Of Kismet and Karma

The Boy Child In her desperation to bear a son, Pushpa had already followed the advice given by friends and family: she’d performed the symbolic act of touching a calf that was believed to hasten the birth of a male child. Each time she became pregnant, she not only parted her hair in the centre with the hope that the baby that she was expecting would be a well-proportioned child but also prayed fervently to the full moon that it would be a boy. Yet, to her dismay, each baby turned out to be a girl. Several other related issues, indicative of the times she was living in, now worried Mrs. Midha even further. In her vacant moments she thought of the two most important of the million thoughts that ran through her head each day: for an Indian woman to die without a son is the worst crime. No one will ever forgive her for depriving her man of his rightful legacy: a male offspring. Besides, who will light his funeral pyre at the end of his mortal journey, when his body would have to be consumed by fire? After all, according to traditional Hindu beliefs, his next birth would certainly be very miserable if a male child did not his last rites! All things Right and Religious By the end of my fourth year in school, my mind was reeling with the attendant paraphernalia of an alien religion. The smell of burning frankincense emanating from the swinging brass pots; the ubiquitous candelabra with dozens of candles flickering in front of my eyes; the time-consuming processions around the school grounds on Palm Sunday; the bells ringing loudly on the belfry, and the huge crucifix at the chapel entrance. All these related objects were becoming more and more familiar to me. While I was innocently lapping up the Ten Commandments of Catholicism, my mother was miles away, blissfully ignorant of the goings-on in my thoughts. She hadn’t a clue about the upheaval creating havoc in my young mind. One Easter Holiday, when I was eleven years old, I excitedly first rattled off the entire ‘Our Father’ to impress my mother and then the ‘Hail Mary’, before finally dropping the bombshell: “I want to become a Christian.” My mother’s first reaction was one of shock, then disbelief, and finally the realisation that her leniency had cost her a lot. Her act of contrition lasted only for a few brief hours during which she wondered how best she was going to handle this shocking revelation. Though disturbed, instead of making a big hue and cry she decided to deal with it in her own discreet manner. The mature woman in her is so good with children that she knows precisely when to be sugar and when spice. She also knows exactly which chord to strike in a child’s heart. That day she calmly gave her verdict, Love at first Sight Such was the wisdom of the times in which we were growing up that youngsters were restricted by an orthodox, old-fashioned way of life. Yet, the mad logic of my heart decided to defy all the conventions and moral code of a strict society. In the months that followed, the charming youngster so drove me to distraction that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but him. Quite naturally of course, this overpowering feeling so disturbed the alchemy of my mind that soon it began to take precedence over my reasoning ability. That’s when, quite unwittingly, I began to fall prey to that incurable, lingering affliction of the heart called, ‘love¬sickness.’ As the days went by, Ravi and I became good friends. We chatted whenever the opportunity presented itself. I really can’t remember when and how, but somewhere along the line I started feeling that he was also attracted to me in a special way. Then, one fine evening when no one was around, Ravi held my hand. This made me feel so special that I suddenly found myself bobbing on the crest of a huge love wave! That day as he looked at me with extra-special warmth in his bright eyes, I knew he was also thinking on the same lines as I was. Something much more exciting was about to become our destiny. We were about to experience the innocence, the wonder, and romance of a first-time relationship. Brave Heart “We all have to ride the wheel of life and death; none of us mortals can escape it. We all also have our individual crosses to bear, some heavier than others. Mum always told us that we have to suffer for our past sins; she also said that no one could help anyone against the great force of Kismet. We came alone in this world and we go alone. Now I’ve seen that even those of us who love each other exceedingly, will never be able to accompany our dear ones on our onward journey,” he said with a look of dull resignation in his betrayed eyes...................... In my desperation, I tried to recollect the words of assurance Aunt Tara often quotes from our scriptures: Whatever lives must die. Like true Hindus, we must believe in the transmigration of the soul and live in the knowledge that Teenu is reincarnated somewhere out here. His physical structure is not in front of us, nor are we capable of determining which body his soul has adorned. Nevertheless, he can never die. Thank God even mighty Kismet can’t destroy something that lives on forever. Aunt Tara was always right! Concluding Poem from the book: I Would, if I Could! I would, if I could, turn the hands of the clock. Fly off in a time machine to the days of the rock. What fun it would be to rock’n’roll, twist and jive, To be once again young, carefree and alive. I would, if I could, relive my every dream, Do all I have ever wanted under my very own steam. I would be a singer and an artist all rolled in one. I would have the time of my life and lots and lots of fun! I would make my own music of the heart and the soul. With melody as my true love, life would effortlessly roll. When I am re-born I know I will do it all right. Under the light of the silvery moon I will take my fancy flight. Holding the black and white keys of my Indian piano, I will be singing away like an enthusiastic soprano, Or soaring in the skies with the voice of a nightingale, As I let my long hair down and gaze fondly at my trail!