You Should Date a Girl Who Reads

"You should date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes." 

— Rosemarie Urquico

“For it is in giving that we receive.”― St. Francis of Assisi

This was the mid 90s. Dad was in Thiruvananthapuram on a work related trip and was staying with his sister and her family. Their mother, my grandmother was also living with Aunt Ratna at the time. Grand mom was well into her 80s and had retired from her worldly duties after many decades of legendary service to family, community and society. She now spent her time on spiritual pursuits and T.V. viewing. Both activities were equally close to her heart.

T.V. was a big part of her life. She would watch it for hours in a meditative state. None would dare disturb her when she was communing with the TV in this manner. This arrangement was agreeable to the family as it kept her out of their way and distracted her from unleashing her tantrums on hapless souls that crossed her path.

One evening Dad returned from work and was changing in his room when he noticed Grand mom    standing by the door. Her demeanor was changed. Her frame was small but she always exuded the confidence and authority of a matriarch. Even in her much advanced age she was capable of evoking fear and reverence in members of both family and community. But that day her body was bent, her eyes were downcast and looked swollen on closer examination. Dad was taken aback. Grand mom was not one to indulge in feminine frivolities such as shedding tears. He knew something had gone seriously wrong for her to be this emotionally distraught.

He asked her what the matter was. She entered the room and began to tell him the heartwrenching story of Janardhanan and Shivanandan . It went like this:

Janardhanan and Shivanandan were brothers. Janardhanan was older and they had a sister who was the youngest of the siblings. Misfortune and misery found them at a very young age. Janardhanan was still a wiry boy in half pants when both parents passed away, leaving him to care for his young siblings.As is often the case, when calamity struck the family, they found themselves completely alone. Relatives turned the other way and friends disappeared from their lives. Young Janardhanan swore to work himself to the ground to provide a decent life for his kin. Years passed and Janardhanan's sacrifice paid off. Both Shivanandan and the girl grew up as fine human beings. Shivanandan found a respectable job and the sister looked after home and hearth.

However, their happiness was short lived. Shivanandan came under the influence of bad elements and got himself into serious trouble. When Janardhanan intervened to correct his brother's ways, he turned against him. Janardhanan was heart broken on being scorned by his beloved younger brother.

This, however, was not the end of his woes. Their sister was diagnosed with a near fatal illness and was advised immediate surgery. The surgery would cost Rs. 50,000. Janardhanan had no means of raising this much money. For the sake of his sister, the self respecting man who never sought help from anyone even as an orphaned child, went knocking on the doors of relatives and acquaintances asking for help. They all turned him away.  He was completely crushed.

At this point in the story, Grand mom paused. Emotions overwhelmed her. She took a few moments to collect herself.

When she spoke again she said, "If I had the money, I would gladly give it to that poor boy. He has seen far too much misery in life. But I have no more than a few thousand. It wont help him.It will mean a lot to me if you can lend him the money. He is a good boy and deserves our help"

Dad was confused. He was unable to place the people his mother spoke of. He asked her who they were. She said, " You dont know them . They are good boys. So are you going to help them?"

Dad was perplexed. His mother was not the sort to be easily overcome by emotions. Obviously she cared deeply about these people and was touched by their plight. It struck him as strange that he had never heard of them.

He told her, he needed time to think, they could continue the conversation over dinner. She quietly turned and left the room. Dad went looking for his sister to find some answers. He found her in the kitchen preparing the night's dinner. He recounted what had transpired between him and grand mom. She was amused at Dad's obvious agitation. She smiled knowingly while Dad's confusion only grew. After a few moments she decided to give him some answers. She turned to him and said, " Dont worry abt it. She was watching a movie this afternoon. The people she is referring to are characters in the movie. You know how she thinks everything on TV is real. Since she saw the movie, she is hell bent on helping them out of their predicament". She rolled her eyes and went back to her chores.

The Mahatma

Dust rose above the ground as I dragged my feet on the narrow stretch of road. It was just past noon in hot, sultry Kerala during the hottest month of the year. The sun was directly over head and my fuzzy brain was conjuring images of the sun following me around, greedily drawing moisture from my body through the top of my head. My throat was parched and I could feel the onset of migraine and nausea. I raised my gaze on hearing the deep rumble of an approaching jeep. I continued walking on the empty road while my eyes took in the wild fauna that dotted the roadside.The plants wore a forlorn look. The harsh summer sun appeared to have an effect on them much like the one dementors have on magical folk and muggles alike. Even the green of their leaves was coated with dull red dust.  It was a testimony to the magnitude of my boredom that I trudged forward.

The roar of the jeep got louder as it approached. It was soon in my line of vision. It was one of those commercial vehicles that people from the village used to go to the nearest town. Public transport was highly unreliable. This was a cheap and swift mode of transport, hence popular. This particular specimen carried rowdy teenage boys hanging from its steel frame. Their banter was loud enough to wake retirees from their afternoon siesta as the jeep made its way around the village picking up commuters. I stepped aside to make way for the vehicle. I had been warned that the drivers had no qualms in razing folk to the ground.

 As the vehicle passed, the boys caught sight of me. Before I knew what was happening, the jeep came to a halt and the boys launched into a well practiced eve teasing routine. A combination of cat calls, whistling, vulgar songs, lewd comments and loud clapping was directed at me. I froze on the spot. I was all of  13 at the time and had never been objectified and humiliated in this manner. Lack of response on my part emboldened them. I wanted to turn into dust and blow away with the wind. Shame, humiliation and anger wrung my insides. Tears emerged from the ducts but I did not allow them to escape my eyes. I just stood there. My aunt heard the cacophony from the house which was only a few meters away. She came out on the road to find the cause of the commotion and witnessed this awful scene. She sprung into action instantly and shooed away the boys with the choicest expletives. She came rushing towards me and asked me if I was okay. I silently nodded in the affirmative. I knew that if I spoke, the tears would roll down my cheeks and I would break down. I did not want that. I did not want her to know how affected I was. She put her arms around me and walked me to the house.

I went straight to my room and plonked on the bed. I clutched a pillow in my arms and thought of my parents. I missed Amma. I was sent to Kerala to stay with my aunt and her family for the summer holidays. As I got older, my parents worried that I would lose touch with my roots and no longer relate  to the extended family. Ergo, come summer holidays I was packed off to this village with barely any electricity and the most rudimentary amenities. Noisy chicken in the backyard were the only dependable source of entertainment.

I was restless and desperately needed something to take my mind off the horrid incident. I went up to the book shelf and picked up the only English language book there, "My Experiements with Truth", MK Gandhi's autobiography. I went out to the porch and settled down with the book. My grand mother was sitting in her usual spot as was her custom at that time of day. She looked at me intently. I looked away. The last thing I needed was to be subject to questioning about my sullen demeanor. I hid my face behind the book and started reading. About half an hour passed in silence. Grandmom interrupted the peace with a query, " Are you reading a book about Mahatma Gandhi?"

Here I must mention that she did not know to read or write. She was over 80 years of age at the time and had never been to school. However, she valued education immensely. I was one of her favourite grandchildren simply by virtue of my love for books. She always encouraged me and I knew that she wished, she could contribute to my education in some way.

She figured I was reading about Gandhi from his picture on the cover. I lowered the book, nodded my assent and then continued to read.

" He was a great man", my grand mom said.

I put the book down.

"Yes, he was"

"Did i ever tell you, he once walked by our house with hundreds of people following him during that famous march of his?

"Really? You never mentioned. That is fascinating."

"Yes he did. I saw him with my own eyes from our verandah. He was a great man. Things have only gone downhill since he passed away"

"Yeah I guess"

"Salt was so cheap when he was alive. It is so expensive now"

"Huh? How has his death affected the price of salt?"

"Child, manufacture and sale of salt was his primary activity. Didn't you know that? Nonsense book you are reading."

My jaw dropped. I stared at her without blinking for a few moments. I tried to gauge if she was joking. She was not.

I picked up the book. Hid my face behind it and smiled for the first time that day. My grand mom's innocence had washed away the bitterness in my heart.


 

Deception

A call on his hand phone distracted him from the loud cackle of his friends. His eyes automatically scanned the display flashing the number. It was her. He had promised to return her call when she had called earlier in the day.  But he was caught up in work and then his colleagues/friends coaxed him into getting a drink at the neighbourhood watering hole. It had been a long hard day with screaming clients and impossible deadlines. He could use a drink.

Once he was two drinks down, his body and mind began to unwind. Sometimes nothing helps one de-stress more than mindless banter with random friends. The phone stopped ringing in time. He was mildly relieved and focused his attention on the guy talk. He ordered another drink. His phone came back to life, this time with an SMS. It was a message from her, "Babe, please call me. I don't feel good". He felt a slight pang.

She was feeling low, the past couple of days. He had been meaning to have a long chat with her, cheer her up, the way only he could. Tell her that he loved her. That always made her feel better.

He really did love her. He felt about her in a way that even he couldn't understand. She had saved his life.

His treacherous mind sucked him into that time in his past that he tried to get away from each day. A little over a year ago his life had crashed around him,he was boxed in from every direction. It seemed like redemption was impossible. He even considered ending it all. 

At the time, she had pulled him out of a black hole each day, brushed him down and given him the hope and courage he needed to see through the day. The next day, she did it all over again. She healed him with love, faith and hope till one day he was ready to come back to life. He was indebted to her.

Brij nudged him back to the present. He shook his head to get rid of the painful memories. Shrikant was in the middle of joke about a new female colleague who had lately been the prime victim of his humour. The group guffawed at the inappropriate joke. He smiled feebly. His thoughts went back to her. He knew, he really should call her right away. She needed him. Her never ending family problems had taken a heavy toll on her lately. He was the only one she could really talk to. He was the only one who could give her the comfort she desperately needed. 

He just didn't feel up to it. He was mentally exhausted, tired of dealing with life's problems. God knows he had more than enough of his own. For now, he just wanted to down a few drinks, enjoy his temporary state of numbness. The last thing he wanted was to hear her crib and complain for an hour and then use every last bit of energy left in him to console and comfort her. Damn! Why couldn't he live a carefree life for a day, away from all this bull shit.

His thoughts were interrupted when his phone started ringing. It was her. He panicked. It was not like her to call again unless it was a matter of dire urgency. He picked up the phone and stepped out, found a quiet corner and took the call. " Hey Baby", he said in a conciliatory tone. From the other end, he heard the sound of her crying. She could barely breathe. She must have been crying for a while. "I've been trying to get in touch with you the entire day, you didn't take my calls. I even sent an SMS. You know I don't bother you this way unless it is important. Why are you ignoring me Shiv?", she managed to blurt out in between sobs. His heart began to pound hard. What was he supposed to tell her? He couldn't possibly tell her that he just didn't feel like talking to her that day. It would break her heart. He was seriously stuck. She was patiently waiting for a response. He knew he was running out of time. Even before the idea had taken solid shape in his head, he heard these words fall out of his mouth, " I am so sorry love, You wont believe it if I told you... the kind of day I've had. It was terrible". "Tell me", She said. His instinct told him to really sell it, he just had to get back in the safe zone with her. 

"Do your remember Sid from my office? You met him at the office party."

"Yes, of course. Nice chap. What about him?"

"Babe, he met with an accident on his way to work today. Its pretty bad. I am still in the hospital. So I could not speak to you when you called"

"Oh Shiv! That's terrible. I am so sorry. Damn it! I should have known you had a very good reason for disappearing like this. And here I was working myself up, thinking you are insensitive and callous. I hate myself sometimes. Am so sorry baby..."

"Don't beat yourself up. You didn't know"

"I won't keep you any longer. Hope Sid will be okay"

"Okay babe. I'll call you as soon as I can".

He hung up .He leaned on a wall, closed his eyes and held his phone to his chest. He waited for it to sink in. What had just happened? Did he just tell her a terrible lie? Did the lies really roll off his tongue that easy?

He looked around for some place to sit. He was consumed with guilt. He was unable to make sense of his own actions. Why the hell did he lie in the first place? She was the most understanding person he knew. If he had just been honest with her and told her he had a rough day at work and needed some to unwind before he spoke to her, she would have totally understood. She had always given him enough and more space. She loved him and accepted him just the way he was, a little rough around the edges. She knew he could he insensitive at times and she always understood. Why did he lie to the woman he loved? What was wrong with him? He ran his hand over his hair and shut his eyes tight. Even then tears threatened to break lose. Somewhere in his core he knew why he did what he did. He liked the easy way out. So much easier to just lie and make an unpleasant situation go away than under go the discomfort of confrontation. He was a jerk sometimes. It was as simple as that.

On the other side of town she was lying in bed clutching the pillow under her head. Tears rolled down and disappeared into the pillow leaving an expanding moist circle. Her insides hurt as she shook with grief. She wanted to disappear into his strong arms. She wanted to hear him whisper in his soothing voice that he will heal her of this pain. She rolled over, wiped her tears and pushed these thoughts out her head. He would have been with her, if he could. He was with someone who needed him much more.
She hoped, Sid was okay.

Eat Pray Love

"A friend took me to the most amazing place the other day. It's called the Augusteum. Octavian Augustus built it to house his remains. When the barbarians came they trashed it along with everything else. The great Augustus, Rome's first true great emperor. How could he have imagined that Rome, the whole world as far as he was concerned, would be in ruins. It's one of the quietest, loneliest places in Rome. The city has grown up around it over the centuries. It feels like a precious wound, a heartbreak you won't let go of because it hurts too good. We all want things to stay the same. Settle for living in misery because we're afraid of change, of things crumbling to ruins. Then I looked around at this place, at the chaos it has endured - the way it has been burned, pillaged and found a way to build itself back up again. And I was reassured. Maybe my life hasn't been so chaotic, it's just the world that is, and the real trap is getting attached to any of it. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation."

It's Gonna be a Happy Birthday!

Birthdays have always been a big deal with me. As a kid when the rest of the world celebrated to welcome a new year on 31st December, I would be thrilled to bits for another reason entirely. For me, it meant the beginning of January, the month of my birthday.

I remember January being the happiest month of the year for me, each year, without fail. I would wake up each morning with a big smile on my face, a smile that came straight from the heart. Each day brought me close to that magical day of my birth- The 19th of Jan. My mum added to the aura of January by claiming that the month is always lucky for Dad. I was quick to believe this. I am his lucky charm after all :-)

Needless to say a big celebration was a given. I would spend the days leading up to the big day buying clothes, shoes and other accessories. A guest list would be drawn up. The same would be discussed and debated with close friends. Food, beverage, decoration and of course the cake would be carefully chosen.

I remember those parties. I was a princess hosting her ball. Full of moments of unbridled happiness. As I grew, the nature of the celebration changed. But first my parents then N always made sure that my special day was extra special.

This year is a little different.

My parents have been travelling for 3 weeks. They left Appu, the house and the company in my care. I promised to hold fort while they were away. All I asked for in return was they be back before the 19th so I can be free of my responsibilities and can enjoy my birthday. They promised. N offered to take me on any holiday I desired as a birthday gift. I wanted to spend the day at a beautiful beach resort. Feel the sand beneath my feet, wind in my hair etc. I was looking forward to the perfect holiday.

This morning I found out that they will not make it in time. I felt my heart sink. For the first time in my life, my birthday will be an ordinary day. I will take care of mundane chores, go to work, deal with the same things and then the day will end. Just like any other day.

I was angry, hurt. Of all people my parents know how much this means to me. I had no words.

I sat curled up in bed feeling every negative emotion in the book. I wanted to call mum and give her an earful. How could they be so callous with my feelings for their selfish reasons?

Some instinct stopped me. I took a deep breath. Clarity came rushing in. My head was suddenly filled with so many reasons to be grateful. I realized that I was being brat. That I get away with it simply because the people in my life are too indulgent.

I thought I should list out some of those reasons to be grateful, so I can go through them whenever ‘The Brat’ resurfaces. Here goes:

1. I have never been raped. I’ve recently realized that this is something to be really grateful for. Infact I’ve never been the victim of any hate crime.

2. My parents have never verbally or physically abused me.

3. My parents did not sell me or send me off to make a living as a child

4. My parents loved me, nurtured me and provided me with a safe environment.

5. My husband has never verbally or physically abused me.

6. My husband does not think a wife equals free maid servant/sex slave.

7. I have an education.

8. I work outside of home and I am financially independent.

9. I have opinions and I express them without fear.

There are more reasons why I am lucky. More reasons than I can count. But just these few that I take for granted every day make me one of the luckiest women in the country.

Women in this country are denied basic human rights and dignity every minute of every day. They are crushed physically, mentally, sexually and spiritually. Being used and discarded is a daily reality for so many women. In this country, even today, women are not considered human beings who deserve to be treated with compassion and respect.

This year on my birthday, I will send out a silent prayer that some woman, somewhere is released from her private hell.

And yes, I will remember to be grateful.