God gives girls that grace and figure. In short, he gives them beauty which even guys are jealous of. Somehow my sister looks beautiful and radiant in spite of the fact that her eyes are shining with tears, in her typical Rajasthani ghagra, Dance classes, yeck. Dunno what they see in it.
She looks up and closes her eyes, mutters something, I think thanking God (or Goddess, we have so many I don't really know. )
"Today's going to be a lovely day"
"Why? What's the big deal?"
"You...you don't remember?:"
"If I did, I won't be asking?"
"The very special day they have predicted rainfall! After MONTHS!"
"Sure doesn't look like it." I shrugged, winking at the sun.
She rolled her eyes. "And...Papa's coming home!"
The sky did seem a bit cloudy after that.
So, the prodigal dad returns.
Yes, he had gone, for another court feud, to defend his usually guilty side. This one was the longest, he had been gone for ages now, and everyone was anxiously awaiting his return.
Well, everyone except me.
Thankfully, he had taken the belt he used to whip me, with him.
I don't know what he wanted me to be. I was always the smartest kid in school, envy of the other kids, an ideal role model in the eyes of parents. But I think he wanted to make me more the "gaming" type. He was always displeased when I entered the house with books and my, if I was a minute late, I would get the lashing of my wildest dreams.
My sister was Papa's Rajkumari. All he ever said and did was mostly about her. He made sure she got everything she needed, and promoted her and her qualities to such an extent that she became the most sought after girl in the whole area. So while hers were of happiness, my tears were of sorrow.
I'm older now, and the lashes have stopped coming. But each time I feel like forgiving my father, I have been successful in reminding myself of how he ruined my childhood. All the hate pours out, and I change my mind.
Every single time.
Rain, however, was a different issue.
We hardly get Indra's blessed natural resource. Sometimes I wonder, what he must do, herding clouds up in the sky. Why can't he let it rain in the deserts?
We'd have more fertile land. So may farmers would be saved. Thousands are committing suicide everyday. All my family does is watch news, so I should know.
But when it does rain, Its often a very magical atmosphere.
I remember when it had last rained. Earlier this year, when Dadda had died. We went to attend his funeral in the blazing heat, and since we belong to the sahib family, we had to wear those English suits. I couldn't maintain my calm demeanor while my underwear was soaked with sweat, so I ran off midway.
And following me, came my father's disapproving stare.
Then the first few drops fell, and the clouds thundered. Petrichor wafted through the air, and midst the sorrow, there came a yelp of euphoria.
Then, Rajmohini, the prettiest woman of the village stood up and said. "Dadda had always loved our dance. He said, when he went to the heavens, he would tell the apsaras to learn something from us.
He is up there now, and the apsaras would want to see an example, surely.
Lets show them!"
Then payels tinkled, and bells around their necks jingled, and the old women of the village broke into a melodious Panihari song.
Strangely, everyone was dancing. My sister took my hand and brought me to the center. Hereby the "center of attention" I danced along with the pretty ladies too.
The whole celebration, was watched over by my Dadda's smiling photograph, glistening with the divine drops of occasional rain.
*****************************
2BC
She looks up and closes her eyes, mutters something, I think thanking God (or Goddess, we have so many I don't really know. )
"Today's going to be a lovely day"
"Why? What's the big deal?"
"You...you don't remember?:"
"If I did, I won't be asking?"
"The very special day they have predicted rainfall! After MONTHS!"
"Sure doesn't look like it." I shrugged, winking at the sun.
She rolled her eyes. "And...Papa's coming home!"
The sky did seem a bit cloudy after that.
So, the prodigal dad returns.
Yes, he had gone, for another court feud, to defend his usually guilty side. This one was the longest, he had been gone for ages now, and everyone was anxiously awaiting his return.
Well, everyone except me.
Thankfully, he had taken the belt he used to whip me, with him.
I don't know what he wanted me to be. I was always the smartest kid in school, envy of the other kids, an ideal role model in the eyes of parents. But I think he wanted to make me more the "gaming" type. He was always displeased when I entered the house with books and my, if I was a minute late, I would get the lashing of my wildest dreams.
My sister was Papa's Rajkumari. All he ever said and did was mostly about her. He made sure she got everything she needed, and promoted her and her qualities to such an extent that she became the most sought after girl in the whole area. So while hers were of happiness, my tears were of sorrow.
I'm older now, and the lashes have stopped coming. But each time I feel like forgiving my father, I have been successful in reminding myself of how he ruined my childhood. All the hate pours out, and I change my mind.
Every single time.
Rain, however, was a different issue.
We hardly get Indra's blessed natural resource. Sometimes I wonder, what he must do, herding clouds up in the sky. Why can't he let it rain in the deserts?
We'd have more fertile land. So may farmers would be saved. Thousands are committing suicide everyday. All my family does is watch news, so I should know.
But when it does rain, Its often a very magical atmosphere.
I remember when it had last rained. Earlier this year, when Dadda had died. We went to attend his funeral in the blazing heat, and since we belong to the sahib family, we had to wear those English suits. I couldn't maintain my calm demeanor while my underwear was soaked with sweat, so I ran off midway.
And following me, came my father's disapproving stare.
Then the first few drops fell, and the clouds thundered. Petrichor wafted through the air, and midst the sorrow, there came a yelp of euphoria.
Then, Rajmohini, the prettiest woman of the village stood up and said. "Dadda had always loved our dance. He said, when he went to the heavens, he would tell the apsaras to learn something from us.
He is up there now, and the apsaras would want to see an example, surely.
Lets show them!"
Then payels tinkled, and bells around their necks jingled, and the old women of the village broke into a melodious Panihari song.
Strangely, everyone was dancing. My sister took my hand and brought me to the center. Hereby the "center of attention" I danced along with the pretty ladies too.
The whole celebration, was watched over by my Dadda's smiling photograph, glistening with the divine drops of occasional rain.
*****************************
2BC
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