Rootless

Born in Atlanta —
To a Swedish mother
And a Welsh father.

Started speaking when in Moscow,
Set little steps in Morroco.

Landed in an Irish high-school,
Passed an English junior-high.

Built an American corporate,
Lived with a Canadian model —

Married to a Mex dancer,
Fathered a confused offspring —
And died rootless — the nomad.

rootless


My response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge. I didn’t want to go with anything serious, and so I came up with this little poem-story of a nomad to add to my collection of Flash Fiction. Also it’s National Blog Posting Month – #Day27

Money Matters

festival of darkness

“We’re using last year’s left overs.”

“Left overs!” Prem snorted, “At least my kids are luckier than yours! They wanted crackers for 2000 and I got them for 3000 rupees! Besides, It’s just one day.”


“Sir?”

The trash collector had come for his festive bonus. Prem groaned as he rummaged in his wallet. He peeled out a few notes, picked the oldest looking 20 rupee, and handed it to the shabby man.

He left, crestfallen.

“Maybe you should have given him more,” his wife suggested.

“Salary’s a few weeks away, why waste the money?”


October 22nd was Deepawali/Diwali here in India, and fire crackers are a major part of the expenses. This is another story for my Flash Fiction collection, based on what I’d like to call The Festival of Darkness.

The Ultimate Race

On your marks, get set, go! Arms flailing, the girls rush forward. The stronger of the two wins. Naturally. The children clap and cheer, the teachers smile their appreciation. The girl who has won laughs happily and runs back in triumph. I look at the girl who has lost. In her eyes, I see shame, I see fear, I see despair. Shame at not being able to win. fear of what others are thinking, despair at not knowing what to do next. I see a soul that is slowly being bruised and brutalised by comparison. Something within her has withered. I want to tell her that she is beautiful and sensitive, that this race doesn’t matter, that it’s just a silly system that grown-ups invented for their own selfish reasons. I want to give her something to make her feel better. In my hand, I have an orange, Impulsively, I reach forward, take the hand of this child and put the orange into it. ‘Take this’, I say to her. ‘It’s for coming second.’

— Excerpt from “Ramblings on a beach” by Kabir Bedi

rabbit 2

Oh, isn’t the world drunk on competition!

Everyone wants to outdo each other. Run, run, life is a race. The only purpose is to win the rat race. We’re so high on the thought that we easily fail to recognize the little things that we lose, merely by winning a good-for-nothing rat race.

How many poeple have we hurt, how many people we’ve made feel small. We’ve crushed too many souls. We’ve lost friends, family, health and joy. It’s all our obsessive need to belong, to be on top, to succeed. The need to override others, to control, to influence, to manipulate, to exploit.

What’s the point? What do we gain by walking over the very things that matter the most to us?

But hey, we’ve won the race! And now we’re alone.

The Indian Father

Every fathers’ day, you’ll see posts on Facebook saying how great a dad is. It’s no big deal; it’s just one day. Some people don’t mind just clicking the like button and moving on.

But I do.

Every time I come across a post like that, I feel annoyed. I don’t have any foreign friends, so here’s what my Indian friends post:

father and daughter

The capitalized ‘K’ and the simplified ‘p’ will vary, but — you get the idea. I take one look at these posts, and I’m like, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Is that supposed to impress your father? I know it won’t impress my father and lot others’ too — from what I’ve seen.

Here’s how a typical Indian, or rather South Indian father would react: “What do you mean ‘I will find my prince?’ Does that mean that the right to choose a good man to take care of you doesn’t rest with us anymore?” — Fathers’ diction sounds awfully funny in a blog post, but that’s how they say it. Particularly when it comes to ‘lifelong commitment.’

OK, I’m no princess, so I’ll leave the prince and king alone. Let’s talk normal daughter’s life and arguments with her father. Here’s a regular day’s conversation.

When I want to go out with my friends, I have two options:

  • Not tell my father, and feel guilty.
  • Get his permission and go happily.

Yes, I have to ask him. Even though I’m twenty, my parents are responsible for me until I get married, after which the husband will take over the position. (I know, what a whole load of crap!)

So, here’s me asking for permission.

“Pa, I want to go out with my friends.”

He’ll look up at me, real slow. Our eyes meet. He heaves a sigh, (nope. Not exaggerating) and then asks, “Do you really, absolutely, have to go? Besides, can’t you go on another day? It’s already late…”

By the time he finishes, he thinks that he’s convinced me not to go. And unless you want a big row and a lot of racket that’s bound to wake your neighbours, who will later advise you on how wrong it is to go out with friends after 5, you’d rather cancel the plan. Or just your plan; your friends will still go without you. Never mind that they lied to their parents, never mind that their parents are miraculously not like yours. You’re just not going.

It’s your life. Deal with it.

Here’s the hardest part: you can’t completely blame the fathers. Being a father of a girl isn’t easy. Not in a place like India. You have to take a lot of bullshit, and it’s hard not to conform to society.

Here, we still have a society that considers a girl child as a pain. No, they love to have a daughter. Most people even keep their girl babies nowadays; killing is slowly being forgotten. You’ll even see cases where parents hope for a girl child.

But girls are also an added responsibility. According to our society, a girl brings out the best in a father. He’ll take on responsibilities, and try to prove the differences between a father and a dad.

All these are just what the society expects of a man when he becomes a girl’s father.

The father doesn’t ask for these expectations. Neither does the daughter. But everyone expects that, because that’s what real gentlemen do. They pamper their daughters and help them in life. It starts with homework, goes on to the subject she chooses in high school, and finally ends with the person she marries. That’s how a father should act.

Society laughs at any father who lets his daughter experiment in life, or something like this: “How can you let your daughter go trekking alone with her friends? There’ll be boys, how can you be sure she’s safe?”

That’s enough for anyone to panic, and my father is a simple man. So wherever I go, he needs me to call him back once I’ve safely locked myself inside the house.

Safety is a big issue, and it isn’t just in fathers’ heads. It’s in the news as well. Girls abducted, harassed and raped randomly, throughout the country. No place is safe. Not Delhi, not Bangalore, not Chennai. If metropolitan cities are bad, then there’s no asking what’s going on in small towns and villages.

That’s why fathers are so overprotective. And it just breaches the father-daughter relationship. Any daughter will be disappointed with her father when he deprives her the freedom she deserves. Being a girl, and knowing the outside world isn’t safe enough, is just depressing.

So a father’s next best option would be to get her married off as soon as possible. As much painful as it is, fathers and society look at it as a way of ‘ridding the responsibility of taking care of a girl.’

Society to the aid. Again! “How much dowry can you afford for your daughter?”

Oh yeah, because sending a girl over to your house to serve your family is just isn’t good enough as gold.

A lot of fathers just convince themselves against the dowry argument. “It’s our tradition. Don’t think of it as dowry, think of it as a contingency plan. Your daughter can use this money when she urgently needs it.”

Poor fathers. They just give in to society’s pressures, and end up a disappointment, even to the daughters they gave up so much for.


Any non-Indian fathers out there? Tell us how life’s like for you. I’m curious.

Why I’m no Planner

If you’re anything like me, you hate planning. You’re not good at it. None of your feeble attempts at planning ever worked, and you’re hanging in the brink of giving up.

Sounds familiar? You’re a lot like me.

Whatever I do, I do. Just dive headfirst into it. Yes, I’ve got hurt a lot of times, but I’ve learnt a lot too. But somehow, I never learnt to plan ahead, and it’s not something I plan on doing.

diving headfirst

And by planning, I don’t mean the big stuff. I do that. It’s planning the small, everyday stuff, that puts me off.

Why should we plan anyway? If it’s a trip, I pack my bag the previous night, or rather, I hastily stuff my bag with the necessities before my father sees my packing and planning. Thing is, my father is a huge planner. He needs to know where we’re going, how we’re getting there, and what exactly we’re going to do when we get there.

Sometimes, it’s acceptable. But mostly, I just get annoyed.

Where’s the fun? Oh yes, at the park at 4.00pm, as planned.

I’m definitely not that person. I mean, we can always figure it out on the way, right?

I walk out of the office and onto the street before I check whether I have money for public transport. If I do I take the share auto, otherwise I just walk. It’s that simple. It’s the same with my meals. I don’t care what I eat, until I have to eat. I don’t care about what I’m going to wear to that wedding I might be attending in 3 months’ time. But no, when I told my mother that I might go, she started worrying about what I’d wear. It doesn’t matter. At least not for now.

There’s a kind of unknown beauty in uncertainty. I like embracing it. Not just for the reasons Lifehack expert Kayla says, but also because there’s no point in thinking we’ve got it all covered. Because truth is, we haven’t, and never will.