And so, Kalpana began that slow amble up to the idol. It was not her fault that she bled for so many days. It was not Tai-ajji’s fault that she was conditioned to believe that periods meant shunning away the woman to a dark corner. It was not aai’s fault that she felt trapped between the old generation and the new. Above all, it was not a mere coincidence that the idol was waiting on the edge of the water. He was, after all, extending his stay just for her. It was His doing that the tide had gone out and He stood stranded – He had one last devotee to bless and her promise to fulfil.
Continue readingCategory: Fiction
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar sight – a large idol of Ganesha was being lugged slowly down the street as it made its way to the beach. It was her beloved Pivla-Raja. The most majestic. The most divine. The most yearned for avatar of Ganesha in Bombay. Kalpana had been unable to go see Him, but here He was gliding down to where she now stood. “Bappa you found me” whispered Kalpana in a voice that only she and her Bappa could hear, “But why did you make this happen? Why did you deny me from prostrating at your feet? Why am I being punished Bappa?” her almost silent voice, now trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes.
Continue readingA dejected Kalpana dragged her feet back home after tutoring her favourite student Ananya, a student at Bishop Green school. Ananya’s family celebrated the Ganesh festival for 5 days and Ananya had been pestering Kalpana to come visit. She obviously couldn’t because of her periods. However, it made Kalpana wonder… a meaningless practice of not participating in holy or divine activities only because of a bodily function over which she had no control. Was it the Gods who had decided this? Or was it God’s agents who decided that a bleeding woman was impure, untouchable and disgusting? She knew the answer, but suddenly when Ananya questioned her innocently why she had not attended the Ganesha festival at her place, she felt like she too was propounding the same old blind rituals.
Continue readingIn the evening, Kalpana returned home to a sombre mood floating about the house. Tai-ajji sat in her favourite rusty chair by the window, with her eyes half-closed, muttering holy incantations as she turned the rosary beads fervently through her fingers. Aai rushed out of the kitchen, wiping her wet hands on her faded green nighty, only to meet Kalpana’s guilty eyes. “You got your period today?” Aai asked urgently and found her answer in Kalpana’s lowered eyes. “Go, go inside and have a head bath. You didn’t go to the pandals I hope!” added Aai, as Kalpana sprinted inside and straight into the bathroom.
The rest of the week brought wafts of agarbatti, steaming ukdichey modak and sizzling aloowadis. Every evening Sudya anna would regale the family over dinner about the unique Ganesha idols, the richly decorated pandals and the best prasads that were distributed across their suburb.
Continue readingEvery myth has two kinds of characters: the ones we’re meant to love, and the ones who exist only to make the hero look good. I spent the last few months writing an academic paper about the second kind — and it just got published, so I wanted to talk about it here in plain language, without the footnotes.
The paper looks at two women from two very different traditions: Circe, the witch from Greek mythology who turns Odysseus’s men into pigs, and Surpanakha, the demoness from the Ramayana whose nose Lakshman cuts off for daring to desire Rama. For thousands of years, both of them existed only as obstacles — the monster the hero has to get past on his way to somewhere more important.
Then two novelists decided to hand them the pen. Madeline Miller gave Circe a whole novel of her own. Kavita Kane did the same for Surpanakha in Lanka’s Princess. Both books ask the same question: what if we heard this story from the “other” side?
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“Fixed, auntyji” he shouted, “Now this one will not trouble you again.”
Aparna was glad that Subhash had come over at such short notice or by now her house would be flooded. “Thanks, Subhash, I don’t know what I would do if not for you.”
HE was coming for her. He had left all the telltale signs behind.
Simran shuddered. She felt like she heard his heavy breathing. But it was only the AC. She ran her fingers through the fur-lined coats on the rack and wondered if it was cold in Switzerland this year.
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