My submission to creative writing course of Symbiosis- I

Preparatory Practices

What does the poet mean when he says, “The world is too much with us”?

“The world is so much with us” was written by William Wordsmith in the context of the industrial revolution. He was reflecting on the changes taking place in the contemporary English society. The increased industrialization and consumerism had left little time for the people to appreciate the beauty of the nature.

The word ‘world’ in the line ‘the world is too much with us’ refers to the city life. World here means the modern industrialized urban part of the world. It doesn’t include the natural world still untouched by urbanization. Hence a distinction is made by Wordsmith between the natural and man made world.

 When it is referred ‘too much with us’, it means that people are too occupied with city life. They waste their time in ‘getting things and spending money’. Consumerism has become the central theme of human existence.  ‘Too much with us’ can be literally be interpreted as being ‘excessive’ and ‘more than required’.

Hence ‘the world is too much with us’ means that people are spending too much time on materialistic world and the poet  is fed up with that. He wants the people to enjoy the beauty of the nature rather than wasting energy in buying and selling things.

Develop a prose piece around a similar theme

I think this will be my last day. I can see an evil cutting machine with its menacing sharp teeth smiling to devour a new prey. I see all the human-made things around me. I have seen this place change from a beautiful world to a human world. As the last standing tree of the area, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

Things were different when I was young. There was a small lake here. It was surrounded by green meadow. And encircling the meadow were my family members and relatives. Across the lake just opposite to me, there were two huts made up of clay brick with thatched roofs. An old human couple lived in one of the huts. The other was occupied by their daughter. This female human lived with her husband and two young male kids.

Me and my family spent days sometimes sleeping, sometimes just sucking water and nutrients from ground, sometimes thinking. And humans were not so busy either. The two male humans spent their days on the side of lake. Most of times, they were fishing. The other times, they just lied on the meadow throwing smoke out of their mouths. The female humans spent their time inside the hut. The kid humans were the regular visitors on our side. They ran from here to there and played in our shade. There was mutual harmony. The humans, we trees, the meadow, the lake, different birds and animals admired each others’ rights and lived peacefully.    

I have always wondered about humans. Even in those days, ownership pleased them. Kid humans fought over fallen fruits. The couples fought over better huts. I think this is a disease. And it spread fast.

As I stand here, the last ‘non-human-made’ thing, in a jungle of concrete building amid moving smoke guzzling vehicles, virtually recalling my life, I can say with confidence that the work of this disease stands completed. It has wiped out everything.

While my family and relatives always took pride in giving things- be it fruits, shade, fresh air. The humans affected by ownership disease always thought of getting things – wood, meat etc. Their greed increased with time. In my lifetime I have seen the huts before me transforming to a small bricked colony and then to a multistory apartment. The lake changed to first a park and then to a vehicle parking space. The meadows have been replaced by shops and roads. My family no more exists. I survived because someone started the rumour that a stone at my roots can make the wishes fulfilled if fire was burned before it. Someone stole the stone few months ago and here I am staring at a cutting machine which had taken life of my family.

Few pieces of paper notes are being exchanged between the machine driving human and one another human. How important are these in a human’s life! They keep on making these notes and against them keep on amassing things. Many times these things are not at all required. Some knowledge about show-off is necessary for the other creatures of the God to survive against these humans.

I am tired of my lone existence. The planet is full of dead things. Its good that I am going to join my family in some other universe.

Give an interpretation of the poem based on an analysis of linguistic features of the poem

William Wordsworth's "The World Is Too Much With Us" is a lyric poem in the form of a sonnet. In English, there are two types of sonnets, the Petrarchan and the Shakespearean, both with fourteen lines. Wordsworth's poem is a Petrarchan sonnet. A Petrarchan sonnet consists of an eight-line stanza (octave) and a six-line stanza (sestet). The first stanza presents a theme or problem, and the second stanza develops the theme or suggests a solution to the problem. The rhyme scheme of a Petrarchan sonnet is as follows: 

First stanza (octave): abba, abba 

Second stanza (sestet): cde, cde or another combination such as cdc, cdc. In the case of Wordsworth's poem, the combination is cd, cd. cd.

The tone is angry, modulated with sarcasm. First, the poet scolds society for devoting all its energies to material enterprises and pleasures. He announces sarcastically that he would rather be a pagan; at least then he could appreciate nature through different eyes. 

Wordsworth presents the poem in first-person plural in the first eight lines and part of the ninth, using ‘we’, ours, and us. At the end of the ninth line, he switches to first-person singular, using ‘I’. Use of first-person plural enables Wordsworth to chastise the world without seeming preachy, for he is including himself in his preach. 

Following are examples of figures of speech in the poem- 

First one is alliteration which can be seen in following lines of the poem.

Line 1: The world is too much with us
Line 2: we lay waste our powers
Line 4: We have given our hearts away
Line 5: bares her bosom
Line 6: The winds that will be howling

Use of metaphor can be seen in line 4, “We have given our hearts away”, here comparison of hearts to attention or concern or to enthusiasm or life  is being made.

Use of oxymoron is in the phrase “sordid boon”.

Personification is also used to good effect in the line, “The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon”. Here, comparison of the sea to a woman and of the moon to a person who sees the woman is made.

"The World is too Much With Us" is obsessed with nature; in fact, the central complaint of the poem is that people are so consumed by consumerism that they are no longer moved by nature. The speaker describes humanity's alienation from nature as a kind of blindness; people no longer see any similarities between nature and humankind, nor do they see anything in nature that is worth their time. ( Refer line 3 : Little we see in nature that is ours)

Wordsworth has been successful in using all the linguistic tools to convey the central theme of the poem.

Make sentences with ‘too much’, ‘getting and spending’, ‘late and soon’, ‘giving our hearts away’ and ‘a sordid boon’

Too much – Too much sunlight hurts the eyes.

Getting and spending – Trade fair is an excellent time for getting and spending.

Late and soon – In the modern working environment, stress is with us, late and soon.

Giving our hearts away – The innings played by Tendulkar made us give our hearts away in appreciation.

A sordid boon – Black money proved to be a sordid boon for the real estate market.

To Abhinav, From Abhinav

Dear Abhinav,

Now that you are in your 50’s, you must be thinking that ‘younger you’ was stupid. I always have this problem. Whenever I think of my younger days, I find myself very idiotic. Even my actions last year or last month seem to be highly erratic. And since you are me, you must be thinking that Abhinav of present was not ‘worthy of listening to’.

Hence to clarify your prejudice, take this:

“Humans are only animals who know they will die one day and then they work day and night to earn money and call themselves the most intelligent creatures.”

You can search it on whatever is the most powerful search mechanism of your time. These days we Google it. You will not find this quote anywhere, this is my quote.

So when I have established my level of wisdom firmly, I think you are now all ears to listen me. I have a lot to tell and talk. And since you cannot reply me back, I will stick to only ‘telling’ part.

I hope you are healthy. If the tummy of yours is still bulging out, then probably it’s high time to start doing something about it. Most men whim I know in their 50’s have receding hairline predominated by whiter shade. I know I cannot expect my hair to be black at your age but I really want hairs to be intact on my head. If your hairs are still there, then eat a ‘Amul’ dark chocolate to celebrate, if this chocolate still sells in market and if you are not diabetic. Oh, the thought of a plump, bald and diabetic you is making me sick. It’s a lesson for present me to make more efforts to stay fit and healthy.

I hope you are taking good care of your parents. If you have become the kind of man who lives some place distant from parents and send them money through e-banking and posts ‘love u dad’ facebook messages on father’s day, then hang yourself right this moment. If ropes and fans have become obsolete, then shoot yourself. I am sure guns will be still there. Present me will never like such future you. If you are 50+ years old, then my (I hate writing ‘your’ in this case) parents will be 80+ years old. This is really very old age and if you are not living right now with them, just move to their place. Take it as a ‘God promise’ from a younger you; you will have to do it. Such thoughts are again making me sick. Why is future so complicated?

Between, by any chance have you become smart and handsome? And yes, you are thinking right, present me do believes that miracles happen. I hope you are not as dumb as I am today and you can make few middle aged women turn their heads. And that you are sporting a French cut beard that present me has always dreamt. How do you dress? Lately I have found out that I don’t think before dressing and people spend a lot of time thinking what they should wear. May be in this transition of more than two decades, you too have got some sense of fashion. But do people in your time wear clothes made of cotton or some ‘nano-fabric’? And are green vegetables, fruits and milk the most nutritious food in 2040’s also? I hope you still eat roti, dal and vegetables and not some ‘food-pill’ kind of thing.

How’s your house? I hope its small bungalow type of home. Present me doesn’t like the idea of living in a flat in a multi-storeyed building in a big city full of people. You still use mobile? Or people in 2040’s use some other device to communicate? At present the most advanced thing is a ‘tab’. I will buy it in few years. But I hope you have kept my present mobile safe. This black and white nokia mobile will remind you of your good days. And have you got a car? Present me loves ‘Honda city’ and ‘Tata safari’. Do you fly often now? I haven’t been on an aeroplane till date. I hope you will write all your experiences for a younger you and keep it safe for me read it in my next life.

Now about girls, of course. Rather women. From my very birth I have remained very*n times confused about them. (Where n is the largest non-zero positive number you can imagine). I just hope that by your time, the value of n has decreased significantly. You also must be having a wife. If she hasn’t divorced you till now citing your dumbness, just listen to me carefully. Treat her like a princess. No matter what is her mood, age or condition, love her in all possible ways you know and love her to the extent you can possibly love a person. You are 50+ and so is she, but does that matter? Present me will be very angry if you have made his future wife sad at any moment in these years.

And kids. Are you taking good care of them? I have so many plans for my kids. I will tell you one by one, and you make a ‘fulfilled promise list’ and tick each one you have kept. If it’s not filled with ticks, present me will never write again to future you. I want my children to grow in a place far away from maddening crowd. In the day time, under a lazy morning spring sun, they must sit watching flowers in the garden and the dead leaves fallen on green lawn to suddenly realise that one brown and yellow leaf which out of the blue jumps from ground onto a flower is actually a butterfly. In the night, they must lie on the ground watching twinkling stars against clear black night sky and between these stars; they will identify twinkling lights of fire flies. I don’t want them to waste their lives amidst schools, tuitions, music class, swimming class etc. I don’t want them to become ‘competition ready’, rather they must realise that life is too short for such antics. They must value honesty, truthfulness and simplicity. I want my kids to read good books and write stories rather than watching ‘tab’ and listening to ‘i-pod’. I want them to play hide and seek on streets rather than going for badminton classes. There is a long list of things I want for my kids and I desperately hope you have lived up to your own expectations.

Future seems to be lot more challenging. 2040 is still a long way to go. Your appearance, your fashion, your style may have changed. You must be thinking of crazy ‘past you’. But imagining future has been as tough and painful as has been the pleasure to tell you so many things. I don’t know why I am going to tell you this one last thing because you are me and you will remember. Still in case you forget, “I don’t want you to be you; I want you to be just me”.  

Yours ‘me’,

Abhinav.

                

Merry Marry

25^th December is the time to say merry Christmas. But as Christianity has rightly enlightened us about the ‘original sin’, we the country with the most diversified ‘religious portfolio’ start a new yearly wedding season. The jingle bells sound like wedding bells for many wannables. And about the ‘sin’, Adam and Eve couldn’t resist the apple; we are hardly anyone to resist ‘shaadi ke laddu’.

It’s said about such laddus that “jo khaye wo pachtaye aur jo na khaye wo bhi pachtaye”. Meaning we are insects attracted to a tube light. For those who are less biologically inclined, insects are attracted to tube lights because they think they have got ‘available opposite sex’ there. Apparently there is some ‘wavelength locha’. Insects ready to mate and tube lights emit similar signals. Only that they end up in lizard’s stomach after a brief period of excitement.

This really sums up marriage. We are insects, tube light is the institution of marriage and lizard is our society. Needless to say, brief period of excitement is the honeymoon period.  

From where we arrived at the modern concept of marriage? Had our lords told so? No. Krishna was more interested in his Gopis. Lord Rama’s father had three wives. The five pandavas were married to one woman and they freely ‘dated’ other women. Hail Hindu! Had our national heroes told so? No. Gandhi’s marriage was based on the oath of celibacy. Nehru, well, we all know. Raja Ram Mohan Roy, the biggest reformer of modern India was married thrice. And still, we the faithful followers stick to one man one woman policy of perfect marriage.

Why marriage in the first place? Academicians suggest - because we cannot control. All other species have a well defined mating periods and they procreate obeying nature’s cycle. We humans on the other hand are ever ready. So we need a strong institution like marriage to stop anarchy in the society. Even with so many bondages, look at our population, we indeed are God’s best creation.   

For many of us who don’t like being compared with insects and being called ‘control freak maniacs’, let’s get into real ‘marriage business’. How do we choose mates?

For women, they have three different categories to choose from.

Type I is the NRI type. Those who were hot in the late 90’s in the marriage market. They promised of a future in a far away land, the ideal prince charming in the wonderland with lot of money. They meant an opportunity to break free from “saree-saas-sasural” triangle. But with the world economy taking a plunge, these potential grooms now lie grounded. They are out of flavour for ‘informed’ girls. The families are more sceptical in ‘giving their daughters’ to NRI husbands. Their fortune in marriage market is as sensitive as sensex.

Type II is the metro man. He is the company guy. He will spend all his life at one or two place. He will go office, remain there, remain a little longer, come back and sleep. He will speak the perfect words, thanks to high overdose of management slides. He is fair and handsome, not because of genes, but because he is confined to AC cubicles whole day and night and he is aware of the use of ‘guy-cosmetics’. In the present day marriage market, they are selling like hot cakes. Stability, money and presentable, they have it all. Girls are doing all in their disposals to catch such a ‘catch’. Parents are eager to consent. Perfect arm candies for modern day women.

Type III is the sarkari babu. Posted some place infected with abject poverty, they are opposite of fair and handsome, whatever that may be. Again not because of genes but because of Mother Nature and job nature. They still believe that writing is the ‘most in thing’ to do. Parents love such ‘damads’. Girls hate such ‘dumbos’. Such babus are ending up with perfect desi bahus. A complete family man for ‘praying women’.

For men, it’s the matter of being picked up. NRI types get picked up in colleges. Metro men get picked up in companies. Sarkari babus get picked up not by girls but by Godfathers – men with white kurtas and gold garlands for their ‘little girls’.

Going personal, its twilight for me. Lights are getting dim. I can sense tube light’s light. It’s my time to be the insect. And have a last laugh about it. Anyways I can’t control it. Quiet.

PS- This article is the best example of how to ruin your marriage-pickability. So, to keep my chances alive, here’s the disclaimer. This is a piece of write-art, describing a point of view. The views expressed are not really what I feel about marriage and its process. I will love getting married.

On the bus floor

It was like any other Sunday. Warmer perhaps. 19^th May evenings are like that only.

Tatanagar is a city abuzz with activities. Industrial presence means a large population of lower middle class and its surroundings confer to it. Vegetables are sold on the sides of the road, there are a lot of bicycles and yes, autos. Autos of different shapes and sizes are found all across India. In Tatanagar, ‘Piaggio’ types of autos predominate. It’s like a three wheeled, bicycle steering-ed, doors removed ‘Sumo’ whose steel body has been replaced by thick black cloth.

I came out of Tatanagar railway station and took a shared auto to ‘Mango’. Its not pronounced like ‘mango’ the fruit but ‘man’ is pronounced as in ‘hanuman’. So, its ‘m-aa-ngo’. I sat on the back side of ‘Piaggio’. Remember, Sumo’s back, the seats facing each other. Piaggio back seats are like two iron seats kept over engines at back to stuff two more people in the auto. Journey on the back seat can be enjoyable. You can stare at a biker behind the auto and annoy him. The first speed breaker reminded me that auto has iron rods beneath the cloth body as my head banged on the auto ceiling. The ‘fatt-fatt’ of the engine created a rhythm and the diesel engine spurted smoke out the back side at regular interval. The bumpy, ‘fatt-fatt’, smoky, biker-staring, hip and head wreaking and utterly enjoyable auto ride ended at ‘m-aa-ngo’ bus stand.

I quickly spotted a ‘non-stop’ bus from TATA to Ranchi. The customer friendly approach of west is still an alien concept for bus operators, conductors, drivers, agents in this part of the world. A bhai-type person with a red towel on one shoulder looked at me as if anticipating begging. I begged for a seat. “Full ho gaya, nahi milega”. “Ek bhi nahi?!” I prayed again. His face said, “Go to hell!” He said nothing and banged his palm on the bus body. Bus started leaving my sorry soul behind.

I searched for other buses. One of the buses was ready to leave the bus stand. One more conductor, a more modern one, as the red towel was kept across the shoulders around the neck in the same manner as kept by most of the heroes of daily soap operas. Sometimes I wonder if my knowledge of fashion is too little or Indian women have really pathetic choice of men fashion. The beard was again grown to ‘hero-length’.”Ranchi?” He looked sternly at me and then at the bus where it was written ‘Saharasa’. It is a place in Bihar, a 15 hour journey. I looked back with a sad face emphasising that I know it will go to Saharasa but it will cross Ranchi within 3 hours. “Chadh jao magar seat nahi milega.” “Khade jana hoga?!” He frowned at my monumentally stupid question. “Jana hai??”. I made a sad smiley sort of face and shrugged my shoulders in ‘yes’. “Paise do”. “Kitna?” I said while opening my wallet. He paused a little and awkwardly peeked into my wallet and said, “Aassi de do”. I gave him a 100 rupees note. I waited for my 20 rupees. He frowned at my stupidity. “De denge, abhi khulla nahi hai”. I got into the bus.

I searched for a place to stand. Towards the back side of the bus, in the passage between seats, an iron bench was kept. Few people were sitting on it. “Lagan ka season hai” said a person sitting on bench in an explanation of over-crowdedness. Buses to Bihar are usually over crowded. And during ‘lagan’ (marriage season), strain on public transport rises to disproportionate levels. I searched for a space to keep my laptop bag. Since it was a ‘sleeper’ bus, there were no luggage carriers. On the bus floor, nearly at the middle of its length near the bottom of one of the stairs for sleeper seats, I kept the bag. But still the bigger problem remained. Where will I sit? A boy came to me and stood by my side. “Babu, Ranchi ja rahe ho?” {I will not explain why a boy called me ‘babu’ L } I said “haan”. “Bola tha seat denge per diya nahi”. “Humko to bola tha ki khade jana hoga”. “Kitna liya?” he enquired. McDonald’s ad came to my mind. He felt relieved by my answer.

By the time bus started, few more people got into the bus. It was around 6 pm of a hot windless summer day. The idea of journeying three hours standing in a packed bus in such heat was not so comforting. But isn’t comforting a vague concept? I consoled myself. Who said being cold is more comforting? Didn’t human population started, evolved and flourished more in warmer climates? Isn’t idea of human extinction always associated with cold climate?

Anyway, no one has related standing or sitting with human extinction. So, with no other options, I sat on the bus floor in the passage between seats near my laptop bag. Towards my back side were people sitting on the iron bench and towards the front side, people were standing. A man sitting on the iron bench offered me his travel bag to sit upon. I humbly declined. A man in late 50’s was sitting at the right side seat and a woman in early 30’s was sitting on the seat towards my left.     

The people standing in front of me included that Ranchi going boy, a middle aged woman and three other men. Encouraged by me sitting on the bus floor and with the idea of long journey ahead, they got a blanket and spread it on the bus floor in front of me. The spread of the blanket was not good enough to accommodate five people, but somehow they scrambled and sat. The last person, on the blanket in front of me, was that middle aged woman.

And this blog is all about that woman sitting on the bus floor.

There was a tiny bit of space left on the already overcrowded blanket. She looked at me, looked a little longer and then smiled with a tilt of her head and tapped that tiny bit of space on the blanket beside her. I smiled back in ‘no’. Not only because I was not so small to sit in that tiny place but also because I didn’t want her to suffer in the journey due to my encroachment of her space. Her smile showed the triumph of anticipated response.

Ah! The smiles and emotions, so rare! It’s not uncommon to see security-walas scolding ‘useless poor kids’ peeking into mannequins from outside the shiny glass windows of big shops. Probably the mannequins get offended. In a world where people are judged on ‘what they have to offer’, we rarely find pure human emotions in work.  

I looked at the woman. She was wearing a dull red sari. Her hairs were tied in old style ‘judda’. Slight wrinkles were visible in her forehead and cheeks. Her earring was nothing more than a golden drop. Nothing in the neck. She was thin. ‘Envy’ thin.

The woman in her 30’s sitting on the seat towards my left asked her where she was going. “Saharasa” and then added “kya karein, hum bhi aap hi ki tarah hain, bas seat nahi mila.” “Haan” replied the woman in 30’s.

“Haan” I thought. People are like this. Every one going to the same place, some get seats, some sit on the bus floor.

There is not much difference among the people in the world. People claim intelligence as the aspect bringing difference. Intelligent people get better job, they do better, they get more money. Have you a child from a decent family ending up as a rickshaw puller? Have you seen a child of a rag picker ending up as a millionaire? Rare. In almost all cases, living conditions of next generation is relatively same as the last generation. The womb matters not the brains.

“Ranchi mein kitna ghanta lagega?” asked the woman in 30’s. “3 ghante” I replied. She gave a sympathetic look. I noticed that the bus was not moving for quite some time and people were getting restless. Passengers started to get out of the bus. We, the floor sitters, had to stand up to give way to back ‘seaters’. The woman in dull red sari woke up from her siesta and just shifted a little bit on the floor.

We got out. Bus was experiencing some ‘engine’ trouble. It was already dark outside. Various types of headlights were rushing through the highway. Slow high beams of trucks, fast high beams of buses, fast low beams of cars and single beams of motorcycles. Lights were twinkling from the few roadside dhabas. One of the ‘gumti’ (small raod side shop) was selling cold drinks, guthka (tobacco) and cigarettes. Biscuits for ‘kids’ too. Its ironical that cold drinks and tobacco have better reaches than medicines and lentils. I wandered around a little. Then I don’t know why but I returned back in the bus.

The woman in dull red sari was sleeping on the bus floor. I sat nearby. Her legs were folded to the level of her chest. Space constraint or habit, I was not sure. Her heels had cracks. Her bare stomach vibrated in sync with her breaths. It had birthmarks on it. The whites in her hair ran parallel to the wrinkles on her face. I kept watching her, my thoughts going blank.

The engine trouble was sorted out. People started getting back into the bus. The woman in dull red sari woke up as people started taking back their previous positions. Engine trouble had consumed a lot of time. People were tired. They soon fell asleep.

I rested my head on the seat next to me. My eyes closed, and it remained so for an unknown period of time.

I heard the woman in dull red sari’s voice in my dream. No, I can’t be so obsessed with her. It was real. She was saying something to the uncle on the seat. I saw his foot had slipped beneath her hips and she was asking him to keep his legs ‘within limits of his seat’. Uncle grudged on her and other fellows sitting on the floor who had occupied unnecessary space. The woman in dull red sari saw that I had woken up and seen the whole ‘scene’. She looked at me, this time a lot longer with straight head, with a look that conveyed it all. A look that showed disgust towards society, a look that told me that she didn’t want me to have witnessed that and a message that I shouldn’t be like ‘this’ in future. I picked my laptop bag from the other side and placed it in the space between her and uncle’s seat. She gave a dry smile.

Bus stopped again after some time. The engine was giving regular troubles. People again got down. I too got down. This time it was taking a lot longer. ‘Why shouldn’t I catch other buses from the road?’ I thought. I took my laptop bag from inside the bus and got down. I was watching out for buses on the road when the woman in dull red sari came out of the bus. She went towards one of many gumtis on the roadside. She unfolded one knot at end of her sari and took out a folded currency note. One bus had stopped before me and the conductor was shouting, “Chalna hai?” I looked at the conductor and then towards her. I ignored the bus conductor’s call and returned back towards my ‘original’ bus. The conductor grumbled some words behind my back.

I spent the time staring the sky. The stars seemed to have moved away from the earth. Probably expanding universe, probably too many falling stars, probably too much pollution. I shifted my attention to mechanical parts of the engine. People were gathered around the mechanic. A few expert comments from passengers, heated debate between driver and mechanic and few bolts opening and closing later, the bus was ready to move.

People went in and back to their original positions. How much humans love system and rules! It’s convenient, I suppose. We love rules and when we break one, we make a new one!

I started talking to her. How easy it is to converse with a woman twice your age! With girls of similar age, you have to weigh every word you speak against all possible ‘odds’. With her it was easy, I was a kid and everything was excusable.

I asked her a lot of questions. Questions not like – ‘Where is my shirt kept?’ ‘How much time left to prepare breakfast?’ ‘Has my trousers been pressed?’ ‘Why is dal so salty today?’ But questions like – ‘What you wanted to become in life?’ ‘Do you always wear saree?!’    

It was new to her. All her life she had been a daughter, a wife and a mother but never had anyone tried to see her as an individual. The woman in her was lost somewhere.

Her father was a farmer. She was born to his second wife. First wife was found drowned in the well. Probably slipped. Two daughters from the first two years of marriage and no child for the next five years. Probably drowned. Woman in dull red sari was the first child to second wife. Next three were brothers.

Thanks to two elder stepsisters, her childhood was better than most other girls of her area. She was only in the charge of ‘cow business’. Except milking, which was prohibited for females, she did everything for the cow. She loved making various designs out of cow dung. Once she had made a ‘shivlingam’ from cow dung and her father had given a special pat on her head. The second time, she received such a pat on her marriage. She was fourteen.

She wanted to marry any important man, like the tahsildar. Her wife had more jewellery than other women. Her home had two floors with a balcony. People looked strange when seen from top, she had observed while repairing the thatched roof of her cow shed. She wanted to be a woman married to an important man, a woman with lot of jewellery and a woman watching people’s strange heads from balcony.

She was married to a clerk in government office. He retired as an office superintendent last year. She realised her dream of a balcony in 15^th year of her marriage. Her married life was, well, a married life. Food, clothes, utensils, tiffin boxes, vegetable market, local grocery, ironing, more food, more tea, more worship, next morning.

She hadn’t worn anything other than saree after marriage. She hadn’t worn anything other than frock before marriage. Earlier she used to copy Shabana Azmi’s hair style. Now, she doesn’t care.

After marriage, she had moved to Tatanagar. A city of dreams, money, good schools, people with cars, modern people. Compared to her ‘under developed’ village in Bihar, it promised a brilliant future.

The happiest moments of her life were when her children were small. Raising a boy and a girl was exciting, they kept her busy, kept her live.  

The kids were given the best possible education. They studied in good English medium schools. She learned to tie a ‘tie’. She understood the meaning of putting ‘greens’ and ‘proteins’ in food. Her husband earned everything in ‘black and white’ to meet the growing ends. Children needed new dresses, computers, tuition classes. Children needed time to study. They couldn’t be disturbed by asking to do household works, by asking to bring milk and vegetables, by asking to help when she felt ill. No, children needed time to succeed.

They did indeed. The elder son got a job in a reputed software firm last year. His initial setup in Bangalore was made easier, thanks to huge retirement benefits of his ‘sarkari father’. The younger daughter was in 2^nd year bio-tech course of a reputed Bangalore engineering college. The parents wanted that the siblings should live together at Bangalore to cut costs. The boy needed ‘IT’ related atmosphere at home and the girl wanted friends to discuss ‘studies’. Hence, two different set-ups. Last, they had come home in December for a week. They were busy now.

They had succeeded now. Parents were proud. The woman in dull red sari was travelling on the bus floor.

I looked at her sari intensely; its dull red colour appeared paler. The colour was red but the fabric was weaning and weak.  

“Aap khush hain?” She looked at me and said, “haan, ghar ja rahe hain.” “Jis ghar mein aap abhi rehti hain, wanha khhus hain?” She looked at me a lot longer and said, “Haan”. The eyes were stale.   

The bus was entering Ranchi. The lights were looking bright outside at night. How no longer we were dependent on natural light!