Snow-woman

Christopher’s care house

Eastern US

Laurie was looking out the window with a half knitted sweater in hand.

Her family had planned to visit her that weekend but the sudden snowstorm had caught everyone unawares. The bright but depressing weather was not helping the cause.

The throat cancer she was diagnosed a few years ago had worsened and she wanted to spend the last few days of her life with the family.

As dawn paved way to a light sunny afternoon, she heard footsteps from the adjacent room as the doors were ajar. Connie’s family had come to visit her a few days back but could not leave as the blizzard broke everyone’s travel plans. Snow piled up for more than 3 ft. and travel in those conditions was impossible.

The visitors had invited themselves to an unplanned holiday. The workaholic husband was disappointed he would be away from work, and the homemaker wife was upset that she would have to be away from their recently bought house. But the children were happy to spend time with their grandmother.

The storm lasted for two days and the mild reprieve they got made the kids venture out to build their favourite snow men and women.

Wearing ski gloves and boots, they went out and started building the white figures. Ron built a snow-man that resembled the famous Hulk character. Lisa settled for the traditional snow-woman with forks and spoons becoming limbs, and carrots and grapes forming facial parts.

Lisa looked at Laurie through the window and smiled. She smiled back and gestured to her that her creation was better than Ron’s. Lisa’s happiness skyrocketed and she ran towards her mother to share the joy.

Laurie sat in the same position for the next two days for any movement she made caused more pain to her already ailing body. The gruelling pain and sadness of not being able to see her loved ones made the cancerous throat dry. Tears trickled down from her eyes and moistened the wrinkled chins.

Her only solace and companion was the snow-woman Lisa had built.

As the weather improved and the sun shone, the snow-woman started to melt and so did the lady watching her.

Written by

Navin Radha

Pulpy Fiction

 

A passport, many stamps but a visa less

Prologue

This is a true story and all instances of ‘I’ and ‘me’ refer to the author himself.

There are times when you think you are in control of things but that’s when they go haywire and make you think ‘Fallibility is bliss’.

Subject

People tend to remember dates – birth days of their friends, their own anniversary dates and many moreof the sorts. But if I can’t forget one date in my life, that would be the 21^st of December, 2009.

I live in the UK and had planned my Christmas holiday very meticulously. My fourteen day trip to countries Slovenia, Hungary, Slovakia and Greece was as per the schedule until this ill-fated day. I could look back at it and smile just for the nonce but even the thought of undergoing it again makes my goose bumps rise.

Chapter 1 – Arriving at the train station

OK, let me get to the point. I had jolly well started off my trip with Slovenia and hitherto enjoyed the city of Ljubljana, its capital, had a glimpse of the panoramic views of Bled and had taken a day’s trip to Postojna caves. Sated with this visit, I was all set to see Budapest, the capital of Hungary.

There are two train services to reach Budapest from Ljubljana – one during the day and another at night or rather early morning. I, being the wiser soul, had opted for the night train while thinking on lines that with this option I might save time during the day. This said I had also opted for the more expensive option as these night trains usually cost a few extra Euros.

As my train was scheduled to arrive at 2 AM, I took shelter in the hostel I had stayed for the two nights before and giving me company there was my Canadian friend, who was also touring Europe. He had planned to catch another early morning train to reach Venice. ‘What’s with this flurry of catching early morning trains?’ you could wonder but when it comes to us blighters doing these stuffs, we blighters are up for it anytime.

As we both discussed this and that, the clock struck 1 AM and I wore my heavy jacket, covered my hands with woollen gloves and my head with a skull cap. Donning two pairs of socks and a sports shoe, I set myself up for the journey from the hostel to the train station. One might wonder why one should cover oneself with all this winter paraphernalia but if it’s -20 deg C outside, you ought to take cover.

The walk lasted 25 minutes and it literally looked like the walk of my life. Tramping on ice-capped roads, I ensured that I didn’t make the fall of my life as it would be very difficult to find help at this blighted hour. One could be lucky if a blood sucking vampire or an affectionate owl comes for assistance but besides that I could find no semblance of any human movement.

I reached the station at about 28 minutes past 1. The station looked deserted but that’s when a Slovenian damsel came pirouetting learning from her boy friend, don’t know if he was her boy friend but at least that’s what I thought, that her train was delayed by an hour. It’s never good to hear about the delay at this early hour and especially when the temp outside is not comforting. This coupled by the fact that you haven’t had your 8-hour slumber makes you think you’re one of those unlucky souls in the world. Btw, the delay I was alluding to was my delay too as we were destined to travel on the same blasted train.

Bearing in mind that we had to spend another 1.5 hrs in the station without any heating room made us shudder. My two pairs of socks gave little protection and accentuated the importance of winter footwear. You can’t be sane if you sport yourself with one of those high streets’ Nike wear in this kind of weather.

Chapter 2 – Making friends

I started walking hither and thither and found this little bar in the station, which looked like the only solace one could think of at this ‘Gawd-help-us’ place. A 6 ft figure standing beside me was glancing at me and from the shake of his head I understood that he also considered the idea apt for the situation. We entered and he being a wise European ordered for vodka. I couldn’t resort to my usual non-alcoholic equivalent in ‘J2O-apple and mango’ at this blasted hour but instead opted for a hot chocolate. The girl at the bar smiled at me and gave a hot white-coloured drink.

I always thought hot chocolates were brown in colour but the colour didn’t matter at this juncture as this could become the drink of my life if I were to catch some cold throat disease. My friend and I took a seat in the bar, the music inside was blaring so loud and people were enjoying themselves so heartily as if Santa Claus had come down early that the entire scenario portrayed a contrasting picture to what was happening outside.

As we started chatting, I removed my socks and gave a strong massage to my ice cold feet. He liked the idea of wearing double socks and planned to implement it in the future if the weather was no way near to travel friendly. He mentioned that he was heading towards Zagreb in Croatia and came all the way from Amsterdam to Ljubljana by car with one of his chums. He, as any other ‘Gawd-help-him’ soul in this station at the nonce, was destined to catch the same train I was supposed to board. I appreciated his courage. These Europeans do some travelling, I ought to say!

We repacked ourselves so that as little of our body as possible was exposed to the outside world. We waited and at about 3 AM, the sound of our transportation managed to permeate thro our skull caps and entered our inner ears. We boarded our train, the pirouetting girl accompanied us and her boy friend kissed her goodbye. We managed to get ourselves accommodated and I checked the coupé for any sign of mischief but it was all quiet which made me glad. In a few moments, I went into my dreamless but at about 4 30 AM, a bright illumination woke us up. We were at the border about to leave Slovenia and enter Croatia and the Slovenian border check police entered the train.

For the uninformed, let me explain this process. Most areas in the European space are open bordered as close to 24 countries have signed the Schengen agreement to allow free and borderless travel between them. For instance, if you are a non European Union resident holding a Schengen visa and intend to travel to Austria from Germany, all you need to do is to buy a flight or a train or a bus ticket and get going. But Croatia, not being part of this agreement, is prone to these border checks.

Chapter 3 – The social bug

After about 1.5 hrs, the train reached the Croatian border. I didn’t know what took the locomotive so long to cover a distance, which in any other circumstance, would’ve taken about 10 mins. In the meanwhile I, being a social bug, started chatting with my fellow passengers. There was an American girl, her friend, who was half- American and half-Croat. Then there was another male in his late 20s but he made it clear that he was in no mood to interact with any of us. He had his head phones on and was busy listening to Elvis Presley or whoever it was. And of course, my Croatian friend and the pirou girl were there to enlighten us. We started discussing this and that but the topic shifted to marriages in India. Like any of those million Europeans and Americans, my fellow passengers were too keen to learn about arranged marriages. I explained the nuances and subtleties but our American friend was too inquisitive to handle. The situation got even tougher when the subject shifted to my marriage. I somehow handled it well but when it came to teetotalism I, as always, was defeated. The pirou girl who was all the while silent started laughing at my naivety, if naivety is the word I’m looking for. I said I’m 27 and haven’t sniffed any port in my life. She retorted “I’m 15 but I drink everything”. I couldn’t but appreciate her unprejudiced attitude. But when I added that I am an animal sympathiser and not a man of gaspers, she lost hope. This reminded me of a conversation that I once had in Spain. I went to a restaurant and said “no como carne, no como pescado y no como huevos”, literally meaning I don’t eat any meat, fish or eggs. The waiter, obviously a disgruntled man at hearing such a blatant confession, retorted in Spanish “Then why are you here? This is a land of meat, mate!” Hmm, back to the current situ, I blushed and changed the topic. While we were discussing all these interesting subjects, border control police from the Croatian side arrived to check our documents.

Chapter 4 – Border checks and a visa less

A sober looking officer checked my passport, looked at me and the following conversation ensued.

Off: “You don’t have a Croatian visa?”

Me: “Ya, I know but I’m going to Hungary”

Off: “But you’re in Croatia”

Me: “So?”

The officer smiled, put my passport in his shirt pocket and proceeded to the next compartment. I thought this was no way to treat an honest passenger like me but awaited his return. My fellow mates assured that everything shall be ok but after about 5 minutes the train started moving towards Zagreb. I was too tensed to leave matters there and started searching for the Off. After brushing thro a good number of crooks and passing thro a good number of aisles, we finally met and he explained me that I didn’t have a Croatian visa. I tried to play the wise man’s role and explained the air traffic scenario. Any frequent air traveller would know that one wouldn’t need a visa for a country if one’s going to be sated looking at those numerous perfume shops inside the airport rather than crossing the immigration desk to venture into the city. But our officer was cleverer. That it seems was ok for air travel but while in land, one has to have at least a transit visa even if one hasn’t any plans to step down for a leak. So, the verdict was that I was expected to alight from the loco at the next station along with the Off.

I didn’t have anything else to discuss as even a mention of the weather outside was not worthwhile. I returned to my seat and explained the situ to my chums. They were shocked and my fellow Croat was really saddened that this had to happen to me in his land. While he cursed the laws, the American girl and her half-Croat friend shared their mobile number for any help just in case I was sent to the local gaol. I appreciated the concern and bade adieu to them and partnered the officer to the border check office in Zagreb. Did I look like an accused? I didn’t think so but that’s exactly what the audience at the train station thought. Accompanying me to the office, the officer said that it’s no fault of mine and this is not the first time this has happened to someone who has boarded this loco unknowingly. That’s when I realised the suffering all those poor souls who travelled on this blasted train without a Cr visa would’ve endured. But would they have experienced it in this body freezing weather, I couldn’t comment. After about 10 mins, I was asked to sign some papers which said that I entered the country without a visa and hence am being sent back to the one that I came from. I signed, took the papers and was asked to board a train going back to Slovenia by two officers who accompanied me. The train moved forward and backward for an hour and then finally started moving. The officers returned my passport, wished me good luck, bade adieu and got down at the next station. All this while, they had waited for the loco to move so that I was off their RADAR. What could’ve happened if I had jumped from the train after their exit? I couldn’t say. But it was certain that I was in no mood for such an adventure.

Chapter 5 – Final leg

After a while the loco reached the Slovenian border and there I was welcomed with a cheerful ‘what ho’. After listening to my story and sympathizing with me for a while, the Slovenian border police left me so that I could enjoy my solitude. Half an hour passed and the ticket checker arrived and asked me for the ticket. Randomly put on this train, I had no opportunity to buy a ticket. Anyways, back to the situ, I was wondering where this train was heading to. My destination was supposed to be Budapest in Hungary but this loco was moving towards Vienna in Austria. But I knew Vienna was just 3 hrs away from Budapest. So working my grey cells out, I asked for a ticket to Vienna. The ticket checker, who spoke only Slovenian and German, replied in the universal sign language that he can’t give me a ticket to Vienna. I became furious, firstly he won’t speak a language that I can comprehend and secondly he’s denying me a ticket to the best possible route I could come up with considering what all had happened. Fed up with my repeated requests, he went away murmuring something in Slovenian. I couldn’t say he was swearing but what else would a man do if one won’t speak his language and pester him to issue a ticket, which he can’t for reasons known only to God and himself.

That’s when a saviour in the form of a teen girl, who was accompanied by her boy friend, entered the loco. What’s with this ‘boy friend’ assumption of mine, I don’t know but who else could he be? Again back to the situ, she did the mediating and explained that the ticket issuer operates only till the Slovenian border and that he can’t issue tickets beyond that. I understood the predicament, raised my hands and apologised immediately to my man. He gleefully accepted and I hugged the sexagenarian and being a pure soul bade adieu after getting the half-way ticket. The girl who wasn’t very fluent in English was amazed at how Indians can speak English, come to the UK, use their learning and earn a good living. “Nice thought” I told her but she was in no mood to let me enter the dreamless. She was concerned about a lot of things in Slovenia. So we started discussing politics, education and health care and at the end of an hour’s talk, we had exhausted everything from Radhe Krishna to David Letterman. That being a little exaggerated, I noticed her little boy friend still smiling at us. His was an eternal smile, I must say! Their station arrived and as so many people did to me on this travel of mine, they also bade adieu and I wished them good luck for their education and marriage.

After a while, I managed to get a ticket for Vienna but the new issuer told me that the train was to terminate at Graz and we needed to shift transportation. We reached Graz and the clock struck 1 pm. When you’re frozen at -20 deg C without a night’s sleep and put on an unknown train by unknown comrades, you don’t exactly think of food. But when all’s settled and your brain starts to function well, you realise that you’ve been famished for more than 18 hours and the digester questions are still unanswered. So I got down, went into one of those super markets, picked up whatever I thought I could dump down the oesophagus and settled in the next loco. In situations like this, the first drop of H₂O that goes down your throat feels like ambrosia. It did feel like it. By the time I finished my consumables and had a short nap, we had reached Vienna. There was little time to catch the next loco but I made no mistake this time and settled in what was supposed to be the final leg of my eventful journey. The train almost reached Budapest but was stopped for some signal problems. After moving forward and backward, it reached the station at about 8 PM and I heaved a heavy sigh thinking that I was just 10 mins away from my accommodation in Budapest. Looking back at my travails, I did manage to smile for I had broken another personal record. If you had followed my story carefully, in one day I had been thro four different countries in Croatia, Slovenia, Austria and Hungary.

Epilogue

All characters and incidents in this story are real and have been portrayed to the best of the author’s knowledge and memory. Any attempts to question the verisimilitude of its contents will be dutifully ignored.

- Written by Navin Radha

1941 A love story

Kazimierz district, Krakow, Poland

March 1941

My name is Józef Oleksy and I’m a tailor. Many would wonder if only they knew I’ve started writing a diary. So, I’m keeping this a big secret. But the reason behind this writing is a girl, whom I met outside the Remu synagogue. I feel like I’m dancing with the stars now. How wonderful!
In all my life I’ve never seen such a beautiful face. Two days after I first met her, she came to my shop for some minor stitching. I was dumbstruck and couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was dressed in a white top and a blue skirt, which was perfect for her. I asked her name and she replied ‘Adela‘ but I thought Angela would have been more appropriate to address my lovely angel. I smiled, she noticed that and frowned. After about 10 minutes, she left leaving an opulent smile and that struck a lightning inside me.

Oswiecim, Poland

September 1941

I’ve almost forgotten about the diary. It’s been about 6 months and so many things have changed but still so many others have remained the same since then. She’s Adela Handlowa, daughter of the famous doctor, Ishtak Handlowa. We’ve progressed in our lives really well since then. After exchanging surreptitious ogles for more than a month, I took a bold decision to express my love for her. She reciprocated and I knew she would. We even had dinner at Adela’s house once. Her parents are happy to get us married but it’s hard to say when that’s going to happen. I am not in Kazimierz anymore. I was moved to Oswiecim last week along with another 300 men from my district. But only a hundred of those are here. Nobody knows the plight of the remaining two hundred. There are some rumors that they’ve been transferred to another camp for want of space but some speculate that they’ve been killed. In actual fact, there’s no room here for more people. We’re about 500 staying in a room where only 200 can be accommodated. For the past one week, I’ve been breaking stones, carrying bricks and building wooden structures. We work 10 hours a day and all we get at the end is a bowl of vegetable soup. I have definitely emaciated and must have lost at least 3 kgs by now. There are other frail bodies who have stayed much longer here and their stories are horrifying. But the SS officer who brought me here said that we’d be migrated to another ghetto and this is just a stopgap arrangement. But at this point when rumors are rampant, none can be trusted.

October 1941

Work has become a norm now and my skeletal body is too weak to do any virile task. The only solace at this time is this diary and my writing. I had symptoms of diarrhea last week but couldn't frequent the toilet because of its poor condition. Even one visit a day makes me puke. How in the world can 500 people use 3 toilets without hygiene papers and toilet seats? It’s October now, it’s already freezing here but there’s no heating for us. Neither do we get any woolen blankets nor do we have any change over clothes. But can we question anyone? No is the answer. So, I’m asking all my questions in this piece of white paper.
Last week, one of our fellow mates, Pawel, protested against the SS guards about our treatment in the camp and even threatened that he would report these atrocities to the inspection officers. He and seven of his fellow workers were taken to the vacant area between blocks 18 and 19. And all that we heard were 8 shots and I never saw Pawel again. The vacant area shooting has become very popular now. At least 50 people have been shot till date. More details later!

November 1941

Just two months have passed and I can’t believe a healthy tailor back then is almost a dead rubber now. I thought I’d quit writing but what I saw last week has prompted me to take my diary out again. We were working near the barracks and suddenly a truck passed by splashing muddy water onto the dry land. It reached the far end of the lane and stopped. A group of about 100 women disembarked and they were taken to a hall. After about an hour, they were let out and I was shocked to see the ladies parading with tonsured heads and minimal clothing in this cold weather. As the group reached us, I suddenly recognized a familiar face in the group. I couldn’t believe my eyes but it was Adela. Not even in the wildest of my dreams would I’ve imagined her in such a state. I felt that the last bit of soul left in my body is not worth a penny if I don’t rise for my Lady of love. So I pushed forward, ran amok the guards and tried to free her. The moment I held her hands in mine, I heard a sudden thud and felt the blood oozing from my head. As I fell down, one of the guards knocked me in the ribs and pushed me aside. Disheartened by the helpless condition, my vision started to blur out and all I could see was my life’s only purpose walking away from me.
When I woke up the next morning, the pain was excruciating but I questioned my fellow inmates about Adela’s whereabouts. They said the group was taken to the gas chamber but none returned except the guards. That was the saddest moment in my life. I cried and my tears came
out not from my eyes but from my heart.

Warsaw, Poland

August 1946

Vladimir Kozlov straightened his horn-rimmed glasses, adjusted his waistcoat and ordered his driver to start. He closed the car windows to stop the freezing winds from blowing into his face and opened the derelict diary.
Kozlov heads the Soviet Union commissioned investigations against the Nazi related crimes committed in areas of Poland. He and his team are currently in charge of collecting evidence for the heinous crimes committed by the Nazi men during the Second World War.

Oswiecim, Poland

December 1941

There’s no pain, there’s no fighting and there’s no writing anymore. My insubordination and frail condition have finally got the guards attention. These words are not written anywhere but they’ll be interred inside me forever. I’m standing in this chamber and I can only pray that this doesn’t happen to any other human being again. The room’s doors close and I can already sense Adela inviting me.

Epilogue – This is my tribute to the over 6 million Jews who died in the most dreaded Holocaust. The Nazi Germans built concentration camps at Oswiecim a.k.a Auschwitz where prisoners, mainly Jews, were ill-treated, deprived of basic living conditions and eventually killed. It is to be noted that most of the people in the camps were not guilty of any crimes and were eminent professionals like musicians, doctors and engineers. The two camps namely Auschwitz I and the much bigger Auschwitz II (or Birkenau) are part of the UNESCO list of World heritage sites now.

Genocides are common even in these days but the idea of eliminating a race altogether from this world and building concentration camps to achieve that purpose proves how cruel some of our fellow men in this world have been.
Let’s pray for all those lost souls and work for world peace and harmony.

All characters and incidents in this self-written work are fictitious and any resemblance to any real characters or incidents is purely coincidental.

Written by Navin Radha

Atlantic Spice

“Passengers arriving on flight GJ-222 from New York are requested to proceed to immigration and not wait for baggage collection”, announced Deepti, an airhostess with Grand Jet, with her sweet, honey like voice.

“I should’ve expected this. I know! I know this would happen”, muttered Ragav to himself.

Ragav, a biochemical engineer, has been working in the US for about 4 years now and the fact that he had spent another 8 years of study there takes the tally to 12, a figure from which anyone would guess that Ragav is half-American by now.
He has come down now to get married to one, Miss Veena, an HR consultant, working for a reputed IT firm in Chennai. Though they’ve never met each other in person, the myriad telephonic conversations and online chats they’ve had in the past 6 months don’t make them strangers, thanks to the advancements in Internet technology.

Since they knew each other well, Veena had come alone to the airport to pick Ragav up. Ragav was in an irritable mood because of the long, tiring journey and the fact that his baggage had not arrived added fuel to the already burning fire. To make matters worse, the scorching heat outside annulled the air conditioning effect of Veena’s car. Veena, based on her past experience with Ragav, realized his mood well and decided not to start off any conversation before reaching home. She dropped him home and they decided to meet at the Kalahari’s for a light evening meal at 7 pm.

They arrived at the restaurant together and as they entered, Ragav put his right hand on Veena’s shoulder. Veena smirked at Ragav’s conspicuous public display of affection and politely took his hand off as they approached their already reserved table.

Ragav took his seat and said “Veena, come on! We’re in the era of computers, mobile phones and sat navs. What’s the big deal in a guy putting his hand on his fiancée?”

“Ragav, this is not America and we don’t want to invite unnecessary glares, do we?” questioned Veena.

Ragav: “What the hell! We in the US live a trouble-free life unlike…”

Before Ragav could finish, Veena politely reminded him, “Ragav, you’re still an Indian, living in the US”.

Ragav: “Blame my parents for that! They don’t like me getting a US citizenship”.

As a matter of great relief for Veena, the waiter came to the table and asked the all time commonplace question, “What’d you like to have please?”

Ragav (with a highly accented tone): “Can I have the menu please?”.

They ordered their starters, naans and curries and started looking at the beautifully decorated interiors. After a while, Ragav broke the silence and apologised for starting off the heated conversation. Veena smiled and started talking about the carnatic concert she attended last night.

They savoured the dishes and within about 10 minutes, Ragav bit a red-hot chilli and yelled “Indian curries, useless! They burn us out”.

Veena: “Ragav, chillies are meant to be hot. Don’t you know that? That’s the speciality of Indian curries.”

Ragav: “That’s enough, Veen. Stop boasting about India. I don’t want to start this but you’re too presumptuous to leave matters here.”

Veena: “I’ve had enough of this as well. What’s not in India that you have in the US?”

Ragav: “OK. Firstly, we live an independent life. We don’t trouble our neighbours borrowing coffee powders and ladles.”

Veena: “Very well! Is that your problem?”
“Mr. Shankar, my neighbour, fell unconscious last month. If it weren’t for my dad’s immediate reaction and assistance, he’d be long dead by now. What do you say about that? BTW, do you know who lives to your left?”

Ragav: “I think it’s the Taylor’s. Ok, forget it. I, anyways, don’t know who lives to my right.”

Veena (with a sardonic smile): “How’s the madras curry, Raag?”

Ragav: “Don’t change the topic, Veen. Look how untidy this city is. I mean, everything’s strewn on the roads, it’s so unhygienic.”

Veena: “Agreed, but what do you do at home? You walk with shoes on carpets. Do you know the kind of microorganisms you’d be carrying? Which health standards agency recommends that?”

Ragav (slightly puzzled): “Veena, don’t be a fool. It’s freezing there. I can’t walk with bare feet”.

By this time they’d finished their meal and the waiter came to their rescue yet again, this time only with their bill. Ragav opened his wallet immediately and took out a 10-dollar note. “Oh”, he shrugged and felt gutted he didn’t change his currency.

“No worries, Raag. I’ve got my INDIAN credit card” stressed Veena and winked at Ragav.

Back in the car, Veena started driving and switched the CD player on and Mr. Mellifluous, Unni Krishnan started singing ‘Krishna nee beganey…. baro’.

The signal turned green at one of the junctions and as Veena drove past the speeding two-wheelers, Ragav inquired about Raji, a friend of Veena.

Veena mentioned about Raji’s parents not liking her groom choice and Ragav immediately commented, “Gross! Why are parents so influential here? You know, people in the US start living independently at the age of 18 and parents don’t interfere in their children’s love life”

Veena: “You’re right my darling but we, in India, don’t take appointments to meet our parents”

Ragav: “You’re hopeless, Veen. You don’t talk like an HR consultant, you sound like an 80 year old grand lady.”

Veena (smiles): “Ragav, what’s your problem? What’s troubling you?”

Ragav: “Look Veena, I’ve lived a more comfortable life in the U.S. So, it’s kind of difficult for me to adjust here. Please try to understand that.”

Ragav, totally cross with the discussion, turned the pages of the day’s newspaper and suddenly growled, “Look, look! People here rob houses, steal money, pickpocket. It’s gross!”

Veena: “Raag, what do you think about gunmen hunting down innocent people in universities and colleges for no reason?”
“Don’t you read your own papers for heaven’s sake?”

Ragav (infuriated): “Veena, that’s attitude at its heights. Don’t try to counter everything. What pleasure do you seek in irritating me?”

Ragav continued talking and, suddenly, the vehicle came to a grinding halt. Veena got down, held Ragav’s hand and ushered him to a pavement in Elliots beach.

Veena: “Ragav, I’m neither being rude nor am I defending anything here. See, there are certain good things in the U.S. that don’t happen here. I’m sane enough to understand your feelings. But there are some things that are good here and they don’t happen there. You should try to understand that as well. There are cultural differences between the two countries and it’d be strange for anyone moving from one of these countries to another. You’ve lived in the US for quite a while but you’re no alien to the way Indians live. In fact, you were born and brought up here and no other citizenship could change that fact.”

Ragav (in a slightly confused tone): “What do you want me to do now?”

Veena: “Nothing! I was so happy this morning that I was going to meet you. I never thought we’d end our first day up discussing all of these. Anyways, I’m a partner in crime too. So, sorry about that but I want to let you know that I love you from the bottom of my heart and am really looking forward to marrying you”

Ragav (with an innocent smile): “You’re right, Veen. I had that superior air around me. I totally agree that one should respect other cultures, err…sorry, firstly one’s own culture. You know what, I don’t think American girls are as sweet as their Indian counterparts.”

Veena (with a bright smile and a wink): “Mr. Romantic, please beware that U-turns are not allowed in this beach.

As both laughed at Veena’s comment, she opened the gift she had bought for Ragav.

Gleefully accepting the scented perfume, Ragav laughed out loud reading its name.

Atlantic Spice
200 ml
Made in India