The bright yellow saree with flowery pattern clings to her tall slender body, almost exposing her to the imaginative eyes. She wears it, the saree, with grace – her walk measured, her stance determined. Her lips are wide; her smile big – like a Bollywood movie actress, only less assuming. She speaks with politeness, yet determination of a teacher. Her animated hand gestures and a fair complexion can mislead you to think that she could be Italian. Her attire, the controlled manners, and the lowered eyes give away the secret however, that she is Indian. As she walks from guests to guests, she leaves behind a trace of French perfume; she leave behind many turned heads.. Saying just that she is pretty does not do a complete justice.
On her right shoulder she has a flower tattoo – not a real tattoo, no! Her mother would not allow that. It is a kind of tattoo that some kids and teenagers make out of sticky and shiny glitters. She is no teenager, not by any measures except some traces of childish youth left in her heart. She has her own kids aged 3 and 6, a boy and a girl, left for the evening at her mother’s house.
It is a January, a winter weekend. They are gathered for a social evening at her friend house, a mansion actually. The big house stands on the outskirts of Surrey, British Columbia. The sunlight from the west filters through the huge windows accenting the silky curtains that seem to never end, not even when they touch the marble tiles of matching color. Read the rest of this entry »
Archive for category Short Story
The fading hue
Feb 1
The Madman
Jan 22
‘The Madman’ by Kahlil Gibran (Khalil Gibran):
You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen,—the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives,—I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.”
Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.
And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.” Read the rest of this entry »
Misplaced Nostalgia
Dec 9
He was twenty-eight when he left India. Since he was a little kid, he always wanted to go abroad, just like every other kid in his town.
The culture, the people, the society, and the way everybody was …… everything was different, very different. The life in California was not what he had imagined, but he adapted.
It was a big adjustment over the years, many compromises at every turn. In spite of all that, he did not complain much; after all this was his own decision – going abroad.
All those days, all those years in America, he felt homesick; he missed the life he had left behind. The childhood memories, the old friends, the open fields – he often day-dreamed the life that used to be. At times, he felt empty inside. He wished he could go back; go back to his real home, his real life.
The recession came; he lost his job – the high paying engineering job he had taken for granted. He looked for another job, half-heartedly; no luck. Perhaps he was secretly wishing not to work in US anymore.
“May be this is a sign from the God! My be I belongs back home – in India,” he thought, he rationalized. “My own people, my own culture, my own skin tone, my own mother tongue – that is my place; that is where I should be!” The recession made it easier for him to decide – it was time for him to go back. It was time to cure his nostalgia permanently. Read the rest of this entry »
Baby Shoes by Hemingway
Nov 28
“For sale: baby shoes, never used.”
Perhaps written to settle a bar bet or perhaps written as a challenge, it is said that Ernest Hemingway wrote this ‘short short story’. Only 6 words long, the story has a beginning, a middle and an end. These are thought provoking 6 words forming a story-line. Read the rest of this entry »
Just a job
Nov 23
He checked his Gmail account again. There were a few more responses to his online resume submissions, basically acknowledging the receipt of the job applications and a promise that ‘your resume is on file for future openings’. He has been getting these meaningless replies for the last one year, since he arrived in USA.
Back home in India, everyone had told him that it was very easy to get an engineering job in America. “You can make lots of money in a few years”, His future father-in-law told him at the time of his engagement 3 years ago. A year after that, he was married to Anu.
He had big dream; after all, nobody dreams small. Once in US, he was greeted by his wife and her family and they welcome him into their home. His old classmates, now living within driving distance, came to visit him.
He was treated like a guest for many months. However, he soon realized, you cannot be a guest for too long. He had to figure out the next step – the job. With all the expenses and cost of living, he needed a job soon. His parents and siblings back home were already calling to check on him; to see when he might send them some money like every other NRI does.
He was very optimistic about his career in USA, so was the rest of his American family – his in-laws. Just like any typical Indian family, everybody was full of advice:
“You can easily find an Engineering job in your field.. no problem for a smart guy like you…”
“There is no shortage of work for Indian Engineers…this is just the fact…”
“You will find something – something good, very soon….”
After a few months, the tone of the advice changed:
“You just need to try a bit harder, maybe try something in lower pay scale to gain some experience…”
“Find a way to get your foot in the door…”
“My cousin started as a technician; now he is the director of engineering…but they are not hiring…”
“You cannot give up…We never give up…”
“You will find something – may be not that good but something… something good….”
The time went by; ‘something good’ was still illusive after a full year of job hunt. Anu was very understanding all along. She had told him that it would not be easy, but he never thought it would be a slow torture like that.
Then the pessimism kicked in… the justification from every side, from everyone:
“Economy is bad…it is not your fault”
“There are no good jobs in this economy…”
“May be you can try something part time…”
“Have you thought about trying something different?…”
“You can work at McDonald’s for now….”
“just start with something, it is ‘just a job’ after all!….”
Yes, there was no shortage of advice and guidance……. Read the rest of this entry »
911 – The Emergency Call
Nov 16
The firm knock on the door made her jump. Even though she was expecting this knock, the police arrived much faster than she had imagined.
She looked at her husband; he was pacing nervously in the far corner of the living room. They exchanged a brief glance – both of them nervous, beyond nervous.
The officer knocked again, this time much harder. Unwillingly, she walked to the door and turned the knob without making a noise.
A tall RCMP officer in full uniform was standing at the door, with his hand cautiously placed on the gun holster.
“Mrs. Sharma?” The officer inquired.
“Yes… Yes!” She said twice; her voice just barely louder than a whisper.
The officer peeked inside the house before actually stepping in. He spotted her husband standing motionless in the far end of the living room.
“Ma’am, I am Officer Wilson; we are responding to the 911 call….the emergency call” He said; he turned his head and looked around the house, inspecting the premises while still standing at the door.
She did not say anything in response.
“Is that your husband? Mr. Sharma?” He looked at her husband with a piercing gaze.
She just nodded, without saying anything again.
“Anybody else in the house? Any kids?”
“No,… my son…. is at school right now.” She responded quickly this time .
“Mr. Sharma, have a seat if you want, I will be with you shortly. “ He said to the husband as he walked towards the door.
“Ma’am, can I talk to you outside?” It was more of an order and she obliged, stepping outside the door. She noticed another officer standing just outside the door – a female office that walked over to her as soon as she stepped out.
“Mrs. Sharma!” Officer Wilson paused, “We are responded to your emergency call.”
She did not say anything in return.
“Ma’am, what happened?” He asked, this time very affirmatively, almost demanding.
“We just had an argument…”
“And..?”
“We just had a fight!”
“Did he hit you?”
“…umm… No”
“Ma’am, I am Officer Lee. We have a reason to believe that your husband hit you. That is what you reported on the phone!” This time, the female officer asked as the male officer stepped back.
She did not say anything in response.
“You don’t need to be scared Mrs. Sharma! The law is on your side. Just tell us, so we can help you!” The female officer said in a consoling tone. Read the rest of this entry »
Her first job in America
Oct 31
Hira Patel almost jumped out of his large wooden chair as the phone rang.
“Hello” he reached over and answered in his pronounced Indian accent. The warm air from the small electric heater had made him sleepy; he did not realize he was dozing off.
“Hello Patel Ji, This is Rajiv;.. Rajiv Desai!”
“Oh, hi!” Hira said, trying to control a yawn.
“I was going to stop by this morning….if that’s okay with you.”
“Are you going to bring the girl with you?” He asked right away.
There was some silence at the other end, “ I was not planning on it!”
“Okay, come on over, we can talk!”
He got out of the chair, almost dragging himself out slowly. His dark brown shirt was tucked into khaki rumpled pants over his protruding belly. The receding hairline made him look much older than his age.
He looked out of the window into the deserted parking lot. Then, checked the coffee level in the coffee pot and walked back to the chair and yawned. Slowly leaning back, he slumped back into the chair.
“It is so chilly outside, and it is not even December yet!” Rajiv said as he pushed open the door and walked in.
“Yes, the winter is coming! How are you, Desai Sahib?”
“I am good, not bad. How is the business?”
“Slow, very slow! Nobody is spending like good old days!”
Hira pointed his hand to the empty wooden chair that Rajiv was already walking towards.
“Do you want some coffee? It is freshly made.”
“No, no!” Rajiv looked at the big coffee pot in the corner, with white plastic cups and a sugar jar sitting next to it.
“My wife said she saw you this week-end!” Rajiv asked, while rubbing his cold hands.
“Yes, I ran into her at the temple!”
“So, you already have met Henna then!”
“Yes, she was there with your wife, on Sunday!”
“yes, she is slowly adapting to this country.”
“Your wife said that she wanted pursue studies!”
“You mean Henna? Yes, she does; but who can afford the tuition in this economy!”
“A lovely young woman. There is something about Gujrati girls, natural beauty!” Hira said admiringly.
“No doubt! Natural beauty!” Rajiv agreed after a very brief pause.
Then, there was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Rajiv tried to drag his chair towards Hira, making a screeching sound in the process! The heavy chair moved only by a few inches.
“So what do you think? Did you give any thought to our discussion from last week?”
“Yes, I have!” Hira replied in a firm tone.
Rajiv waited for Hira to continue, but there was a long pause.
Hira spoke,finally, “Well, she can come over this week-end and I can train her! She needs to learn the American ways, you know! I think she has not left your house since she came from India, so this is going to be a big change!”
“I know, this is not easy for me either. My wife does not even know about it!” Read the rest of this entry »
The Tea Time
Oct 19
“Would you like something to drink, sir?” the flight attendant asked with a polite yet firm voice.
“Some tea please,” he replied in a monotonous voice.
“Ice tea or hot tea?”
“Oh, I mean hot tea.”
“Do you want anything in it – Milk or sugar?” The attendant inquired again as she poured the tea from a steel jug into a paper cup.
“Both – milk and sugar…”
“Is half-and-half okay?”
“No, I want only a little bit milk in my tea…”
She handed him two tiny sealed cups of creamer, with label- ‘Mini Moo’s, half-&-half’.
“Oh, that’s what you meant by ‘half and half’…!” Before he could finish his sentence, she had already moved on to the next row of passengers.
After deboarding the plane, the passengers collected their luggage and lined up in the ‘Immigration and Customs’ section. Upon his turn, he was interviewed by an immigration officer, who asked him all kinds of questions.
“When were you married?” The officer asked without looking at him.
“Two years ago.”
“How long your spouse stayed with you in India?” His eyes glued to the computer screen as he continued the inquiry.
“Two week.”
“Is she the one sponsoring you?”
“Yes…sir”
“When was the last time she visited you?”
“Last year”…..
Finally, after a few more questions, he got ushered to a small cubicle where a white female officer with short red hair greeted him
“Welcome to Canada!” She said with a smile, shaking his hand and offering him a seat.
She told him about different facilities available for the new immigrants; she explained the job search options and how to apply for Social Insurance Number, and so on…
Finally he was guided to gather his luggage and follow the ‘Exit’ signs.
His wife greeted him with a big hug and a bouquet of multi-color roses as he came out of the immigration area. She was wearing red top and tight fitted light blue jeans.
“How was your flight?” Her voice was quite pitchy with excitement.
“It was okay,… long!”
“Finally! You are here!!”
He smiled as he looked around half nervous and half excited.
“I am parked outside.” she said in a hurried voice. He started to push the luggage cart, following her to the parking lot.
The whole things felt like a dream to him, a slow surreal experience. For the first time after a long time, he felt as if he had no control over the situation. For the last two days, he was like a piece of chess being moved from place to place, every move logical yet he could not grasp the full picture. The whole thing was overwhelming.
She hopped in the diver seat and told him to fasten his seat belt. Leaving the parking lot, they got on a highway.
“How far is Burlington?”
“Not far, about 30 minutes”
Driving down the highway, the surroundings looked so different to him, as if a fast moving scene in a computer game. The cars were flying down in a choreographed fashion, each one within its own lane and no one honking the horns. The roadside greenery was picture perfect, as if some artist had painted the nature with different shades of green.
“It is so green everywhere!” he tried to make a small talk, while she was fiddling with the satellite radio.
“What do you mean?”
“It looks so pretty!”
“Yeah!” she kept changing the stations and finally settled on Adele’s ‘Rollin in the deep..’.
“It is very different!”
“I hope different ‘good’!” she said with a smirk.
He smiled and leaned back into the passenger seat. Read the rest of this entry »
Her social drinking troubles
Sep 23
Her parents drove for two hours to reach Surrey, B.C. They had to be there on this Saturday afternoon, they did not have a choice. They were worried about their beloved daughter, Anita.
The previous week they had received a disturbing call from Rani, Anita’s mother-in-law.
“I am not sure how to tell you this, but I have to; the neighbors are starting to talk!” She told Anita’s mother, Meena.
“I don’t understand, what happened?” Meena asked; her voice barely audible.
“Can you come over this week-end? Then we can talk,” Rani said after a pause.
With shaking hands, Meena put down the phone and slumped in the sofa.
“What’s going on?” Meena called Anita within minutes, the suspense was killing her.
“Hi mom, how are you?” Anita was caught off guard.
Her mom was quiet on the other end of the line.
I don’t know what you talking about, mom,” Anita added.
“Rani just called me.”
“I don’t know what the big deal is about. Everything is okay mom!” Anita said.
“You tell me now, or I am coming there tonight!”
“You can drive for two hours and come over mom, we are ordering Pizza today!” She giggled, trying to lighten up the conversation.
“Don’t change the subject!” Her mom was serious.
“Nothing, mom. Nothing is going on!”
“Okay, give the phone to Jas, let me ask him!”
“He is not home mom!”
“So?”
“Okay, umm…..they are saying that I drink!”
There was a long silence. Anita could hear her mother mumbling some prayer on the other side of the phone.
“You okay, mom?”
“Do you…?”
“No mom, I don’t drink. Only, sometimes with friends; you know – socially.”
There was another long pause.
“Wait till your dad finds out. You will be sorry!”
“Mom, I am married now, with kids!”
“You still have to respect your family and the culture!”
“Don’t get me started with the double standards, mom!” Read the rest of this entry »
19:19 Me
Are u okay if I use this ‘chat’ for a blog post…a post on ‘Some Indians abroad dating whites only’ ?
19:19 Neelam
No, not really! Plz!
19:20 Me
my loss 
19:20 Neelam
haha….sorry
19:21 Me
19:21 Neelam
may be..you can change the name and place…a little
19:21 Me
I should do that.
Why though?
19:22 Neelam
haha I don’t need publicity..or hate mails…lol
19:22 Me
okay cool, thanks
19:23 Neelam
haha np
…………
“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” said Shakespeare.
A friendly warning: take this post with a grain of salt, if you get indigestion from racial mix and deviations from the social norms. 
Well, looks like you decided to read on! The ‘chat’ above is the ending portion of the conversation below.
Now, what the heck am I talking about?
Luckily or unluckily, I ran into someone online, someone who is a part of this ummm … trend! This ‘chat’ on the social network site is a quick glimpse into the psyche of the new desi generation abroad.
The ‘chat’ spans over multiple sessions, you may notice from the time-stamps. The mundane conversation started something like this:
15:19 Neelam
hi
15:20 Me
Hello Neelam, how r u?
15:20 Neelam
haha gud, n u? Read the rest of this entry »
Loud music, louder conversations, noisy kids running all over – it is a complete chaos. It seems like everybody is lost in the moment. Older ladies are sitting together next to the kitchen, sorting out the sweets and chit-chatting; the older men are sitting nearby – having their own small-talk and sipping on tea.
The younger generation is all mingled up. Some are bare feet, and some are testing their newly bought shoes on the dance floor in the basement, with Kesha’s ‘Tick Tock’ song blaring loud. Every now and then, a car pulls up to the front of the house with neatly trimmed landscape, dropping off new guests.
Tomorrow is a big day for the Gill family. Their only son Babbu is getting married. By the time the sun touched the western horizon, the house is all packed full. The guests from as far as India, London and Vancouver have flown in, all excited for the special day.
Their house in Brampton is a short drive from the Toronto airport. Raj – Babbu’s cousin, has been to the airport three times already, picking up the relatives as they arrive. He is most excited about the fourth trip, however. He is going to receive his three cousins from England, whom he has not seen for a long time.
Around 8PM, a black stretched limousine pulls to the front of the house. It is part of the last minute planned party for the groom and his passé. One last night, he is going to enjoy his single life before being shackled down into the married life. The limo driver steps outside the driver seat; polishes the already clean windshield with black cloth, like a ritual. Then he lights up a cigarette, while some of the elders watch him with a look of disapproval.
The groom and his passé of five friends and cousins finally start to get inside the limo. In the mean time, Raj also comes back from the airport, speeding all the way to the driveway; his three cousins jump out of of his car in no time. Everybody, including those inside the limo, rush over to greet them. There are hugs, there are hi-fives; there is loud laughter. After a quick exchange of greetings, Babbu and his passé run back to the limo; Raj and the three well-dress cousins with British accent follow them.
Finally, a little bit after 9PM, the limo drives off for a night-out on the town. All of them, ten of them all together, are bubbling with excitement.
“Can you take us to the liquor store, please”, someone shouts at the limo driver.
“Okay boss”, the limo driver shouts back.
“Where are we going”, asks Bobby, one of the cousins from England.
“Downtown”, many of them respond back, one after another.
“Downtown where?”….
Everybody tries to speak louder than the rest, as if fighting to have their say. The limo get to the liquor store. Raju and Babbu jump out, followed by everybody else. No one wants to be left behind, it seems.
“Get some Black Label.”
“We need beer”
“Something for shots.”
“Sambuca” … Read the rest of this entry »
After-school daycare
Jul 9
The daycare facility closes at 6PM. It was already 5:20PM, and the traffic is stop-and-go. His GPS navigation system estimated ‘the destination arrival time’ of 5:40.
“I will make it”, he said out loud, to himself.
“Come on, keep moving! My daughter is waiting for me!” As if the cars in front of him could hear him.
He had recently read somewhere that speaking English more often helps with improving the English accent. Instead of Hindi, he now tries to speak English as much as he can, even when he is alone.
“I don’t wanna go to the daycare after school”, she had told her mom again last night.
“We will pick you up soon after you get there. I promise.” Mom tried convincing her.
“I don’t like it there.”
“I am sure you will make new friends.”
“I already made two new friends – Hailey and Shira,” she said in a less complaining, and more of a bragging tone.
“See, I told you! Now get some sleep.”
“Goodnight mom. Love you.”
“Goodnight Isha, love you too.” Read the rest of this entry »
“Hi dad, I am home from school!” She shouted, entering her house.
“Very good! How was your day? You look tired!” He lowered the TV volume to almost mute.
“It was okay. I still don’t like America!” She said, putting her heavy school bag against the sofa.
“It’s normal Riya! Did you make any new friends?”
“Not really, all the white kids call me ‘the Indian girl’” She slumped into the sofa, next to her dad.
“That’s because they are not used to it” He said encouragingly.
“I love ‘American History’ class though. The teacher was so happy with me!” Her tone was happy again. Read the rest of this entry »
She waited in the line for 30 minutes before the Brampton Employment Resource Centre opened. Once inside, there was more wait. She sat in a chair waiting for her turn while people around her chatted.
She thought she was a people-person, but everything around her seemed to annoy her that day. She was tired of fruitless job search.
The place was crowded. There were all kinds of people around her. Two women sat in the front row, giggling and filling up an application. A group of middle aged men were standing nearby, with construction workers’ shoes on, as if ready to start some construction job right away. A young mother sat next to her, with infant toying with the milk bottle.
“They did not have any openings last week”, the young mother said, trying to make a small talk, and then added quickly, “Hi, my name is Kari!”
“Hi, I am Jassi.”
“So you are local?” Kari asked, while trying to control the little one who wanted to wander away from her arms.
“Sort of, but I have been in Canada only for two months.”
“There are no jobs in accounting in Brampton area!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the advisor showed me some openings in the food industry last week, but I don’t want to be waitress; I need a real job!” Kari kept going; expressing her frustrations with the job search.
“I know how you feel”, Jassi said quietly. Kari most likely did not hear her, as she did not respond. Or, she didn’t want to talk about her feelings.
“This sucks man,” the guy with construction worker shoes said, as he waked away from the counter. He obviously did not like the news, whatever the lady at the counter said.
“It was nice to meet you, I have to go,” Jassi said.
“Why? Don’t you want to meet the adviser; your turn should be coming up in 10-15 minutes?” Jassi had already walked out, even before Kari could finish her sentence. Read the rest of this entry »
Welcome to America
Mar 25
Husband’s third day in US.
“Slept well, finally”, he yawned.
“Good. I heated water in the microwave, for tea”, wife said.
“I like pan made tea, don’t you?”
“Yeah, may be later; can you help me with washing these dishes please.”
He hesitated, then walked over to the microwave slowly, “let me have tea first.” Read the rest of this entry »
