Blank canvas and Coloured easel

It was Green. The colour of her pain, the colour of the belief that a woman belonged to man. Man is an owner. She is his property. Mere property. Without him she has no right to exist.

They ordered Sati vastra for her. The beautiful green sari. As she walked towards the pyre, she gave away her ornaments to other married women, as a blessing. Blessing of a helpless dying woman.

The colour of her green sari slowly disappeared...behind the giant flames.
She screamed... may be. Nobody knows for sure. The drum beats were so loud. and anyways a voice of a woman was lower than a sound of hissing leaves in there...

Now there is a temple built on the place of pyre. She is called sati devi. The Tulsi vrindavan has her name engraved on it.
Now these tulsi leaves shake and try to make some noise. As if it is trying to tell something. But yet again she failed. Nobody can hear...nobody ever wanted to!
...

Years passed. Now they felt this is not cruel enough. Man evolved. so did his cruelty. Now they didn't want to burn her down. Instead they wanted her to live...to burn everyday, little by little. Now they wanted to burn down her will to live.

The color of this pain was Red. Blood red. They shaved her head. She had wounds all over her...some made with sharp blade on head, some without it...
Wrapped in blood red sari, she tried to cover all of them. Until one day one such wound, bore fruit. Which was breathing inside her. Now the family that deprived her of her dignity pushed her into the well to save their honour!
...

The desert that she was born in was famous for its colorful culture. and yet her life revolved around only one color. Deep blue. She wanted to scratch out her own eyes. So that at least she wouldn't see all those colours, which were forbidden for her.
...

Somewhere in Mediterranean, She locked all her beautiful satin gowns in a cupboard. Now that she had to wear black dress for the rest of her life.
...

She was robbed of her own house. The home that she had built. She was robbed of all the rights...on her land, her property. And was thrown out in the streets of vrindavan, now the rightful owner of the big house live in a cramped space. One who cooked meals for the entire family in big pots, survives on the morsels of charity.
Now the colour of her grief is white.

What is the matter with all these beautiful colours? how the delicate threads painted in these, become heavy shackles as soon as they are wrapped in the feet of women? May be it not the fault of these colours. May be it is not the fault of these delicate threads too...May be it is fault of these feet. Yes! indeed. It's the fault of these feet only. Which are the feet of women... not of a human being...The feet, whose destiny is like blank canvas; which is merely displayed on coloured easel. 

Devi suktam: Tales of lesser Durgas

He was little sensitive as a kid. People told him to be strong like a Man. "Don't cry like a girl." " Go wear bangles if you can't fight"
He grew up equating femininity with weakness. He treated his daughter like a delicate little flower. Girls always need to be taken under the wing...protected, secluded...He believed.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु शक्ती रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

She was always served bony pieces of chicken. "Learn to sacrifice for the family. See if there's enough for men That's why women should eat after men." Her mother advised.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु क्षुधा रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

'Unfortunately' she found love outside her caste. She was killed for shattering the family honor. How could they forgive the woman who decided to live a life on her own terms?

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु दया रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

She worked for an advertisement agency. The client was some insurance company. "We are there, for your son's education and for your daughter's wedding..." description read. She was uneasy for rest of the day...how come nobody found this...unfair? She thought.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु बुद्धी रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

"project is unviable" "You are ineligible for the fund" Venture capitalists rejected her application.
"where do these women want to enter into Electronics...switch manufacturing and all"
"She will be fed up in 2-3 months max" "can't take the pressure of such intensive tasks." "Masala-papad-pickles is enough no" "Business for women is just another hobby idea"

The ridiculed her. They didn't see her degrees, her qualifications, her experience, All they could see is that She was a woman, trying to do herculean task of entering into male dominated industry,
And hence they could not trust her.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु श्रद्धा रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

She was atheist. but was made to observe fast...'if not for god and me, please do it for my parents' he pleaded.

She craved...for something she never thought she would...for one sip of water.
She could not understand what was hurting her more...unbearable thirst for water or thirst for standing up for her principles, her views.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु तृष्णा  रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

"I will handle our investments. Mutual funds, Equity...You don't have to stress yourself. where do you women understand all this anyways?"
He smoothly talked her into giving her salary in his hands.

Some where, somebody chanted...

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु लक्ष्मी रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।

They called them mother...because then the exploitation becomes the right. exploitation without guilt. Because mother always forgives...mother always gives!
Mother earth, Ganga Maiyya, Kaveri amma, Bharat Mata....tolerated years of abuse...silently.

या देवी सर्व भुतेषु मातृ रूपेण संस्थिता
नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमस्तस्ये नमो नमः।
...

इन्द्रियाणामधिष्ठात्री भूतानां चाखिलेषु या।
भूतेषु सततं तस्यै व्याप्ति देव्यै नमो नमः ॥

(residing over the senses of all beings and pervading all existence, to the omnipresent Goddess who individualizes creation we bow, we bow!)

Chanting was finished...so was the navratri...

The behavior continued and so did her insult. 

Essence

"Drink milk with kesar and haldi"
"Mix lemon juice, gram flour and fresh cream, apply that daily"
"why don't you try Fair and Lovely?"
"Bleach? give it a shot"
Some advised,

"You keep wandering all day...out in the sun, what else will happen?"
"Don't buy that red shade yaa...honestly, girls like you should steer clear of red lipsticks, "
"wear lighter colours, you know. They will suit you better."
Some criticized.

"Well, I don't mind dusky complexion"
"She is dark but pretty"
some complemented, but not without the special mention of her complexion.

"It's going to be pain to find a match for her"
"why you had to 'take' your father's colour."
sometimes even her folks commented.

But she always dealt with all those comments, criticisms and advises very gracefully, rather with a pleasant smile on her face.
The Smile of satisfaction,
Satisfaction of fusing... with a soul of Radha,
The soul which found the essence of Krishna...in her colour!!!

Fantasy

"Are you sure, You want to do this?"

"Of course Yes! It's my idea after all."

"You don't have to attach ego to it han. It's perfectly okay if you want to back out at any point of time. Just let me know."

"Are you scared? Embarrassed? Disgusted?"

"No No. Chill. Nothing's like that. I just wanted to make sure that...you know...you are fine with it in reality."

She was excited. He was hesitant. With his questions, she became Antsy. 

***

They were on their honeymoon.

Arrange marriage. So first trip together.

Little of awkwardness, little of comfort. Little of nervousness and little of enthusiasm.

Though their courtship period was reasonably long, no amount of dating can replace a single trip together. You cannot really know a person unless you have traveled with them. 

Band darwajon ke pichhe se bhi bhala mausam ka andaja lagta hai kabhi.

***

Evening passed in exploring town. Entering into random temples. Eating golgappe and kulfi. Buying kanch ki chudiya and walking through the unknown, narrow lanes and thinking…

“How cute is he? I still can’t believe that he really agreed to this crazy idea I just blabbered without thinking. Oh my god, he must be judging me right? Why won’t he? I mean everybody has fantasies but Hello! No one reveals them and tries to execute them on their honeymoon. I made him get down the train at strange destination. Making him stay in here. With absolutely no practical plan. Am I asking too much out of him? Is he doing it against his will? So that I won’t feel sad OR just to impress me? But whatever it is… I am happy. Even if it is to impress me, he is ready to do crazy things with me. That’s what matters, right!”

“How cute is she. And god so adventurous. I mean where? Where would you find the girl who would take such risks? And the fact that she wants to do so with me…makes me feel so...Important. It made me feel like she trusts me. Little things, small gestures, matter. And it’s so awesome that she spoke her mind when I asked her about her fantasies. Well, it is little filmy and odd but she has guts to say it out loud is all what matters!”

As sun started to set, they headed towards their destination.

***

They entered in Anand Palace.

It was perfect… just like she wanted it to be.

Yellow light…scraped, dirty, hard to tell what was its original color – wallpaper and curtains, Still ashtray with ash in it in one corner…red coil under the bed… broken, trembling  table. Mosquitoes hovering around…smelly… water in the steel jar; which was looking like it must have been there for at least 4-5 years 

It was all…pathetically Dingy...shabby.

“Oh my god! What was I thinking? I mean fantasy apani jagah aur hygiene apni jagah. This is soo yukk and dirty. If it was situation based, sudden, without a choice then, it would have been okay. But who would want to do it here? Consciously? In this dirty place? On this creepy bed sheet?  Eew… what was that? I think something with tail just disappeared in the bathroom. Okay. I did not see this coming. I always thought that I want to do this. Wow! How do I say this to him?"

“aah! a bed Finally! and a not-so-stinky place to pee…cool. But why her face is sooo?”

He looked at her. She smiled uncomfortably.

***

He picked up the bag…held her hand and started walking away…

She was so relieved.
Before she could say anything, He started laughing 

She was embarrassed; he was amused. But in his laughs she found comfort.

***

All the romance that happened between them that night was sleeping in one shawl…at the railway station waiting room.

She missed the chance to tick off an item from her fantasy list and that too when she was so close. It was like when you have perfect frame, good light to click a picture but you don't have camera. And that pic stays just in your mid...

But she still woke up with a big smile on her face...because now she knew…that she was walking a road so picturesque that so many perfect frames were waiting for her! 

Something His, something Hers

It's not working any more...They decided.
Separation was done already...inside... They felt.
It's easy to divide stuff...They thought.

They started with that black t-shirt...which was his at the end of the night, it was hers at the start of the day.

Mug, with the Madhubani painting...was his for morning tea...was hers for evening coffee.

That Pot of rose...Thorns belonged to him...roses... to her.

That Suramadani he got for her from Lucknow, surma belonged to her...Dreams in those eyes, to him.

That fruity shampoo she used to use for evening baths...foam belonged to her...fragrance of her wet hair...to him.

That Violin she got him as a birthday gift, Bow belonged to him...Every note that got played was only hers.

That Rajwadi payal of hers...Ghungru belonged to her... their melody...to him.

That miniature earthen pot they bought from some art festival which was used as an ash tray...half filled with her talk...half with his ash...

That wine glass...which was emptied by her...but which intoxicated him.

That diary of handmade papers...full of words...which were hers...Stories...which were about him.

Still they managed to divide it all... that mug, that violin...those dreams...those stories...

Only thing that was left...was rain...that was pouring...inside and outside...because those droplets,  that rhythm, those memories, that pain...belonged to both of them...jointly.