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Author: Krupa

The Other Side

The Other Side

Posted by | Apr 20, 2017 | |

They told me about the rosy things that I had to feel, they said it’ll be a joyful event, a moment of completeness and the soothing medicine for my pains to heal. And they left me at that, alone, to fend for myself. I was scared to hold your wobbly head, and held you gingerly like a piece of glass, mentally cursing my MBA Professors, for not teaching this in class. And came those long sleepless nights, when you decided to play, and your father decided to snore away. For a person who turned down jobs with a night shift, my dear son, this thing felt like a nasty whiff. The permutation and combination of diapers I changed while it was dripping, it smelt bad, and who am I kidding! The hours I spent in the bathroom, almost giving up, crying till my eyes turned red, those days my dear son, I yearned and ached and craved, for a good cup of tea and breakfast in my bed… So what made me grit my teeth and walked through it all, I am not sure but am betting it’s the smile you smiled every time you played with the red sponge ball. Or the thrill that ran through my spine the first time you said “mama!” Anyways I learnt, it’s a phase of my life, where you were the King of my drama. But, Oh! My dear son, don’t get so cute, I still have my revenge planned for you guess who’s got the weekend diaper duty for your baby sister? Haha, the joke’s on you! Pic...

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Just women

Posted by | Mar 28, 2017 | |

  Ages and ages on, men have called women “the bright moon”, “a glittering star”, and “a fluttering angel”; And pretty much everything celestial, ethereal and probably unreal. But just like you, oh! men, we live and breath, we are just women; As much blood, as much lust- and just as much human. We are called the weaker sex, Isn’t that a gorgeous misconception ? If you claim to be physically strong, then why did the nature make us carry, and let you stop with impregnation ? You term your ships, your cars and continents a “she”, Is it to pay us your respect ? If yes, then why can’t you let us sail it or drive it or rule it, why oh, why do you suspect ? Is it possible to understand the fact, that we -the women, also lust ? That we can be loud, dirty, and wild – and even for us, the F word is a must ? Then, why do we have to be violated, raped, acid attacked- like lab rats, when we firmly say a No ? We are still out there fighting on the roads and begging for our rights to live, and our right to say “Yes, So?” We can wear spacesuits and coat suits and tracksuits and swimsuits all with equal grace, Yet we are killed even before we’re born...

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Our first ever Valentine’s Day

Posted by | Feb 20, 2017 | |

Pic source I rested my head back on the bus seat feeling nervous. I fidgeted with my wedding ring, trying to calm my nerves. I shook my head in exasperation. Jeez! What was wrong with me? I am married to this lovely woman for twelve years, but today I felt like I was sixteen. I don’t remember much of what happened in my Sixteen. How would I? It was a long time back. Nithya came into my life twelve years back and turned my life upside down. I closed my eyes still fidgeting my ring thinking back on that beautiful day when I met her. She sat there with rigid formality reflecting my stance. We were apprehensive, uncomfortable and filled with self-doubts and second thoughts. “Am not sure how this would work out!” she said looking at me over her cup of coffee. Surprisingly both of us ordered Latte. “I don’t know what our kids were thinking!” I murmured. I mentally chided Varun for this mess up. He had signed me up to some forum, and that’s how I came to Nithya. Am pretty sure, she was in the same situation and that kindred a warm friendship. “Adolescent kids, they tend to romanticise everything” She smiled. “I know!” I sighed. “You should see Aarika’s room. She just twelve and her bedroom is already a shrine for Surya. She laughed,...

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From the ashes, with fear

Posted by | Feb 13, 2017 | |

Source It was hot. It was hotter than the milk my mommy gave me every evening. My big brother used to play matchstick game, and my mother scolded saying the fire was dangerous, it’ll burn the skin. So, why did this uncle not know it? He poured petrol on me and lighted a match stick. I remembered my father scolding saying it was dangerous. The uncle threw the hot stick on me. The fire started spreading all over my dress. My favourite pink gown was slowly becoming black. I started crying. I wanted to tell the uncle to stop, but I couldn’t speak. He had gagged mouth and tied my hands and legs. I couldn’t move. The fire started running all over me. It touched my skin, and I winced. I looked at the uncle with pleading eyes; he just saw me for a moment and ran away. I closed my eyes as the unbearable pain started building in my body, the girl parts the uncle touched were already in bad pain, but this was too much. My mommy’s beatings were never this painful. I wanted to tell my mommy that I would be a good girl. I wanted my daddy to come take me out from the fire. A foul smell started filling my nose. I couldn’t bear it. I closed my eyes shut. Suddenly it felt good....

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Kindred Soul

Posted by | Jan 23, 2017 | |

Source Chellama was playing with my five-year-old daughter while I entered my home.  They heard my footsteps and looked up. My little Kithi came running towards while Chellama got up and headed towards the kitchen. Five minutes later I was served some hot ginger chai and onion pakora. It was a routine that started four years back. I sat down on the little-cemented corridor of my single bedroom house and watched my two beautiful angels play. Tears kissed my eyes as I watched them play, my mind drifting back to that rainy day, four years back Four years before: I stood at the bus stop holding my little one close to my bosom. She snuggled up to me as I tried to infuse all the warmth left in me. There was nothing much left. I stood shivering as the cool breeze showered me with an occasional drizzle. Maybe the chillness was within me. I waited at the bus stop with nowhere to go, looking at the buses, trying to figure out my destination; and that’s when I met her. She looked at me with a curious smile. Her unkempt white hair looked sticky and caked with portraying years of abandon. Her skin looked parched, and the wrinkles were pronounced. She wore a dirty striped white shirt that hung about her knees. It had hidden most of the soiled and...

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