remember. Most common being house keys and wallets. But none of those days were any different from my fully-aware days.

However, if on any of the above mentioned days had I heard a mynah cry within my earshot, I let it trigger my doom. I’ve performed badly for interviews not because I didn’t know answers to queries but I had fore-written the job/assignment was not for me because of that spiteful bird that came within my sight on my way.

The innocuous birds were literally firing the shit out of me. I never enjoyed a ride or a walk. My neck craned to spot one on the pavement or on building tops, lamp posts, traffic signals or just flying above my head.

Enough I had when the family started bickering on my alertness for the impending sorrow.

I had to tackle the fear within. I had to erase it. I had to let them be just that. Birds! The first day I saw one and told myself - ‘Whatever happens today, I will be alright. I will not let anything that happens today make me unhappy.’

Things did go wrong, and I realised it was not as bad as I expected it would be. Night came, I slept and the mynah effect erased.

A couple of days later, I saw one again and repeated the same. I survived without noticeable damage until bed time once again.

The third time I saw one, I said, ‘That is just another bird out there to fetch its worm.’

Today I enjoy my drives and walks and, yes, confidently draw my curtains open, too.

That’s all from me now…Let me Google for fiber-rich diet.

Orphanage

Location: Orphanage named ‘Our Home’ in Hyderabad

Characters:

Agneya Reddy (Agy) – an entrepreneur who also runs an orphanage with 12 boys and three caretakers.

Aditi (Adi) – newly-wed wife of Agneya

Savitri – Agy’s and Adi’s housekeeper.

[The incident is told by Aditi in first person]

Walking towards our bedroom, I heard Savitri charged up on the phone. “Seems something’s wrong,” I said and volunteered to check, when she came out, “Sir, baba fell down.”I thought that was too succinct for her reaction I overheard on the phone.

“Anything serious?” he asked stopping in his tracks.

“Nothing. Small fracture in right leg. He is back from hospital.”

“Umm” he said walking back, when she added, “They were playing.”

I stood looking at both, and felt Agy was not happy with what he heard.

“Who’s baba?” I asked him.

“The youngest child at Our Home. He’s fondly called baba. So, madam, may I ask for a slight revision to our plans. We’ll first visit him and then proceed on our walk.”

 *************

Two hours later we were at the orphanage. The atmosphere was unlike what I saw over the weekend when the boys had jumped over Agy. Today it was quiet, I was told it was study time between 5pm and 8pm. I found the boys at their desks in the hall. It seemed like a mini classroom. Two of the caretakers were in the kitchen and one nursing the 6-year-old boy, who was lying in bed with a plastered leg.

The caretaker woman stood up seeing Agy and started convincing he is absolutely fine. “The doctors said, nothing to worry. Small fracture only…”

“When did it happen?” Agy cut her short.

“Evening Sir, after he came from school.”

“How”, he asked flashing The Agneya stare. She began stammering and recounting what happened incoherently, when the other two caretakers joined us in the room. One of them chipped in, “Sir, the boys were playing. Running around, he fell down. So weak he is.”

Hearing the noise, I presume, the cute little boy opened his eyes, which was swollen and reddish from crying. Agy sat beside him, his tall frame bent over the tiny little one on the bed. So very feebly he lifted him on to his lap, cradling the child. “Your hands have muscles, that’s why nothing happened here,” he said pressing his small arms. “Now you need strong legs, too.”

“Paining,” he sobbed.

He ran his palms over the little one’s plaster gently and then planted a kiss on his forehead and said, ”You’ll be fine in two weeks. If you be a good boy and take medicines what aunties give you, then when the doctor removes this plaster, you’ll see muscles inside. Biiiig muscles!....”

It was another Agy I saw there. Caring and protective and oh so soft!

He will make a wonderful father!

When I returned from my imaginary family world, he was still conversing with the little boy, who was now cheerful and protesting at something. “No, you ball, I will bat.”

“Ok. Done deal,” Agy said and gave the little one a high-five. He precariously laid him back and kissed him again.

“Has he eaten food,” he stood up and asked the caretaker woman standing still beside me. I wondered if she even breathed. I noticed the other two women were missing.

He walked into the hall and the boys simultaneously looked up. Some sat smiling at him, while others acknowledged his presence and quickly returned to their books in front of them.

“How are you guys.” How can anyone exude such authority with so much ease, I wondered. The playful Agy I saw just moments back metamorphosed into the controller.

 “Fine.” I heard a collective reply.

Even in his track suit, T-shirt and running shoes, once he stands upright and holds his chiselled chin up, he can ooze attitude effortlessly. Hands in his pockets, he panned the room for a few seconds and said, “I will be out in the veranda. Those of you responsible for Amir’s fracture will come and meet me within the next 10 minutes.”

He walked out. Turned at the doorway and tapping at his watch, repeated, “You have 10 minutes.”

I saw the boys sneaking glances at one another. So innocent-looking children.

Gosh, what is he going to do!

He was seated on a chair in the veranda, facing the door, when I joined him after quickly checking on Amir. The little one saw me peep in and smiled. His angelic face scooped my heart. I went over and hugged him.

“He’s so cute,” I said sitting on a chair beside Agy.

“Umm”

I couldn’t read his expression. It was definitely not angry or irritated. But it wasn’t soft as when he was with Amir either.

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t reply. Instead he looked beyond me asking, “Yes.” I turned to see the three caretaker women huddle near the door.

“They were playing, Sir,” said one of them. “Yes, Sir,”chorused the other two.

“You’ll said that already. Anything else.”

They pulled away meekly.

Shit! He’s one hard task master!

“Will you punish the boys?” I was anxious.

He didn’t reply. Turned his wrist to see the time and crossed an ankle over his opposite knee. I looked for the groove on his chin, and heaved a sigh of relief on not spotting it.

A little later, a tall lanky teenager, about 14 years old, appeared at the door. With his head bent down, he was looking up at Agy and me alternatively. The tension in the air was building up. Agy was holding the same incomprehensible expression, but now his eyes were rested on the boy. But the dark pair was not steely as it were in the morning nor was it narrowed like when he was talking to me a couple of hours before. Which means, he is not angry or irritated and neither he is impatient or desperate.

“Yes, Aditya, what do you have to tell me,” he asked after what seemed eons.

“Aa..am..amir…threw my bag…I..he…didn’t listen…my book tore…he again…pulled my bag down…

“Are you speaking to the floor or to your feet, Aditya.”

Gosh! Let the boy just say it!  

I felt pity because he looked up at Agy and continued stammering. “I tied a rope…behind…across...the kitchen door…called him…told to see…a snake…he ran excited and tumbled over the steps…I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt him…but…his ankle swelled up…I …I was scared…

Agy put his foot down and stood up, still holding his gaze.

The boy mumbled “I’m sorry”.

Please, don’t do anything to the boy! I prayed but couldn’t gather the courage to say it loud.

Agy walked towards the boy and he dropped his head again. He stood looking down, shoulders drooping, fear etched on his face. I once caught him glance up at Agy as he went closer. He repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Agy patted him and said, “You are courageous. You have become a big man this moment.”

The boy’s face brightened up. “It takes a lot of courage to own up one’s mistake. You have done it. I’m proud of you.” And he hugged him. He held him for a few seconds patting his back, when I realised the youngster was weeping. “Hey, men don’t cry.” Agy smiled, straightened his shoulders and said, “What reward do I give you being so courageous. You can ask me for anything.”

The boy stood, eyes widened. “Go ahead, anything.”

“Can I have a green Nike shoes. All my friends in class have.”

“Call your aunty.”

He took two notes from his wallet and told the caretaker, “Take Aditya to Central Mall on Sunday. Buy him the shoes he wants.”

The teenager was so excited, it was hard for me to believe it was him who stood fearfully just moments back.

“Ok Aditya, now what’s the punishment you will choose?”

Shucks, leave him be! Agy please, I pleaded silently.

The colour from the boy’s face drained in a jiffy. Bewildered he stood looking up at Agy.

“You are helping nurse Amir back to health. Clear.”

He nodded, a slight smile appearing on the young face.  “Amir will get restless because he will not be allowed to walk. Once you return from school, you will carry him around. No play time for you until Amir walks. Clear.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied happily.

“Happy? Do you think Amir will trust you?”

The boy’s face clouded immediately. “This is your chance to gain his confidence back. You need to spend time with him. Alright. He is the youngest kid here. You are a big man now. Shouldn’t you be protective of him.”

The youngster nodded. “Go. And study well.” He patted the boy once more and smiled.

Aditya took two steps and turned back and hugged Agy.

My man! I felt so proud at the way he handled the issue. As I got up to leave, I heard him tell the caretaker woman, “I want to meet you’ll. Call the others.”

I sat back. When the two others came, he asked, “Do you’ll have my mobile number?”

“Yes Sir,” said one immediately reciting the digits.

“Yeah, we have,” said the other two.

“Then why the hell was I not informed of the incident.”

Shit! I noticed the groove partially forming on his chin and my heart started racing.

“That’s one. Secondly, you three should be leading by example. I will not tolerate lies. If any of you intend repeating it, ensure your bags are packed.”

“Anything else I need to know.” His eyes now bore into them.

“No sir,” they chorused.

“Good night.” He snapped.

He took my hand, said, "Let’s go baby."

Kamala Das hides behind winter's mist!

I straighten my back, heave out a guff of air and close my eyes. I am tired. No, it’s just my eyes, I tell myself and cut two pieces of cool cucumber, place it over my eyelids and sprawl out on my mattress.

Ahh! That guff of air again blows out of my mouth. No, it’s not my eyes. I take off the cucumber pieces and lie staring at the ceiling. I am exhausted. Yes, I tell myself and stretch the length of my body and lie still.

Ufff! My chest is again gulping in air to blow something out of my system. I sit up, utterly confused about my feelings. I am not tired. I am not exhausted. But it is aching. An aching within to know a great writer. She took me there within her. She ripped open her soul to me, but I couldn’t see. Or did I see?

I’m longing to wipe the mist and see clear. I want to know Kamla Das aka Madhavi Kutty aka Kamala Suriya. Who is she? Apart from being one of the greatest Indian writers and poets, who is the real she?

Most of them love to hate her and the others love to judge her. I love her for her boldness. I always believed she was a woman ahead of her times. But I didn’t want to judge her. And so when I got her memoir “The Love Queen of Malabar” – by Merrily Weisbord, I dedicated four days of my life only to her.

When I turned the last page over, I had more questions than when I had four days ago. The memoir is Kamala Das’s emotions in raw blood. You can smell them. But you can’t name them.

A woman who called out to females of the world to fly out and see their hearts dance, meekly played the docile housewife, enduring an abusive marriage, calling it her “destiny”.

She’s a hypocrite, I scream.

I continue reading when she says, “I gave my dead body to him [husband] not my mind.” Then why didn’t she come out clean in her autobiography ? ‘My Story’ is anything but transparent. “To protect my children. They respect their father.”

She’s orthodox and timid, I scream.

That’s when I read her claim to have “unshackled” herself from orthodox, puritanical morality. She sanctions infidelity for women in loveless marriage. Yep, the jigsaw puzzle seems to fall in place. Her passionate love poems are a testimony to her relationships!

She was attempting to lead by example, I say.

But then she soon complains, “Talent is an abnormality, like a sixth finger”.  So what do readers decipher? She was abnormal? How can someone who published poems before age 15, who read the likes of Oscar Wilde in early teen be abnormal?

She lacks clarity, I fume.

She goes on to justify her sexual desires to that of Lord Krishna’s antics, and I’m rolling my eyes. “I traded sex for love,” she says and I’m holding the edge of the table.

She’s a pervert! I scream.

“In my culture women cannot admit that they enjoy sex,” she says and I feel she’s ordering me to shut up and stop blowing my top off.  “It’s the woman’s body, but the man’s bed, the man’s home. But I can’t do that, I want the bed to be mine,” she explains.

She, indeed, has a mind of her own! I nod.

How else can one define her religious conversion? In order to live with her lover, a person born into an ultra-orthodox Hindu family adopts the Muslim faith in her 60s calling the ire of her family and the community at large. And she names her conversion a “sexual awakening”. Now that sure demands some gumption!.

Hats off! Kamala Das, I salute.

But my jubilation does not last long. When she says, “I worshipped the men I fell in love with,” I close the book and try to recollect what I read in the early chapters. Yes, she did say “I hate sex”.

Then what was the awakening she felt when she converted causing religious riots in her home state and exposing her own life to unlawful fanatics by falling in love with a younger Muslim man?

She’s a liar, fucked up her own life, I resign.

When she fires a blatant salvo. “My writings are confessional.”

Oh my! This woman is taking readers for a ride! I scream.

But I soon see her apprehensions when she fears for her grandkids’ lives; her excitement of flying to Canada to meet her ‘sister’; the thrill she exudes talking to elderly women like girls understanding their puberty; the trepidation of making politically correct statements to protect herself from religious maniacs; her stark description of a widow’s voidness… “I am not a family property,” she says and adds that she has responsibility to her readers.

That’s a hallmark of a great writer! I acknowledge.

I confess a hundred times over because she excites and inspires readers – one and all. A lay person who just wants to frolic in ether on her words; or seekers who want to emulate her; or critics who are tasked with analyzing her words; or librarians who are duty bound to categorise and label her… she disappoints none.

But why did I read her memoir? No. I didn’t read. I grabbed and voraciously savoured it. Because I wanted to know her. Understand the person behind the artist. The soul behind the writer. Through her conversations with the author, she took me inside her. She guided me through to her darkest nooks…but alas! she left me stranded staring at her soul.

All I can say with conviction is she took each new incarnation to its outer limits. She disliked organised religion, even as she sung paeans to Lord Krishna. She hated sex even as she admitted she waited for more than six decades to know what a man’s touch is. She believed love is divine and should be practiced but adhered to social norms.

Kamala Das had conflicting loyalties.

Even when she gave the author permission to go ahead and write about her intimate and dark secrets initially, she contradicted in the presence of her brethren later.

Why? I scream. As if in answer, she says, “Life has been a game for me”.

She was cheated of a normal life. So she created a persona through whom she could celebrate life. “I detached myself from this body and watched this persona move towards this lover, observing myself in the role of a lover, the role of a woman loved , as though I was another person,’ she says.

That says it all, I assume.

When she says, “I am a remarkably successful fake”. “I want to tell them [readers] that I am a fraud”.

I can see her smile through the pages and even imagine her large eyes crinkle at me, when I’m reminded of her beautiful couplet…

I hide behind my dream/ Like a mountain does behind winter’s mist

Kamala Das experimented with life to write. So even as she strayed away from social norms of her times, she clung on to the defiant cultural bonds. And when her soul took wings she let it soar but camouflaged it in colourful hues.

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in

I saw the flesh and smelled your blood

I heard your cries and felt your breath

I stepped to touch and you pulled away

I saw you smile and guard your door

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in

I shut my eyes to capture those hues

But see colours different each time I try

What hues are those, I saw

When you took me in!