Desicritics Author: Deepti Lamba

Terrorists Attack Sri Lankan Team In Pakistan

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 3 Mar 2009 00:22:32 EST

Twelve masked gunmen in Lahore targeted the Sri Lankan cricket team which was on its way for a match at Gaddafi stadium. Samaraweera was shot in the leg.

Chaminda Vaas was seen taken on a stretcher. Thilan Tharusha, Paranavithana, Kumar Sangakara and Ajanta Medes are also injured. However the Punjab Governor said the Sri Lankan players are safe in terms of not being in critical condition.

Visual footage was taken of terrorists opening fire. Five police men were killed and weapons including a rocket launcher have been found at the scene of crime.

According to Pakistani police there were twelve gun men and their operation seemed similar to the 26/11 attack. The assailants attacked with guns and hand grenades.

The terrorists are still at large and one may have been shot down.

Fiction: Burn After Viewing (NSFW)

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 13:01:05 EST

====WARNING: NSFW====

The fan made an irritating clucking noise and rotated above the Kalyan Sabha's chief ominously. The fan had been threatening decapitation since the socialist era but the head of the Sabha, Prakash, liked to live dangerously. Everything around him was perched precariously - the journals, the photos of his wife and kids but what were stacked neatly were pictures of semi nude and nude blondes in his mahogany desk drawer. He had cataloged them by year and by the time he masturbated to them in his office. He, after all, liked to live dangerously.

Dangerously enough to masturbate in his office but not stupid enough to have a whore give him a blow job while he fondled her teen boobs and stared hard at Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch bikini. He had an image to maintain. He was the white kurta guy and those in white kurtas never squirted on prostitutes and definitely not on their all male office staff in their not-so-Oval offices. He snickered at his own joke and fingered the key that was safely tucked in his kurta pocket.

Santosh Shrivastav was due any minute but he wanted to see his dolls one last time. He smacked his lips and felt a slight rise in his shriveled penis. Wait for Santosh or take a peek? It was post lunch time and the chaprasi was asleep and the other workers were snoozing in cool rooms in the arms of their paid by the hour beloveds. And he was bored.

He opened the drawer with one hand and held his tool with the other. Just one look. His index finger began to leaf through the stacked pictures. He knew them by heart - blond with small nipples, blond with big nipples, blond with three breasts, blond on blond, horse on blond and ah! his favorite Asian man on blond woman.

He pulled the picture out and smiled. The boy in his pajama smiled as well. He caressed his dong but the knock on the door snatched him back from the exquisite blond in a motel room to his shabby Sabha office.

"Choot!" he muttered, shoved the picture in the drawer, removed his inappropriately placed hand, tied the nala and turned the key on the drawer.

"Come!" he barked at the door. Stupid Shrivastav came at exactly three in the afternoon. Who comes on time? Only morons, he muttered to himself and grabbed one of the journals.

Shrivastav let himself in tentatively. For a man of his sizable girth, he walked lightly with a delicate elephantine gait. Rumor was he was somewhat gay. Unmarried and a bit of a loner. To put it bluntly, macho men made him nervous and he never showed interest in women.

Prakash didn't like him but he seemed to be the most cultured in his coterie of crass well-meaning bumbling workers. He was the only one who had his finger on the pulse of the urban middle class youth. Pansy Shrivastav was right for the job.

Shrivastav fidgeted on the hard wooden chair and his trouser-covered bums itched due to the holes in the woven strings of the chair's seat. Prakash sir seemed to be busy writing. Shrivastav clutched his file close to his chest. He reminded himself for the tenth time not to fold the file. It held important photographs.

Prakash finally emerged from his supposed work and eyed Shrivastav with a lofty eye.

"Yes, Shrivastavji, what do you have for me?" he asked

"Sir! The women have gone wild." He cleared his throat and nearly rolled the file. He took his white perfumed handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his sweaty forehead. They have started a Kali Sena drive against our Kalyan Sabha and here is a picture they have put up to symbolize their fight."

"What is this?" Prakash gasped. "Is that a woman? Is she showing her buttocks?" His tone went up a couple of octaves and Shrivastav felt like a mouse in a lion's den

"Sir---" he tried to speak up but was interrupted by Prakash

"And where is Kali? This thing looks familiar. Where have I seen it before?"

"Sir, I don't know but it gets even worse. They took out another picture making fun of our demand that women stop wearing trousers."

A grim Prakash reached over and stared at the picture.

"Female Ninjas? Is this how they are planning to fight our soldiers on the road? See!" Prakash thrust a stubby index finger against the picture and pinned it against his mahogany table "See! they call themselves the sluttiest Ninjas! We were right! These women need to be taught a lesson."

Shrivastav cleared his throat " Sir, this one is worrisome."

Prakash crossed his arms against his chest and rocked his chair. Sweat dotted Shrivastav's forehead again. It was getting hot in his boss's office.

"The next one they sent to our office." He held the picture close to his chest and his upper lip quivered.

"Show me" Prakash muttered.

Shrivastav's adam apple bobbed.

"Show me!" Prakash barked and Shrivastav handed him the picture.

Prakash stood up abruptly and his chair fell. The sound of metal thumping against the floor made Shrivastav jump and he delicately eased back in his chair while his chief began to stalk the office. Shrivastav's head sank into his chest. It was getting from bad to worse and it wasn't even his fault.

Prakash thundered. "They are telling us they will ambush us with assault rifles. Get in touch with the Home minister and tell him that these renegade women are threatening bodily harm and have AK-47s. Call them now!!"

Shrivastav seemed to fold over his chair. Prakash turned and looked at his quaking worker "What?! Didn't you hear me?"

"Sir! There is more!"

Prakash walked over to Shrivastav. "How many more?!"

Shrivastav whispered. "Only one sir." He kept his head down and handed over the last picture

Silence prevailed as Prakash stared at the picture. Shrivastav croaked "There was a letter with it. It said - we know about Pamela and others."

"Out!"

Shrivastav jumped up and ran for the door. He wanted out. As he opened the door he heard his boss speak to him for the last time for the day.

"No one is to know, Shrivastav. I will have your balls if this gets out!"

He paused, handing back the first three pictures and saying, "Burn these ones."

Shivastav nodded and left the room with a quiet click.

Prakash straightened his chair and sat down. For once, Pam didn't do anything for him.

Women Assaulted In Bangalore For Wearing Jeans

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 08:40:01 EST

Miscreants are targeting women in jeans in Bangalore. Hard to believe, isn't it?
The women were hounded, assaulted and threatened for being in 'Western attire'. What is happening in Bangalore? After being perceptually on my guard in Delhi- a city best known for its crimes against women I find Bangalore too heading down the same dangerous route.

A few weeks ago a group of women and men had been badly injured by a group of thugs at a pub and the night shift police allegedly tried to hush the matter up. The incident made news and then the matter easily slipped the mind of laidback Bangaloreans.

But the bully is still out there trying its best to subjugate the Bangalore spirit of -live and let live.

Is it time we civilians began to bear arms? The gun culture has never been part of the urban Indian society but more and more people are now wondering how they can best protect themselves against these miscreants.

Those against the gun culture are quick to say that more accidents and crimes of passion are caused by gun possession than actual self defense but I ask how do we protect ourselves when these thugs ambush us and even if they are caught the law enforcement watches from the sidelines and worse still turns on us?

Two out of the three victims of these hate crimes have registered complaints against the men who assaulted them. The police should take caricatures of the thugs out in public, our chief minister (highly unlikely) should offer harsh condemnation of the acts and we women should have some form of protest put up as quickly as possible against this sort of bullying by impotent thugs.

Here are a couple of safety tips that women should follow:
• Do not roll down your car window even if someone asks for direction.
• Always keep your car doors locked.
• Always keep your cell phone charged.
• If you are being chased while in a car try to remain in a crowded area and keep a look out for police.
• Avoid lonely roads and parking lots, listen to your instincts.
• If someone grabs you scream your head off
• Try getting a pepper spray
• Learn basic self defense techniques
• Always be aggressive. Bullies generally lay off bullies. A vulnerable looking woman is an easy prey.

These thugs are obviously individuals who have taken inspiration from the Mangalore goings-on. This has nothing to do with religion but a nasty chauvinistic mind set that is intimidated by emancipated women. This is not the time to give in to cynicism or indifference. We have to voice our protest.

The power of public outrage is the best defense against hooliganism. Speak up and be heard!

MTV Roadies: Bloodshed In Gandhinagar

Deepti Lamba — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 14:09:17 EST

There was bloodshed in Gandhinagar! Raghu and Rajiv brought their evil vibes to the latest episode of Roadies and the Brats were decimated not by the hands of the brothers but by womanly wiles and manly delusions.

In the immunity task, Bobby was bullied into stepping into the coffin whereas Dev volunteered to step in for the 'benefit' of his team. The person that was left behind the coffin basically was out of the game and hare-brained Dev got his ass kicked out by an enraged Raghu. And before Raghu too left he bestowed upon the injured cry baby Bobby the right to grant immunity to two people.

Thanks to Dev's foolishness, Om Blues were safe but the Brats lay open to be voted out except for Bobby. As always they wanted to vote Suzanna out but then Bobby felt it might seem that they are picking on her and suggested Natasha's name and Sandeep protected Natasha saying she was his friend whereas Suzanna wasn't all that friendly towards him.

So in a group of pretty women like Roop, Bobby, Natasha and Suzanna megalomaniac Sandeep was irked that one woman was impervious to his boyish charms and wanted her out!

Suzanna knowing her pretty ass was being cooked by the narcissistic team mates sought the help of Samrat who told her to have a word with Tamanna and rest of the Om Blues team.

There had already been bad blood between Kiri and his ex-Brat mates, he couldn't stand the sight of Roop who he considered to be manipulative and Tamana hated Pradeep and Sandeep's guts for causing Nauman's departure.

The goose was cooked that night but it wasn't Suzy's but Roop's. Roop knew Om Blues would turn against her but she hadn't expected Natasha to vote against her as well.

Bobby cried tears of blood for granting immunity to her male buddies and not saving Roop but she hadn't expected Natasha to turn. Indian soap opera at its best!

The sense of betrayal was strong and there was a massive cat fight between the Brats' women (except for close to tears soft spoken Suzanna) where they called Natasha characterless and a conniving woman hiding behind an innocent face but what I saw at work wasn't some animosity due to personality clash between head strong beautiful women.

There was power struggle over the 'boys' between Natasha and Roop. Kiri had already said that Roop held the reins over the boys and that probably irked Natasha. Her response that Roop had to go sometime or the other didn't hold much water. There can only be one queen bee in the hive. Roop wanted Suzanna out since she was prettier and kind of snooty but didn't expect Natasha had a thing against her's and Bobby's bossy behavior. Natasha had kept her dislike well under wraps until the time was right.

A visibly upset Suzanna stood next to Natasha and the divisions between the group had become clear. Sandeep acted like a betrayed Lothario, Pradeep shook his head and Bobby continued to cry crocodile tears. Two against three but luckily for them in the next episode there aren't going to be any more gangs, every Roadie is going to be alone once again.

Next week's episode has some actual mud wrestling matches and get this there are babes lying on the field in shorts accusing each other of trying to pull each other's shirts up.

Yeah, maintaining one's dignity has never been a wannabe Roadie's forte;)

And the visas did come through. Some lucky Roadies (not all) will get to cry some outback croc tears in Australia.

POGO, Kellogg's Special K, and Body Image Issues

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 14:11:46 EST

Yesterday just as we sat down at Coffee Day my seven year old eyed me and told me with twinkling eyes "Ma, You are fat." I gasped for breath. I asked him where he had heard about fat. He shook his head and gave me his usual - Don't know and dug into his Black Forest Cake.

I wasn't about to give him an explanation about fitting into a size 12 jeans after 4 months of rigorous work outs or that giving birth to him, his sister and taking care of them had made me 'fat'. I wasn't going down the defensive mode with a 7 year old child.

I was more interested in knowing where he had come across the concept of body image. And it didn't take me long. Today while the kids watched toons on POGO the Special K ad rolled in. And before my horrified eyes I heard a small girl talking about her mom looking like Aishwarya Rai and her mom laughed and said she had lost two kilos by being on Special K. The little angel ranted about her mom looking the prettiest in the school and my mouth hung open.

What kind of shit was this? I looked at my son and then back at the TV. It was bad enough that cable channels were feeding shit to our kids about junk food but now we had cereals sneaking in body image neurosis to our underage children.

Where is the protest from parents about these sorts of ads? Maybe its time Kellogg's was taken to court for propagating unhealthy habits to our kids. Can you imagine a kid asking just for sugary cereals for 2 meals to be skinny?

Anyone who has tasted Special K would tell you that its like sugary wood shavings. And to be on a cereal diet is the worst thing one can do to their body. Eating right and exercising is the best way to leading a healthy life.

Once the ad finished I spoke to my son and told him that not everything that is seen on TV is the truth. And that having a fat or skinny mother doesn't make the child happy, what makes a child happy is having a mommy who loves him.

And that if I ever heard him say those words to anyone I would personally come and teach him the meaning of respect.

He looked at me with big saucer eyes and asked 'Why?"

I replied that it was the meanest and most hurtful thing to say and he wasn't a mean boy.

His mind switched gears when he realized his mother was done lecturing and asked if he could go out and play. I nodded absentmindedly, still upset about the kind of bogeymen we were letting into our homes via kiddie channels.

Kensei, The Dirty Cat

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 13:23:27 EST

If you talk to any breeder they will tell you the same thing - Never pick up an animal from a pet shop. You never know what kind of disease they may be carrying.

Well, we picked up Kensei from a pet shop; better still we rescued a sick 4 month old kitten knowing he was sick. He was an affectionate little mutt and snuggled up easy in the crook of the arm but was a bag of bones. Our hearts became puddle and we took him home.

We nearly lost him. The poor guy had a weak constitution. He couldn't keep anything down. His litter tray was changed every hour and in the end even though Zoey out of pity accepted him he was isolated in another room with his litter tray.

The image of him unable to get up from his dirty litter tray is still engraved in my mind. We managed to pull him away from death.

But Kensei's constitution, however, never recovered. Any deviation from his meal and it would be stink time all over again.

On 14th of February early morning I heard the newspaper on which the litter was laid ruffle. Zoey was sleeping next to me and I knew Kensei was up to no good.

The sound of paper cackling went on for over five minutes. I groaned and buried my head in the pillow. I knew what had happened. He was trying to bury the crime but couldn't. The floor did not have litter on it! He had missed the litter tray again.

I walked out screaming- Kensei, you naughty cat! Its such a big tray! How can you miss it?

He stood still in his tray with one paw raised. He meowed as if to say- Good morning mama and I was too mad to think- oh, you look so handsome despite the crap you have left again for me.

And, yes, he had pooped right between the two litter trays!

He hopped off the tray, rubbed himself against my legs asking to be picked up and cuddled and I imagined kicking the cat to Timbuktu!

Zoey came out of the bedroom meowing her good morning and headed straight for the litter and I thought -oh! there will be two poops to pick up.

I grabbed the cats and locked them in the backyard. They both gave an indignant meow! Out without food!

I grabbed newspapers, Lysol, Dettol, face mask, hand gloves, a bucket, coconut broom, yanked up my nightwear and got to work.

It took me over forty five minutes to clean his mess, get fresh litter and scrub my hands clean in piping hot water.

I then let the cats in to eat. Ten minutes later I could hear the crackle of the paper again. And I groaned. I screamed- Kensei!!

The paper crackled louder, more rigorous. I hit my head against the couch. The crackling stopped, he sauntered into the living room, jumped up on the couch and snuggled up against me.

I told him he was lucky I didn't kick him to Timbuktu, lucky I preferred to clean up after him and not send him back to the damn pet shop and he sure was lucky that I saved his life.

He meowed, turned on his back, showed me his belly and went to sleep and I wondered if I would yet again have to clean his litter tray.

Valentine's Day: Love Expressed On Desicritics

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 12:18:17 EST

Valentine's Day is close by and we are already swimming in pink undies, pink sarees, listening to passionate calls for and against the celebrations but what is going unheard is the silent love that beats deep within our hearts. No matter how cliched it may sound Love deserves to be aired out like fresh sheets in sunny breeze and we'd run through our memories and those expressed by others like children enjoying nothing more than the carefree moment lived and forgotten within the darkened recesses of our hearts.

Love makes us pause and smell the roses, enjoy the caress or maybe for once realize that we have much to be grateful for no matter how hard life may get. Love heals wounds, love gives hope and more than anything love makes us want to be better than we are.

Its all about love and its being painted pink. Pink is not the color of love. Its rich red like the blood flowing in our veins. It lives within us and flows through a touch, a glance or a word. Express what deserves to be aired. Anger and hatred cloud our horizon but love barely scratches the grime reality we live.

Its time to express what makes us human and its called Love.

Articles Written For the Valentine's Day Competition:

Articles Written By Editors:

Tell us how you feel. Posts for the competition are invited until February 16th, and prizes will be announced soon after.

Fiction: Twists Of Love

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 9 Feb 2009 04:07:59 EST

He shifted on the bar stool and looked towards the main door. His eyes met hers. She wasn't the one he was waiting for. Part of him registered that she was attractive. She was curvy, with pretty eyes, wavy hair. She wore a black top with a plunging neckline along with black trousers.

The steward spoke to her and took her to a table. His eyes went back to the door. Where was she? He had been waiting for over fifteen minutes. He looked at his watch once more and then at the door. He fidgeted, turned back to take a sip of his whiskey sour and again trained his eyes on the door. He knew he was acting like a twenty year old and less like the thirty five year old man that he was.

She had finally agreed to go out with him as a date and not as a friend. He had watched her go through disappointments and heartbreaks for over five years and kept his love under wraps. She never saw him as anything more than a buddy. For her there was no chemistry between them but last night she asked if he wanted to be her date? She wondered out loud that maybe they were like old married couples and maybe she had been a fool not to see what they had.

He smiled and agreed, maybe they did have something. He gave a restrained smile. He wasn't going to lay it all out in the open. Not yet. He had his dignity and he was, after all, not a twenty year old.

But his heart was very much that of a twenty year old's. He hated himself for the eagerness he felt in his heart as he waited for her. His drink finished and he ordered another. Time was ticking by where was she?

At the table the lady in the black top and trousers played with the cutlery set next to her plate. Where was he? Was he going to make it? She looked at the door and then at her watch. She was a fool to believe him. Her eyes wondered around and she saw people laughing, drinking and eating. Feelings of loneliness washed over her and despondency came over. The tiny voice that insisted her he wasn't coming grew louder. He had stood her up, again.

He ordered another drink. It was his third whiskey sour. His stomach grumbled with hunger and he ate a few peanuts. His eyes wandered around the room and he saw the lady in the black top also sitting alone. It was close to an hour since she had walked in. Maybe they both had been stood up.

Their eyes met and they looked away. Indians didn't acknowledge strangers. Where was she? Had she changed her mind? A sense of forbidding came over him; maybe she had gone back to her last boyfriend. The devil in him twisted the knife deeper. Maybe she was in his apartment, lying in his bed, loving him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, maybe she had forgotten all about the friend she had stood up. He gulped down his drink and ordered his fourth whiskey sour.

She drummed her fingers on the table and then looked at the alcohol menu and ordered whiskey on the rocks. He was late but he had always been late. She wasn't going to lose her temper. The guy at the bar also seemed alone. At least she wasn't the only one waiting for someone in the pub. He was a nice enough fellow. Easy on the eyes, actually. Her mind reverted back to her husband of ten years who couldn't keep his pants up when it came to pretty women. She wondered why she was a glutton for punishment. She was a fool.

Her drink came and in anger she gulped it down. Gritted her teeth when it hit her gut hard and asked the waiter for another. She crossed her arms and sat back against the chair and began to brood. The waiter returned with her drink . He whispered that the gentleman on the other table sent her a drink. She looked to her right and saw two twenty-somethings smile at her. They looked decent enough. One of them raised his glass at her. He was more than easy on the eyes. He was hot! He was a Shahrukh Khan look alike. She raised her glass and took a sip. He came over to the table.

Sitting on the hard stool he wondered whether on his fourth or fifth drink? He wasn't sure but one thing he was sure about- he had been officially stood up by the woman he had waited for what seemed to be most of his wasted life! But he looked at the door hopefully. It opened and a couple walked in. Disappointment punched his gut. He cursed himself and ordered his fifth; yes, it was his fifth.

The bartender raised her eyebrows. He glared at her. She smiled at him. They started talking. He was tipsy and his mind became hazy. He couldn't remember her face anymore. He concentrated his swaying senses on the bartender. She made him laugh. He ordered another, she told him to go easy on the drinks and he replied only if she would go easy on him. She showed him her pearly whites and he felt a balm on his soul.

The lady in black smiled when the good looking twenty something asked if she wanted to go to the nearby nightclub with him. She didn't let herself think about the risks and agreed. She wasn't a wet blanket; she too could have fun. She finished her third drink, got to her feet and swayed a bit. He grabbed her elbow to steady her and before he helped her out of the restaurant he nodded at his friend who raised his glass to him- Jackpot! He had a date.

The bartender gave him his sixth whiskey sour and lightly said if he would stop drinking she would take him up to her apartment for coffee; her shift was over. He smiled, pushed his drink to the side, inclined his head at her and gave her a devilish smile. She blinked. She wanted him. She gestured towards the door and they went out of the restaurant towards the stairs. Her apartment was on the first floor.

Something was wrong. She felt her world whirl around her, the nightclub would have to wait. Drinking on an empty stomach was never good. She bent over and threw up right on the porch of the restaurant and her black trousers got splattered. Humiliation, embarrassment and stomach ache made her groan out load.

As he was walking out with the bartender, he saw the lady in black throw up a few yards away from him. The lady in black was drunk. The bartender went up to the lady and asked if she wanted a taxi. She declined and asked her young companion to take her home. Her companion looked uncomfortable but felt he couldn't leave a drunk woman to fend for herself and agreed to drop her home. Taxis weren't safe.

The bartender returned and put her arm through his and took him to her rooms.

She, on the other hand, was carefully bundled into a Scorpio and she mumbled her address. Later, she didn't resist the helping hand towards her door and then her room.

Morning came in it's sunny glory. They both blinked and groaned. He was in the unfamiliar apartment and she was in her own bedroom. Memories of the sex escapades spilled forth.But hangover warded off the shock.

She stumbled into her bathroom and looked for the Ipill kept behind the mirror. She wondered if that kid had used a condom.

He sat up and grabbed his head. This was his first one night stand in his thirty five years of life . Did he use a condom? he wondered. He didn't carry one; he wasn't expecting to get lucky. The woman on the bed snored loudly and he stifled the next groan.

Her cell phone rang.

His cell phone rang.

They both groaned as their partners continued to slumber peacefully.

She wrapped herself in a robe and gingerly walked into the living room, side stepping the clothes left strewn around. Her black bra lying on the floor made her cringe and she closed a tight fist against the little butterfly encrusted Ipill.

He grabbed his trousers lying next to the cheap bedpost and pulled the cellphone out.

They answered their phones in a whisper

"Hello?"

His deep baritone in her ear made her close her eyes in pain. She tried to remind herself that he had hurt her all over again. She promised herself that she'd be strong for once and not given in.

"Sweetheart! There was a big jam on Brigade Road and the Airtel lines were jammed. I couldn't get through. I was so worried. Have I blown my chances with you? Sweet heart I am so sorry. I love you. I don't want to lose you. Can I come over? Please honey. Give me a chance? Give our marriage a chance? "

He went on pleading .

She stared at the Ipill in her palm and replied "No, I'll come over at lunch time. We'll talk then" She closed her cellphone and went into the kitchen to have her pill with water.

He remained quiet as his friend of five years gave him an explanation.

"Babes! I made up with him. We are fine now. I tried to call you but the lines were jammed. I know you will be happy for me......"

She went on speaking but he stopped paying attention to the flighty chatter. His eyes were on the bare chested woman who lay on her back and smiled up at him. He smiled back at her. His twenty year old heart did a little skip. Being with her seemed right.

She held her arms open and as he lay down with her he whispered "Happy Valentine 's Day."

Love Remembered

Deepti Lamba — Sat, 7 Feb 2009 13:46:36 EST

Romance and Love cause all of us to get teary eyed. Some stories have tragic endings and some make us wish that we would also experience the highs of love.

I was thirteen at the time when my grandmother went down memory lane.

"Jhaiji, how did you meet Bauji?" I looked into the eyes of my slim white haired grandmother. She had been a beauty back in her days. Behind her hung a family portrait of the entire Sharma clan. My grandfather, his three brothers, one sister, parents and the wives. My grandfather and grandmother seemed the most handsome pair to my young eyes.

She smiled and the gold loops in her ears clinked.

"I never met him but I saw him having his bath."

I gaped at my grandma "Huh?"

She chuckled at my shocked reaction. "Beta, during that time we women weren't allowed to see the prospective groom. Once he came for marriage he was shown to me without his knowledge. That was the tradition. "

"Was he ...er...you know!"

Jhaiji burst out laughing. "Of course not. Back in those days we did have bathrooms for bathing but at the same time men used to take baths in open aired rooms in their under wears and I was shown him from the rooftop by Masiji."

"But that's not right! He could have seen you peeking at him!"

My grandma put her hand against her mouth as she tried to control her laughter and I glimpsed the happy girl she had once been. "So what? He would have gotten to know that I was the one after we were married."

I laughed as well.

"So, he never got to see you till you two were married?"

"No, he didn't and neither did his mother."

"What? Really? Then who fixed the marriage?"

"The fathers of course but your grandfather's brothers played a trick on their mother. While the baarat was on its way they sent a telegram that I had gout and my throat hung out."

My eyes became the size of saucers. "Then what happened?"

"When we reached the first thing my mother in law did was grab my throat through the ghooghat (thats when part of the saree is used to cover the face) and I was shocked. I thought someone wanted to kill me."

I burst out laughing and so did my grandma.

"Was Bauji a good husband?"

My grandfather came out of the bedroom and sat down next to me.

My grandma smiled at him and replied "He's always been. Back in Lahore he used to take me for movies after work, and never complained about the food I made. He always made me laugh. He is a very patient spiritual person"

My grandfather blushed.

"What about after the partition when things got tough?"

My grandfather remained quiet and watched the exchange with a happy smile.

"Your grandfather was the most handsome man in Daieewara (place in Old Delhi) and whenever he went to the roof there was this neighbor who too would go up just to talk to him. And I didn't like it. I put a stop to his roof visitations."

Bauji started laughing and my grandma shook her head.

"He still has women following him around."

We all started laughing.

"Jhaiji, tell me after so many years of being together whats it like?"

"Its like being two bodies with one soul."

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A year after that my grandmother lost most of her faculties due to brain tumor but my grandfather's love for her never changed. He remained by her side morning and evening, read to her, made people come over and talk to her, watched movies with her on the VCR and fed her himself many a times.

She died in his arms after eight years of suffering and he too passed over a year later. When I reflect on my grandparents marriage I see love, compassion and patience. Life had been hard for my grandparents but their marriage had acted as a haven within which the kids grew to be capable individuals.

How To Please Your Wife On Valentine's Day Despite The Recession

Deepti Lamba — Sat, 7 Feb 2009 00:56:37 EST

Do I have the husbands' ears? If your marriage is the romantic kind where gifting giving is the norm and you happen to be on your wit's end about the dreaded Valentine Gift let me help you out.

You needn't spend too much money, really! Recession has caused us all to tighten our purse strings or made our wallets slimmer. You don't have to buy her diamonds, gold, not even a single stemmed rose and yet she will be thrilled by your gift.

Here are some ideas that you can mull over and take it from a woman these are bound to make your better half teary-eyed.

Morning Tea and Breakfast : Give her tea and breakfast in bed. Use your best cutlery. And no the breakfast needn't be elaborate. Toast, eggs and juice followed by coffee or tea are good enough. Women love being taken care of early in the morning.

Take Care Of The Kids: Give them breakfast as well. If you don't have help and they are tots then bath them as well. Help them do their home work and let her read the papers while you act mommy.

Take The Family For A Picnic: Pack a hamper and grab a blanket. While the kids run around talk to your wife. I mean really talk to her, entertain her like you did when you were going around or engaged.

Massage: Massages don't always lead to sex. Listen to me again - touching the flesh doesn't always lead to sex. Many a times it shows you care. Grab her feet and massage them. She would love you for it. Rub her back, run your fingers through her hair and listen to her sigh and purr like a contented cat.

Make Sure The House Is Clean: A shabby house is a romance killer. Don't let her do a thing around the house on that day. Not even dusting! Do the chores, wash the dishes, supervise the help and take care of the family.

Write Her A Love Letter: No! I am not letting you off! You can do it. Tear a page from your kid's note book and write to her why she is important to you. The letter need not be poetic. Simple words make the maximum impact. You don't even have to buy her a card. Just remind her how you feel about her.

Dance With Her : Once the kids are asleep switch off the television, put on some slow music and dance with her. Hold her close and shift your weight from one foot to another and that is close enough to good dancing. Women love cuddling and this happens to be one of the best ways to make them feel special.

Last but not the least, before you close your eyes for the night tell her she is the best Valentine's gift that ever happened to you.

The next day she is bound to be the envy of all her girlfriends.