“Ashima. The seat belt. That’s good. Hungry? ”
“No.”
“Is Gauri coming over tonight to stay with us?”
“No.”
“How was your day? ”
“Okay.”
“So, what’s the plan for tonight”
“Nothing”
“Interested in playing a game of chess, before we hit the bed?”
“No”My heart knew, how much I dreaded these single word responses. Indicators of an approaching outburst. Ashima, by no means, is a girl of few words. Through the years, I had assessed, that at a frequency level of a fortnight, I had no choice but to face this storm. Knowing this pattern of her behaviour, had helped me prepare myself, to handle them a lot better. What is life, but a discovery of all individuals we come across and discovery of one’s own self. I was discovering her more and more as time passed by, and in the process, discovering myself too.

“Sheila! Shielaaaaaaa!! Where are you?”
“Yes Madam.”
“Sheila, how many times, I have asked you to keep the volume of the television low? And what about dinner? Have you started the preparations? Again you will start late. Make me wait. Make Ashima wait. And then Ashima will sleep hungry. And what about the dusting? I didn’t tell you anything, when you didn’t do it yesterday. But, everyday .. every god damn day, can I just keep ignoring your careless behavior? Do some justice to the fat sum that you draw from me every month! For Godsake, atleast do that.”
In all these years, Sheila has patiently been my punching bag, on all such evenings where I was expecting Ashima to explode. Somehow it prepared me to face all her questions. The same questions. The same agony. Questions from my heart - in Ashima’s voice. Somehow, it just helped me to stay calm through the entire process of facing her grief. My grief.

Single Motherhood. It was not easy then. It is not easy now. But, had I raised my hands in prayer, and asked for a rosy life, I would complain. I had raised my hands in prayer, for a rose. Ashima. She was my rose. A rose which bloomed and bloomed every single day. My rose, who added fragrance to my life every single day. Every single day, from the day I was a single mother, till today. I lived for her and I knew, she lived for me.


Having dinner with Ashima today, I gauged she seemed to be a bit too preoccupied with herself. What was it that was nagging her mind…..my mind. Her answers to me had been nothing more of the monosyllables. Had something happened in school???? Had she fought again with Shubhash her class mate, best friend in school. I usually disregarded her usual rantings from school about her fights as a friendly banter. But today she seemed to be a little too preoccupied. I felt a sudden impulse to call up Gauri, her friend from school to check what happened but then dismissed it off as being silly and me being paranoid about it.


“I am in the forest running, gasping for breath. I can hear footsteps right behind me….did they see me….oh God, No…I cannot let myself to be seen if I have to escape from here…from hell….”

I get up with a start, the time is only 2 am. Was that a dream or was I reliving those horrors again. I get up to quench my thirst and peek into Ashima’s room. She is sleeping peacefully; I look into her innocent face, tears rolling down my face.

Takes me back to my childhood. My father, though we were a girl’s brigade, a firebrand of five, never thought of us any less than boys. I was the youngest and possibly with the most rebellious streak….Was this characteristic in me that made me rebel against my family to take up a profession of journalism that took me to the treacherous hinterland in Central India, Bundela known for its crime rates. A land of mafias, guerillas, adivasis…… and a non existant police force only there to dance to the tunes of the mafias and politicians.

My life had always been a bed of roses, loving parents & sisters, friends, boyfriends, fiancé……. Why is it even now after almost 15 years from that horrific night, I still find myself abandoned even in the crowd. Was it my mistake......that I reached out…..

I only have Ashima now…..and some questions to be answered….her questions to me, my questions to the world…..when will we get the answers?????

Answers are seldom given they are found. Ira, my counselor tells me that. I have come to believe in it. Ira feels that Ashima is now ready to know and over the past few sessions we have been discussing on how I should cope with the situation.


Life had completed many circles and now I wielded enough power as the Cheif Editor of a popular news daily but I remember the days of being completely helpless, depressed. Ira knew the vulnerable side to me, sometimes I wondered if she knew too much.

At morning I hardly felt rested. It was a lazy spread of toast and tea at breakfast on Sunday. Sheila had taken off to her village.

Ashima walked up to me and asked me in her rebellion tone “Can we talk about your past Mom?” I had sensed it coming. I mustered up courage and said yes. She was shocked; she was used to hearing a no and the ensuing debate. My consent left her unsure of whether she was indeed ready to listen.

I chose my words carefully not letting my voice quiver I began “I was engaged to your father when I was posted in Bundela. I was second in lead author for a cover story on the brewing mafia-political nexus. It was an assignment which the irked the high and the mighty. We were warned of trouble. I protested against security. We stayed at the post master’s guest house near the jungle, unmanned. They came for us that night. With one blow they killed my colleague, and I ran out into the wilderness. I struggled and escaped but not before being hit brutally and suffering humiliation. They spared me because I was a woman, they jeered at my fear. After weeks of being under medical care I was discharged, but the post traumatic stress had left me numb. The only miracle was that you had survived. Your father was brave but not brave enough. Yet you had survived. I knew the road ahead was not easy and I would have to struggle to give you a normal life. But you had survived….”



“and that was the most important thing for me. It was a miracle. That day I resolved that you are a fighter and I will ensure that you get a life that you deserve. Still till date, my dreams don’t let me sleep peacefully. I always knew I was answerable to you still I couldn’t gather the courage to face you. I knew you would have hundreds of questions. But today, I have revealed everything to you. There hasn’t been even a single day when I haven’t been sad or haven’t cried. I dreaded this confrontation. Every day I used to go to bed resolving that tomorrow I would tell you everything…but that tomorrow never came until today. I know it’s difficult for you to grasp this truth… but you survived that day, 15 yrs ago and I am sure, you would survive this truth as well.”


This 15 minutes speech of her mom, changed Ashima’s life completely. She became relieved that she knew the answers of the questions which bothered her for so long. Every time anyone used to ask her about her dad, she used to bow her head down in embarrassment. But now, she can face any question, head on. She still had a lot of questions, but didn’t have the courage to ask her mom. She was feeling guilty that she had hurt her mom. She resolved within herself never ever to ask any questions pertaining to this topic going forward. The respect for her mother grew immensely.

But little did Ashima realize that what she knew as her mother’s background, was far from the truth!!

Three years later, Ashima was now 18. She was about to enter the main gate when…

The curtain falls…
The script concludes with an Echo………..
“The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.”
“This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”



That was the upcoming script from KAASA (Khushboo/ Arpita/ Aparna/ Shaonli/ Archana) group.

Chatters around. Discussions. Inputs. Ideas.
Suddenly chuckles heard in the lobby. The very talented gang had heaved a sigh of relief. Things went as per their plan..
“Ashima and Gauri could find each other to share the rest of the life, ever after..” ( Giggles from the gang )
“ Really…. So should we elaborate more there??” ( and more giggles )
“No No… Mother’s truth… unrevealed… sensational drama… mother lied to daughter.. Gauri was her real daughter.. Umm.. they got exchanged in the hospital… nah nah.. add some Ekta Kapoor masala yaar….. !” ( Laughter outburst)

“ Girls… get serious sometime atleast! We have just another 10 days to go, and we have only released the first script. We have two more scripts to go. The lesbian story would sell, but may not win you the contest. And then writing the story – will that be enough? While all the characters have rehearsed well for the first script, the second and third part would need equal attention. And then of course.. we will need few new characters. And you know how…….”

“Ya Ya, Yes sweetie, we know it all.. Chill maar… I know, amongst all of us, you are the one who really wants this whole thing to be a grand success. After all, that’s the way to go, for a career in theatre, that has been your passion for long now. The whole university knows it by now. We all know you have worked hard for it, since 3 long years.. and we all are with you.. But right now, we are all going to get ready to go to Jimmy’s!! yipeeeeeeeee… to celebrate the completion of Script 1!! Hip Hip Hurray!! Hip Hip Hurray!! And Hip Hip…. Hurraaayyyy!!”

And the gang of girls, headed for the Jimmy’s restaurant.. for the pastas and pastries that they always relished. It was actually neither the pastas nor the pastries. The fun of being together. The fun of doing nonsense. The fun of life. And the fun of being in a restaurant right opposite the boys hostel that used to keep calling them back to Jimmy’s for their small and big celebrations. And why not. Hard work deserves a minimum of this reward. After 3 sleepless nights, and more than two weeks of continuous efforts.. their story was actually shaping.. and people who read the first script, and saw the first rehearsal, were honestly not disappointed.

( Aparna to continue…)



All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Continuation

The curtain falls…
The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.”
Oh.. You still didn’t get that… That was the upcoming script from KAASA (Khushboo/ Arpita/ Aparna/ Shaonli/ Archana) group. The script concludes with a happy ending. “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” Ashima and Gouri could find each other to share the rest of the life, ever after.. Till the Script-2 comes.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

“Ashima. The seat belt. That’s good. Hungry? ”
“No.”
“Is Gauri coming over tonight to stay with us?”
“No.”
“How was your day? ”
“Okay.”
“So, what’s the plan for tonight”
“Nothing”
“Interested in playing a game of chess, before we hit the bed?”
“No”My heart knew, how much I dreaded these single word responses. Indicators of an approaching outburst. Ashima, by no means, is a girl of few words. Through the years, I had assessed, that at a frequency level of a fortnight, I had no choice but to face this storm. Knowing this pattern of her behaviour, had helped me prepare myself, to handle them a lot better. What is life, but a discovery of all individuals we come across and discovery of one’s own self. I was discovering her more and more as time passed by, and in the process, discovering myself too.

“Sheila! Shielaaaaaaa!! Where are you?”
“Yes Madam.”
“Sheila, how many times, I have asked you to keep the volume of the television low? And what about dinner? Have you started the preparations? Again you will start late. Make me wait. Make Ashima wait. And then Ashima will sleep hungry. And what about the dusting? I didn’t tell you anything, when you didn’t do it yesterday. But, everyday .. every god damn day, can I just keep ignoring your careless behavior? Do some justice to the fat sum that you draw from me every month! For Godsake, atleast do that.”
In all these years, Sheila has patiently been my punching bag, on all such evenings where I was expecting Ashima to explode. Somehow it prepared me to face all her questions. The same questions. The same agony. Questions from my heart - in Ashima’s voice. Somehow, it just helped me to stay calm through the entire process of facing her grief. My grief.

Single Motherhood. It was not easy then. It is not easy now. But, had I raised my hands in prayer, and asked for a rosy life, I would complain. I had raised my hands in prayer, for a rose. Ashima. She was my rose. A rose which bloomed and bloomed every single day. My rose, who added fragrance to my life every single day. Every single day, from the day I was a single mother, till today. I lived for her and I knew, she lived for me.

** Tagged to Shaonli for continuation...**

Having dinner with Ashima today, I gauged she seemed to be a bit too preoccupied with herself. What was it that was nagging her mind…..my mind. Her answers to me had been nothing more of the monosyllables. Had something happened in school???? Had she fought again with Shubhash her class mate, best friend in school. I usually disregarded her usual rantings from school about her fights as a friendly banter. But today she seemed to be a little too preoccupied. I felt a sudden impulse to call up Gauri, her friend from school to check what happened but then dismissed it off as being silly and me being paranoid about it.


“I am in the forest running, gasping for breath. I can hear footsteps right behind me….did they see me….oh God, No…I cannot let myself to be seen if I have to escape from here…from hell….”

I get up with a start, the time is only 2 am. Was that a dream or was I reliving those horrors again. I get up to quench my thirst and peek into Ashima’s room. She is sleeping peacefully; I look into her innocent face, tears rolling down my face.

Takes me back to my childhood. My father, though we were a girl’s brigade, a firebrand of five, never thought of us any less than boys. I was the youngest and possibly with the most rebellious streak….Was this characteristic in me that made me rebel against my family to take up a profession of journalism that took me to the treacherous hinterland in Central India, Bundela known for its crime rates. A land of mafias, guerillas, adivasis…… and a non existant police force only there to dance to the tunes of the mafias and politicians.

My life had always been a bed of roses, loving parents & sisters, friends, boyfriends, fiancé……. Why is it even now after almost 15 years from that horrific night, I still find myself abandoned even in the crowd. Was it my mistake......that I reached out…..

I only have Ashima now…..and some questions to be answered….her questions to me, my questions to the world…..when will we get the answers?????

!!Tagged to Aparna for continuation!!

Answers are seldom given they are found. Ira, my counselor tells me that. I have come to believe in it. Ira feels that Ashima is now ready to know and over the past few sessions we have been discussing on how I should cope with the situation.


Life had completed many circles and now I wielded enough power as the Cheif Editor of a popular news daily but I remember the days of being completely helpless, depressed. Ira knew the vulnerable side to me, sometimes I wondered if she knew too much.

At morning I hardly felt rested. It was a lazy spread of toast and tea at breakfast on Sunday. Sheila had taken off to her village.

Ashima walked up to me and asked me in her rebellion tone “Can we talk about your past Mom?” I had sensed it coming. I mustered up courage and said yes. She was shocked; she was used to hearing a no and the ensuing debate. My consent left her unsure of whether she was indeed ready to listen.

I chose my words carefully not letting my voice quiver I began “I was engaged to your father when I was posted in Bundela. I was second in lead author for a cover story on the brewing mafia-political nexus. It was an assignment which the irked the high and the mighty. We were warned of trouble. I protested against security. We stayed at the post master’s guest house near the jungle, unmanned. They came for us that night. With one blow they killed my colleague, and I ran out into the wilderness. I struggled and escaped but not before being hit brutally and suffering humiliation. They spared me because I was a woman, they jeered at my fear. After weeks of being under medical care I was discharged, but the post traumatic stress had left me numb. The only miracle was that you had survived. Your father was brave but not brave enough. Yet you had survived. I knew the road ahead was not easy and I would have to struggle to give you a normal life. But you had survived….”

!!Tagged to Arpita for continuation!!

“and that was the most important thing for me. It was a miracle. That day I resolved that you are a fighter and I will ensure that you get a life that you deserve. Still till date, my dreams don’t let me sleep peacefully. I always knew I was answerable to you still I couldn’t gather the courage to face you. I knew you would have hundreds of questions. But today, I have revealed everything to you. There hasn’t been even a single day when I haven’t been sad or haven’t cried. I dreaded this confrontation. Every day I used to go to bed resolving that tomorrow I would tell you everything…but that tomorrow never came until today. I know it’s difficult for you to grasp this truth… but you survived that day, 15 yrs ago and I am sure, you would survive this truth as well.”


This 15 minutes speech of her mom, changed Ashima’s life completely. She became relieved that she knew the answers of the questions which bothered her for so long. Every time anyone used to ask her about her dad, she used to bow her head down in embarrassment. But now, she can face any question, head on. She still had a lot of questions, but didn’t have the courage to ask her mom. She was feeling guilty that she had hurt her mom. She resolved within herself never ever to ask any questions pertaining to this topic going forward. The respect for her mother grew immensely.

But little did Ashima realize that what she knew as her mother’s background, was far from the truth!!

Three years later, Ashima was now 18. She was about to enter the main gate when…

!!Tagged to Archana for continuation!!