Mishka and Nemo

 Mishka was always the slow one. Her sister Nemo was the first one to climb the stairs but Mishka took her time to learn things.  It’s been few weeks that I have returned back home to Andaman, watching Mishka and Nemo play together was my favorite way to spend time.

Today Mishka passed away. She was only few months old. The kid in my neighborhood says she got hit by a car last night. I cried when i saw her sprawled by the side of our garage. Death generally never makes me cry. 

The relationship between dogs and my family is complicated. We have stray dogs who prefer to stay around our house, they have free will to go anywhere but most of the time they choose to stay in front of our house and bark at people who tries to enter the gate. In every few months, mostly when I am in England, my mother would call me to let me know if anyone of them has had babies.  Not all the babies survive more than few days.  Those who do are lucky, like Mishka and Nemo.

A couple of days before my sister offered to take Nemo off our hands. But I refused because I didn’t want Mishka to grow up alone. Now that Mishka is gone, I don’t know what to do. My mother suggested that we can still give Nemo to my sister.

It’s hard to let go of Nemo. But it’s harder to see her without Mishka. I wonder if Nemo misses her like I do.  Perhaps it’s best for Nemo to go to my sisters. I want Nemo to live and I am scared if she stays here with me, one night she will go out on the street and end up like Mishka.

Nemo has always been the clever one. But I have to think of her well-being. I guess this time it’s best to let go. If they still want her, I’ll let her go.

I have no pictures of Mishka (she was a black puppy with brown patches around her eyes and nose , Nemo is light brown puppy), this blogpost is the only way to keep her memories alive. She will not be forgotten like others who passed away. She was not a pet but she was definitely not a stray. 

PS - Boori is Mishka and Nemo's mother. I have mentioned them here. Bella is no more with us. 

Lips Of Steel

They say her heart is like still water, you can see the reflection of beauty or beast. 

But the best thing about her is her lips, a pair of sharp blades,  every word she says will tear you apart.

She’ll sell pieces of your heart in the name of honesty while you bow your head and stand half-hearted full of shame.

Don’t go running when the truth overpowers your ego. The truth is, little ego is a necessity.

Resolution

I don’t need to look behind my back before I shout from the mountain top

I don’t need to dust the dirt off the road I choose to walk on

You have tainted the sound of being

I’ll still find courage to rejoice. 

Sorry, you are too Andamani for me - The Sequel

Andaman is like mini India. We have people from all over India living here. Everyone knows someone who comes from another religion or state. There are locals, like my family, who moved to Andaman from mainland India long ago (pre-1942) and then there are settlers.

Tonight my family was invited for a dinner in a non-Andamani house, in a very Andamani street. When I say Andamani street, I mean you can smell the cow dung and the ocean all at the same time.  I have already described a typical Andamani house but this house is different. This is a house with sculptures of beautiful women and what looked like a cupid. The house was built on the graveyard of money, for crying out loud there was a waterfall in the living room! This beautiful piece of architecture was built by a local, now rented by settlers, both parties happen to be our family friends.

Just after few minutes of entering the house, men deserted us to meet their lady of the night – alcohol. And we females had to make our piece with fruit juice, sausages and salami (sausages and salami is not very Andamani but we were in navy house, that means unlimited supply of imported goods).  I’m pretty sure all the ladies in the house have had a few drinks in their life but tonight we were good Indian women who can only watch men getting drunk and loose and then moan about it. The thing that annoyed me the most was that we were not even given an option of an alcoholic drink, not even an elegant glass of wine? It was either mixed fruit juice, lychee juice or orange juice.

There were 4 kids running around creating mayhem which saved us from a lot of awkward silence hovering in the air. Food obviously was the reason we all were there. Let me tell you, this is an unspoken law of Andaman, or maybe even the whole of India, when it comes to food the host must be persistent and the guest must be resistant. We all obeyed the law.  As a guest, if you had one serving of food, you win but if the host has managed to feed you three servings then you lose. Two servings is a tie I guess.

At the dinner table our hostess told us stories of her home in mainland India. She told us how women were only responsible for kitchen and men controlled everything else. She mentioned that she was taken aback when she learned how liberal my family was. And then she said something that I thought was very contradicting; she said she believed that men and women must be equal and everything must be 50-50 between them.

Here I am, sitting with the woman who believes in equality between men and women and yet there is nothing that is happening in the dinner party that seemed to follow the same notion of gender equality. All I saw was the typical men drinking at some corner and women making small talk and watching over the kids. These are the so called ‘modern’ people, young settlers who can save Andaman from its monotonous life.  I expected everyone to sit together and have a mature conversation but of course I am shooting for the stars here.

I guess there are some things that will never happen in Andaman, like I will never be able to have a cigarette outside my room because good girls don’t smoke, they probably don’t even know what it is…is it the white thing hanging from their fathers mouth?

Or maybe I am being pessimistic; it takes a while to grow into another lifestyle.  Maybe being modern (the term itself is very controversial in India, but that’ll take another post to explain) in Andaman is like buying a fancy car, it looks pretty…but you can’t drive it in the rocky roads of Andaman. 

Click here for the original Sorry, you are too Andamani for me. 

Death Sentence

Our heads always have been on the chopping block. If you hate me because of my colour or my faith you can sentence me to death .

I have a problem, I can't think right. I have made many kids cry for help. Maybe it's fair for you to close all the windows and let no light come in. Don't I deserve to breathe the same air of sanity like you do?
But my hands were made to be marked and my face to be painted black.

I see you chose to stand on the other side of the road, wearing the robes of a saint, then why do you carry a knife in your hand? Your hands are drenched with the blood of a sinner, it is just as red as mine. But I am the one who is suppose to die.

Brother, my death is your death, my life is your life.

Plastic Flowers

If I sell your favorite shiny black boots to the wrath of drought, will it wither under the stare of the sun? The stories from city can save your throat for only so long. Past week or past life, your memories will betray you.

Instead I'll cover you with fluorescent lights, the moon will abandon you. If you love the cold metal monster breathing down your neck I'll let the ocean breeze know you don't miss it anymore . Concrete walls and graying streets, green fields of plastic creates such beauty that the softness of  leaves is too insignificant to be felt again.

I'll give you everything outside so you'll never have to look inside again.

Diamonds

I was born on a sacrificial stone.

They chanted through the night till the last strip of grey was painted red.When I woke up from my slumber, I had another name. 

The only one familiar is the one I can't see, the one I can't touch. Why do I bring bear this burden of knowing? All it's ever done is made me seem aloof.

But every time I find a diamond under it's black veil, it gives me hope and I pray for strength to carry on. It's something about your beautiful eyes, when it smiles with joy, I feel closer to home.

Everyday Miracles

I ask myself everyday, why do i play this game? Is it even worth winning when there is so much to lose?

Sometimes I like to watch people on the street, to be a witness of their existence and still be invisible. Like i am the smallest thing in the world, a fleeting moment, a curious glance, a question waiting to be answered or an answer searching for a question.

And then the big bad monster goes away because I am too small to be found, to insignificant to be around.
I don't know you and you don't know me. But somehow we are here together, if that is not a miracle, then what is?