Reflections

AuthorHouse

Contents

Preface..................................ixPart 1...................................3Part 2...................................6Part 3...................................9Part 4...................................13Part 5...................................18Part 6...................................21Part 7...................................24Part 8...................................26Part 9...................................29Part 10..................................32Part 11..................................36Part 12..................................39Part 13..................................44Part 14..................................55Part 15..................................59Part 16..................................64Part 17..................................68Part 18..................................70Part 19..................................74Part 20..................................78Part 21..................................81Part 22..................................84Part 23..................................88Part 24..................................91Part 25..................................94Part 26..................................97Part 27..................................99Part 28..................................102Part 29..................................105Part 30..................................108Part 31..................................111Part 32..................................114Part 33..................................119

Chapter One

W hen I think about my life's story, I often wonder when I should begin and when I should end.

I thought I was great company for others and used to steal the show whenever I wanted. Things were never difficult for me. Talking to strangers never made me nervous, and I made friends very easily. Life was nothing but fun.

My mimicry skills and clownish attitude won me many friends. I was a popular girl in my high school, because I was given numerous awards and honors for my participation in extracurricular activities. I also scored good marks in almost all subjects (except math).

Love for me was a very "filmy" thing. I thought the concept of love only suited Bollywood movies and nothing like "true love" existed in the real world. According to me, people who had premarital romantic affiliations were bad students and very bad sons and daughters. I thought they betrayed their parents every now and then for their own selfish, personal reasons, which were very difficult for me to comprehend at that particular time. I was merely in ninth grade, and that's what love meant for me.

It was when those green eyes entered my life in a very remarkable and dramatic manner, my attitude about love changed. It was the first ever school trip we had. It was enough to excite me that we would be visiting Rajasthan in India, "the land of the kings." We packed our bags and rushed to the railway station. I was so very unlike my friends, who were more excited about guys going along with us than visiting Rajasthan.

It was at the beautiful hill station called Mount Abu where I felt a shiver throughout my body and realized that something unusual was happening to me. I saw those beautiful, mysterious green eyes staring at me through a layer of amazing strands of hair running over the forehead and conveniently ending just on the level of those green eyes. That added even more mystery to the gazing pair. I was fantastically thrilled but shooed away the feeling as a negative one and tried to concentrate on the monuments and their history. I was even taking notes on what our guide was describing about the splendid Dilwara Jain Temples.

Whenever I noticed those intriguing green eyes, they pierced a part of me. The real shock as well as surprise (till then) of my life was yet to arrive. The next evening, we were scheduled to visit Sunset Point in Mount Abu. I felt the intense romance in the ambience captivating me. I was surprisingly searching for those green eyes. The thought of it was making me uncomfortable. I was so unsure about myself for the first time in my life.

Then, I noticed, by choice, of course, that amazing pair gazing at me so vividly. It seemed to me as an X-ray machine, though it wasn't intended to be that way. I found myself mesmerized by the sight of the sun setting so beautifully down the hills, playing hide and seek with the clouds and gradually disappearing. And I was even more spellbound with him staring at me with such amazingly high levels of interest. All through our exchange of stares I forgot to hang around by my other classmates and my teachers, and I even lost track of time. He was looking at me endlessly and finally smiled. It was then that I noticed a handsome strand of hair falling over on the right half of his forehead again and again and being blown away by the breeze repeatedly. Oh! I so much hated the breeze by then, I swear. The reason behind that hatred was not clear to me though.

Chapter Two

Both of us were left alone (I said alone, as I wasn't even aware of his name till that moment). I saw him advancing towards me with a very cute smile, and it was becoming wider and wider as the distance between us was becoming less. It was giving me the best goose bumps I ever had. He came up to me and with a crisp sense of confidence introduced himself to me as he pushed out his right hand toward me with an obvious intent of a handshake.

My right hand just didn't listen to me and poured out against all my coy wishes and shook. Yes! It shook me from within. I noticed that his face had other features as well, like those beautiful luscious lips, that very much proportionate nose, not to mention that perfect pair of green eyes, which definitely, precisely gave my feelings the name of love. I was very sure then that it was nothing but love.

"Rahul," he said. "Hi! I am Rahul. Can we be friends?"

My orthodox Indian heart thumped even harder than 282 beats per minute. Each beat wanted to say, "Yes!" but somehow my lips didn't support me, and I answered in the form of a question. "Why?" I asked.

He tried to explain his point of view as to why friendship was an integral part of life. He said, "You are one of the most popular and charming girls of the school. You are a class apart when it comes to debates, poetry recitations, and dramatics."

Oh, man! I was so happy. I realized I had grown up to accept complements from guys, blush severely at the same time, and feel glad deep down inside.

A smile flashed on my seemingly frowning face. Rahul reciprocated with a smile. We again shook hands and realized that we were lost. It was very dark by that time, and I was as scared as hell. I prayed with all my soul, as it was anything but my idea of a perfect vacation to be lost somewhere in the hills of Mount Abu. I was in the midst of a thought hurricane when I heard a very shrilly voice screaming my name. I turned back and saw my teachers. Their faces were flaunting a strange expression of relief and anger.

Mrs. Khajuria asked, "Yashi! What are you doing here? Where were you? And you ... What's your name? ... Rahul. What are both of you doing here exactly? Please explain."

I became extremely nervous and answered, "Ma'am, I lost direction, and Rahul noticed me going the wrong way. So he followed me to bring me back. We were on our way back already. I am sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am." The statement I made was enough to bring a pat on Rahul's back. He became so elated after that, earning a friend and a pat within a matter of twenty minutes.

We climbed the bus steps only to encounter the interrogative eyes of all our friends. They were so inquisitive about why we were late.

My best friend Alka would just not leave me alone that day, if I didn't reenact every moment of that beautiful first meeting.

Our remaining trip passed on with all the glitz and glamour of the first love. Those ten days and ten nights transformed me completely. I felt like a woman, so complete in most of the respects.

Chapter Three

My routine involving schools and studies resumed. Memories would never fade away. The first chirps of the love birds were heard by all my friends. Everything was the same except my heart, which transitioned from its orthodox form to a novel, in love, delicate one. I started believing that not all lies are bad and wrong. I used to visit Rahul's home during my after school private coaching timings. It was so much fun and a thrill skipping classes to be with him. Once I went to his home to study. He wanted me to give a nickname to him, and he would do the same for me. The condition attached was that it would not be shared with even our best friends. I told him to initiate this naming ceremony. (I found it a little stupid.) He told me since he thought my lips were the best in the world, he would name me Lips. I felt awkward at first, but it was gradually sinking in that maybe guys were like that.

Then it was my turn. Spontaneously, I replied, "Mahtaab."

He asked, "Mahtaab?! What does that mean?"

I answered, "Mahtaab means moon, Stupid."

He said, "Mahtaab is a beautiful name but why did you relate it to me darling?" To this day, I don't know why at all I named him that.

Life moved on, and our semester grades were out. My grades went down as the hormones grew. I was certainly maturing. With Rahul around, the natural process of the biological growth saw another perspective. It was somewhere around the winter of that year I totally grew up. I realized how different I was from Rahul. I was so disgraced for going through the pain of reaching puberty, which was only the beginning for any woman. At the same time, I was so jealous of Rahul.

"Why me?" was the question I asked over and over again. After a day of leave from school and certain Hindu rituals, my mom told me that now I had to be even more cautious from boys. She didn't tell me the exact reason, and I didn't ask. It was enough embarrassment for me for one day already.

The phone rang at about six thirty that night. It was my friend Alka. She wanted to know why I hadn't been at school that day. She had the right to inquire, as she was my best friend. She also did not hesitate to convey Rahul's message for me stating, "He missed you a lot today."

"I missed him as well," I told her.

Alka was a very positive, intelligent, and eloquent female. We competed against each other in school debates and loved to lose from each other. We shared almost all our secrets, and silly girl talks were a part of our daily hour-long conversations. I still remember all the anger of the world clubbed up in my dad's wrinkled and experienced face whenever he saw me on the phone. To him, teeny talks were a sheer waste (both in terms of money and time).

Today, I understand what hard-earned money means and how painful it is for the parents to watch their kids waste it. Rahul's dad also shared my dad's views, but his mom was a lot more liberal than my mom. One fine evening, his mom caught us talking on the phone. She picked up the extension connecting the same telephone line. There he was, as usual, praising my lips and telling me how desperately he wanted to feel them. I was reluctant about it then like most of the shy girls would be. It had been almost a year since we began dating. (Our first anniversary was approaching, and we were making big plans for that.)

Bang! I heard a door open at the other end of the phone line, and Rahul probably hid the receiver under his quilt but I was able to understand the conversation of my man with his mom.

"Who was that, Beta?" his mom demanded to know.

"Who, Mom?! What are you talking about?"

"'Your luscious lips.' Who is it?" she asked again.

"Oh, man! How ... how d-d-do y-you know this?" Rahul stuttered.

"I heard your conversation, Darling, and I completely understand that you are lonely in your life as I could not give you a brother or a sister. I wish that you would begin treating me as a friend from now on, as I didn't even realize that you have grown up to admire girls and even have a girlfriend."

Then there was a long pause.

"Excuse me, Mom! Please don't call her my girlfriend. It is and indecent word for the lovely relationship we share. She is my life," Rahul said.

I had tears of happiness touching my eyelids by that time. I felt the love taking away all the fears in him.

"Rahul! What is her name?" his mother asked.

"Yashi! Yashi is the name, Mom," he answered.

"I wish to meet her real soon, Beta."

I heard a million church bells ringing in my head.

Chapter Four

Rahul disconnected the phone and called me later that night. He asked me if I could talk. Since my big brother was around, I told him that I would see him the next day, and I hung up. I remember staring at the walls the entire night and not being able to sleep at all. For the first time in my life, I was unsure of how I would react when I saw him. After the morning assembly, we went on to attend our first class on the English language. I couldn't concentrate on the stupid story of some guy called Babuli and his brothers. Mrs. Surinder could see my lack of mental presence in the class and objected to the same. I somehow did not bother and was continuously gazing at the clock for the bell to ring so that we could all proceed for the PE period where we could be tortured by our sports teacher, Mr. KK, whom our seniors called Kukkad for reasons unknown to us.

I said tortured, because he made us run in the hottest of the days for half an hour nonstop. If we halted, he yelled at us like an army commanders would at his troops. Many girls fainted in the process every week, but it didn't bother him at all. After that sweaty run, we were given half an hour to gossip and chitchat. That was the part I was actually looking forward to that day. I had to speak to Rahul about the last night's conversation.

His mom wanted to see me ASAP. She and his dad were unaware that I had visited their home in their absence. Rahul's dad, being a doctor, was out of the house most of the time. His mom was very much involved in her social life. Kitty parties and card clubs were eminent parts of her routine. Her Kitty parties meant a private evening date for both of us in his home. Kitty parties are a very popular way that Indian housewives socialize. The ladies pool in some money and play poker. He asked me to meet his mom the following day. I was nervous and scared. Being in love teaches you how to have a perfect blend of emotions most of the time. Butterflies in my stomach gradually increased their size to that of the eagles. I asked Rahul what I should be wear for the occasion, which was going to change my life forever.

He suggested that I wear a salwar kameez for the subsequent evening, but I protested. I was a tomboy famous for never wearing a traditional outfit—not that I had something against it, but I was not very comfortable carrying it. Moreover, at that time, I did not possess any Indian suits. Finally, it was decided that I would be wearing a decent top and a pair of denims. I clearly remember that skin-tight, stretchable jeans were popular in those days, and Rahul made me wear funny looking, baggy jeans, because he didn't want any tight pants on me for the big day.

The next evening finally arrived. I cycled on my magenta-colored Miss India bicycle to his house. The basket in front of the bike carried a bouquet for his mom that I had handcrafted myself.

I was very scared, because I thought I would not know what to say if she scolded us for not focusing on our studies. Some cells in my body were elated, because I realized that from that day onward, our relationship might turn formal. I rang the doorbell and set my blunt cut hair right for about what seemed like the millionth time.

There he was, looking at me from the corner of his eyes and opened the main door for me. He was one chivalrous guy who would hold it open until I enteredthe drawing room. He told me to be comfortable and made me sit on the sofa. I realized I was almost shivering in nervousness. Then his mom entered carrying a tray full of snacks and Pepsi. I stood up, and my hands automatically folded as a mark of respect.

"Namaste! Beta, ji. How are you doing?" she said to me.

I noticed a hint of stammer in my voice when I answered her. "I am very fine, Aunty. How are you?"

She said, "I am fine, Darling! Please help yourself with the snacks."

The phone rang, and Aunty excused herself to receive it. Rahul judged that I was not very comfortable and followed his mom. Both of them emerged from the master bedroom in ten minutes. Aunty smiled at me and sat next to me. She ordered Rahul to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water for her. He went away. Aunty asked me about my hobbies and my family members. I told her that my dad was a retired army officer, and my mom was a homemaker. I mentioned that my elder brother was an engineer and that my sister, the eldest amongst us all, had received a double masters in human biology and human molecular genetics and was married to a solicitor in UK.

Aunty was really impressed by the social and academic details of the family, I guess, as she said, "That means you must be a great student yourself as well!!"

I very much wanted to answer, "I was a great student once, but after meeting your son, I just cannot focus on my studies anymore." But I didn't.

The conversation evolved, and Aunty made me feel great about me and Rahul being together. She admitted that she initially thought that Rahul's love would be split up for her as I was there, but after meeting me, she was as elated as Rahul about me being in his life—or me being his life, as he portrayed.

I asked Aunty for her leave as it was getting dark and I wanted to hit the road at the earliest.

She said, "Beta, ji! I have a request. Please do not call me Aunty from now on. Please call me Mama, as it was my dream to have a lovely daughter like you, and please visit me soon again. It was so amazing for me to know you, Beta."

I was joyous at hearing what she said and promised her that I would call her Mama. We waved good-bye, and I noticed Rahul winking at me secretly and smiling at the same time as they came to see me off.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Reflectionsby Yashi Copyright © 2012 by Yashi. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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