Preethi Venugopala's Blog, page 39

Letters from nowhere: Part 4: Whimsical

Letters from nowhere: Part 4/7: Whimsical
After her father cut the call, Anne ordered a pizza. While she waited, she logged on to the internet on her android phone.
A new mail from Shmily had popped up in her inbox.
Dear Anne,
I have landed in your city. With you here, I feel I have landed in paradise.Until we meet.Shmily.
Shaking her head, she transferred the mail to its usual folder. Who was this? It was true that she had started to like this person. Her disdain had not stopped him from sending the mails.
But Shmily, the name itself sounded fake. Was it an acronym or something?Typing Shmily onto the search box on Google, she hit the search button. Contrary to her expectations, they were many links. The first link was that of a shmilycoins.com. Intrigued, she clicked on it. The page told the story of an old American couple who were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "SHMILY" in a surprise place for the other to find. Their granddaughter started the website in their memory and it now sold SHMILY coins made of wood and many other goodies to lovers around the world.
The story touched her and reminded her of her own parents and the death of her mother. They too were madly in love with each other.
Anne stared at the screen with wide eyes when she saw the expansion of shmily. It was the acronym for See How Much I Love You.
See how much I Love You?!!… This was so corny.
Who was the insane person who had disguised himself under this acronym? Was he serious about being in love with her? If yes, why was he not revealing his identity? Did she seem unapproachable?
Next morning, on her desk a bouquet of pink roses awaited her. Pinned with it was a coin that said SHMILY, the same sort she had seen on the website.Frustrated, Anne ringed for Sheila. She was equally puzzled but recognized the SHMILY coin.
“Who is this sweet person? How I wish I had someone to deliver such a bouquet to me,” said Sheila, with a sly smile.
“You keep it then. I don’t have time for such nonsense. My head is threatening to burst with the workload. And the new director...he will arrive only next Monday. I have to manage a whole week on my own,” said Anne, handing over the bouquet to Sheila.

“I’ll take the flowers. You keep the coin. See how much the person loves you,” said Sheila, and ran off fearing a hollering from Anne.
To be continued...

Read Part 5 here

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Letters from nowhere: Part 3: Vivacious

Letters from nowhere: Part 3/7: Vivacious
Anne had reached her flat, which was on the thirteenth floor and slumped onto the sofa, when her mobile rang. The caller was her father. With a smile, she answered the call.
“Anne…Is everything alright? You haven’t called me since Saturday. Are you not well?”
“No, Papa...Everything is all right. It is just that the workload is a little more. I am perfectly fine. I will visit you next weekend. Are you taking your medicines on time?”

“Yes…and that meddling neighbor whom you set to spy on me is checking day and night,” said Sebastian and his daughter chuckled remembering their sweet and caring neighbor Clara.
“I will tell you how you can get rid of her interrogations. Just marry her. Then at least I can sit peacefully here,” said Anne.
“Enough kid, I am busy searching someone for you. I am not marriageable material anymore. God, I am fifty-nine. And you are not getting young as the days ticks by,” said Sebastian, and Anne mentally cursed herself for mentioning the topic of marriage.

Now her sweet Papa would jumpstart the marriage bandwagon again with the help of Carol aunty. Everyday photos of prospective grooms would start to arrive in her inbox. Her indifference had suspended action in that area for quite some time. God, please help.
Anne had lost her mother, the brightest presence in their lives, at the age of fifteen to cancer. With her death, happiness had taken a backbench in their life. They had lived from day to day, and didn’t have much expectations from life. The arrival of Carol aunty, their bubbly neighbor five years ago, had brought a little sunshine to their lives. Carol Braganza was from Goa and had settled in Bangalore in the flat next to theirs after the death of her husband.
Anne knew her father was in love with Clara and that she too returned the feelings. The fact that Anne at the age of twenty-eight was still unmarried was a huge worry for her father, who was a stoic member of the old mentality. Every time she visited, she could perceive the anguish in the eyes of her father.
“Papa… God will have to send someone custom made for me. Most of the men around here find me intimidating,” said Anne, trying to dissuade her father from engaging in his futile quest for a suitable groom.
“Shut up. What is wrong with you? You are extremely good looking. Carol swears by that. I don’t doubt that either. You are like your mother and you know how much I adored her. The one for you is just around the corner. But you won’t even bother to check,” said Sebastian and Anne snorted.  Around the corner indeed!!

“Okay papa. Don’t scold. I will check all the nook and corners from now on. Please don’t worry. Am I not your sweet girl? Now be good and go to sleep. I have to eat my dinner,” said Anne.

To be continued...
Read Part 4 here
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Letters from Nowhere: Part 2: Unexpected Crisis

Letters from nowhere: Part 2/7: Unexplained

It was on a cool February morning that she had received the first mail. The subject line had been Urgent, which prompted her to check it.
Dearest Anne,
Darling, I promise you this…
I'll send you all my love
Everyday in a letter
Sealed with a kiss.
SHMILY
Taken aback, Anne had deleted it. She received a similar mail the next day and many more followed. Instead of reporting these mails as spam, she had created a folder for Shmily and saved the mails in them, steered by the romantic in her who believed in fairy tales and dreams come true. Like updates on twitter, the mails were never long. They talked about simple joys and love. Some were quotes about love; some were song lyrics and some others random musings. How could she trash them?
She never replied hoping to discourage the sender. The mails continued like a monologue. They didn’t reveal anything about the sender, but the occasional reference to sunsets or sunrises gave the impression that the sender lived in a different continent.Leaving the romantic in her firmly trapped in the confines of her commonsense, she transferred the mail to her shmily folder, before leaving to the company canteen for lunch. Instead of being spooky, those mails made her smile in moments of retrospection.
The company cafeteria buzzed with the news of Twinkle’s transfer. Happy faces greeted the news one after the other.
“Hope the new Managing director is not a grumpier version of Twinkle. It would be cool if the new arrival was a tall, dark and a handsome young man,” said Sheila, Anne’s secretary.
Anne smiled.  Sheila was her age, but the difference in qualifications had landed them in different levels of the corporate ladder.
The one replacing Twinkle, Mr. Stephen Winthrop, though younger, was one of the strictest among all the directors of Arianna. He was a grumpy monster according to Twinkle, who had interacted with him at a few internal meetings. He was handsome indeed, if she could go by the photo of him on the company website. With the advent of Photoshop, none resembled their photographs these days. The distressing fact was that Mr. Stephen was on the board of directors of the company, being among the top shareholders. She would have to be doubly careful in her dealings.  
The next week was hectic as hell. With the added duties of Twinkle, Anne was putting in eighteen-hour workdays. Every day, crisis after crisis taunted her. For the first time in the history of their company, a consignment had been send back by a dealer claiming it didn’t meet with the standards of their contract. The consignment, which had undergone tests, revealed that low quality material had been used and was far from the perfection that the brand Arianna stood for.  Add to it, three more consignments were in various stages of delivery, all originating from the same factory, which had produced the lower quality material.

Not only was she in charge of the enquiries, the queries from the head quarters was eating on her patience and time. Twinkle was the one who had permitted the use of third party suppliers for that particular consignment. Anne had voiced her concerns but Twinkle had ignored it outright. Now with Twinkle gone and the new Managing director to take charge only after two weeks, Anne struggled to maintain her composure.

To be continued...

Read next Part HERE
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Letters from Nowhere Part 1: Transfer

Letters from nowhere: Part 1/7: Transfer
The blue summer sky had curdled into white fluffy clouds. The cool breeze played with the single curl that had escaped from her ponytail. Anne gazed fondly at the cottony clouds.The chime from wall clock proclaimed that her duty hours had begun. It was time to dive into the demands of a hectic day. Settling on to her comfortable chair, she adjusted the nameplate on her table.Anne SebastianManager- Sales, Arianna group.
The job came with a six-digit salary, company accommodation and a personal secretary. She was the in charge of the global sales wing of her company branch in Bangalore. Headquartered in London, the Arianna group specialized in selling plus sized clothes for women.
In her, they had a walking-living model for their clothes. Almost six feet tall, with an athletic build, she always made heads turn. For the wrong reason, she was convinced.
Curved at the right places, she had an olive skinned complexion that made her looks exotic. Her hair would have put the softest silk to shame. The surprise in the package was her face that would have suited a cherub. It oozed with the innocence of her radiant soul. She was a swan that was gliding along, believing she was the ugliest duckling in the pond. She simply failed to recognize how beautiful she was. Checking the many number of mails from her secretary, she listed in her planner the schedules for the day.
At noon, she had a meeting with her grumpy boss. Twinkle Mishra, her managing director, had the constant expression of worry with furrowed brows and a wrinkled forehead. Once every week, Anne endured an hour-long lecture that Twinkle rendered in her raspy voice. Half the time, she would be hooting her horn and the rest would be allegations. Anne was not looking forward to the meeting at all.
Interestingly, Twinkle appeared to be in tears that day. Anne sat fiddling with her pen trying to guess what had caused such a visual outpour of her worries. “Anne, I am being transferred to our London branch. Someone from the London office will join here within two weeks. You have the additional charges till then,” said Twinkle, and continued to whine about how much she loved her work and how life always let her down.A mail in her inbox awaited her return. Anne softly cursed the sender.
Dear love,I cannot stop thinking about you, darling. Wish you were here with me this moment. I am watching the most beautiful sunrise that I have ever seen, sipping a hot cup of coffee.
SHMILY
 The mails had started to arrive two months ago, and with every mail, the sender intrigued her more. The mails came from a shmily@gmail.com.
Since it had come to her company mail address, she guessed it might be someone within the company. In a company that employed 13000 plus employees in 4 different countries, that was not much help. Anyone could have accessed the company e-mail directory, which was available online to the staff and dealers.
To be continued...

Read next part HERE

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Summer, dear invincible summer

Dear Summer,

You know what endears you to me? I can list a hundred reasons.It is your power to reduce to nothingness even a mighty river, your ferocious nature that nobody wants to fight against. Even mother earth bows humbly when you talk about the necessity of a change and burns nonchalantly in your furnace seeking purity. But you accept your own fate so humbly and welcome the rains with pertichor, a fragrance that melts even a heart of stone.
You arrive, apologizing for the destruction and despair that begin to spread. You leave filling us with warm memories. Something in you makes we humans want to look into our selves. We take off on rejuvenating vacations, calm our souls in the lap of majestic oceans or seek the cool shades of mango graves.
The sweetest fruits you gift us, and the longest days to cherish. Every child welcomes summer for it brings in the much awaited summer break.
And for the romantic, every summer changes them a bit. Every summer begins a new story, kindles a new spark.
For the lovers, your message is to enjoy every second, the days are longer, and the nights full of promises.  The sound universe blossoms with a hundred bird-songs, the calm lullabies of the ocean and the caress of the evening breeze laden with fragrance of the queen of the night and jasmines.
You remind me that even in the coldest winter nights, I can await you. Even in the depths of despair that clouds my life like winter, you kindle a fire within me reminding me that you reside in me, the invincible summer. The ice of despair thaws with that reassurance and the cool water that emerges soothes my soul.Remain this time dear summer, to renew and rejuvenate. Remind me that the cruelest winters are powerless when I am your muse.

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Rumi Quotes

“Be melting snow. Wash yourself of yourself.” ― Rumi
“These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.” ― Rumi
“Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds' wings.” ― Rumi

“Moonlight floods the whole sky from horizon to horizon; How much it can fill your room depends on its windows.” ― Rumi
“The same wind that uproots trees makes the grass shine.
The lordly wind loves the weakness and the lowness of grasses. Never brag of being strong.
The axe doesn't worry how thick the branches are. It cuts them to pieces. But not the leaves. It leaves the leaves alone.” ― Rumi



“This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say. I don't plan it. When I'm outside the saying of it, I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.”
― Rumi
“In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.
Drumsound rises on the air, its throb, my heart.
A voice inside the beat says, "I know you're tired, but come. This is the way."
Are you jealous of the ocean's generosity? Why would you refuse to give this joy to anyone?
Fish don't hold the sacred liquid in cups! They swim the huge fluid freedom.” ― Rumi

Numb: Part 4: Quell

Source The month that followed was one that quelled many things.
Bala took me to his home that day and introduced his wife to me. She was totally what I had not expected. Boisterous, loud and condescending, she openly blamed me for being the cause of her failed marriage.
“Oh I know you. He whispers your name in sleep and would not touch me though we have been married for over five years now. Every day, I hoped for a change. Now I look elsewhere to quell my needs,” she shouted under the influence of the alcohol that she was reeking of and I cringed. What kind of life had I pushed onto my dear Bala.
Once she turned sober, Bala announced to her that he planned to set her free. She was happy to hear that. Divorce was granted by mutual consent and both of them walked away from each other happily. Bala and I got married in a quiet ceremony in the temple where we used to go and we began a life of passion and happiness.
One day, Bala explained to me the reason behind the recurring dreams I was having. He said he was haunted by my dreams too.
“You dream of a person when you are awake in the person’s thoughts. I used to dream of you every day and you of me. We lived in different time zones. When you were asleep, my thoughts would be trained on you and vice versa. We humans are intricately connected. Especially two souls who were always destined to be each other’s for eternity,” he said.
I smiled. May be it was true. The recurring dreams had vanished altogether.The numbness that used to invade me had vanished in the warmth of his presence. Life had begun to treat us well and our days had turned happier.
The End



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My Debut Novel: Cover reveal

For every writer, it is a dream to see his/her book published. My dream is about to come true.
My debut novel “Without You” is being published by Write India Publishers and the release date is first week of May 2005.
I am so excited and I want blessings from all of you. Continue to encourage me with your love.This is the cover of my Novel.

Blurb:
When Ananya, a bubbly twenty-year-old engineering student, reaches her Grandmother’s house in Sreepuram on a month long vacation, romance is the last thing on her mind. However, she meets Dr. Arjun there and falls head over heels in love.
As it often happens, the path of true love never runs smooth. Circumstances force them apart even though they were madly in love. She becomes a victim of depression. When everything fails to return her to normalcy, help arrives from an unexpected source.
Will she ever find happiness again? Will time allow her heart to heal and forget Arjun? What indeed is true love?
Travel with Ananya to the picturesque Sreepuram, face the chaos of Bengaluru, and relish the warmth of magical Dubai in this heartwarming tale of love, betrayal, friendship, and miracles.
Shower some love on the Facebook page of the book by Clicking HERE.

Numb : Part 3: Pretense

(Source)It was not by chance that I was in Texas. I had been planning for it since years. I wanted to see Bala one last time. From far, without him knowing that I was watching him.
I was spending my hard earned money to feed my pathetic heart. I wanted to see him in his happy world. I watched him go about his day from far. I watched him go for jogging in the nearby park and on most days I jogged behind him camouflaged in my goggles and hooded track suit.One day, he stopped jogging all of a sudden and fell onto the lawn of the park clutching his head. I looked round for help; the park was deserted except for the few kids who were playing football in a faraway corner.
He appeared to be shaking and I feared he was having a stroke. I ran towards him and squatted beside him. What I saw tore at my heart; he was crying his heart out.
“Bala, Bala… what happened? Tell me dear,” I asked unable to stand his tears. Hearing my voice, he looked up and grabbed me. He removed the goggles and pushed off my hood.
“What sweet madness is this? Is it really you, Chaya?” he said and swept me into his arms. His sobs rocked us both and I cooed to calm him down.
“I cannot go on anymore without you, Chaya. I die a little every day being away from you. Please Chaya, be mine,” he said caressing my cheeks.
“Bala, you are married and I don’t want to be the cause of destroying a marriage,” I said trying to talk some sense into him.
“What marriage Chaya? We live like two strangers inside the four walls of our house and pretend to be happily married in front of others. I can’t and won’t ever consider her in your place. My life has become a huge farce,” said Bala and broke into tears again.
“Bala, you are acting like a kid. You need to grow out of this madness. You can’t destroy your present , based on your past. You have to move on,” I said.

“Have you moved on? Don’t lie to me. Your presence here is proof that you haven’t. Why should we keep up the pretense, Chaya? We can recreate the heaven that we once had,” he said and looked at me with so much longing that I felt the wall of numbness around me crumpling.

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Numb: Part 2 : Obsessed

Obsessed:
Read PART One HERE



I had always been obsessed with my Bala. Even when we were kids, a smile from him would make my day. He was my lucky charm; his presence in my world made it a lot brighter. Every year that passed made my obsession grow until I blurted it to him one day while we were in the final year of college. I had started crying when he hadn’t replied immediately. With my arms imprisoned in his, he had dragged me to the nearby park bench, which had been a silent witness to our friendship over the years.
“You call what is there between us as obsession. In a way, you are correct. I am obsessed with you too, but I prefer to call it love. Unadulterated love. It is evident in the way my heart beats when I am near you, the way my blood gushes chanting your name, the way every single day becomes meaningful when you are around. Dearest Chaya, my very own shadow, I am yours since how long I don’t even know,” he had said, wiping the wretched tears from my face.
That evening comes haunting me these days in the form of an elusive dream. It recurs leaving me bereft of tears for days together, leaving me numb.
The decision to let him go had been entirely mine. He had married the daughter of his widowed mother’s best friend after I had cruelly made him swear to forget me. Though he had promised me it would never happen, I had insisted. I wanted to bring happiness to his mother who had raised him braving poverty and social stigma of being a Brahmin widow. Her biggest ambition had been to see her son settled happily in life. Perhaps our relation would have broken her heart; I belonged to a lower caste. I loved her enough and did not want to risk losing her love in a bid to own her son. She always had treated me with love whenever I visited with other friends. She never knew of my special bond with her son.
Even after his refusal to let me go, I had pleaded with him to fulfil his mother’s last wish; she was in the last stages of cancer. He had given in out of love for his mother but accused me of robbing both of his loved ones simultaneously from his life.
A few days after his marriage, she died. He left for Texas to join a new company along with his new wife within a month and I stopped all communications with him.
But my obsession never died. I stalked his Facebook profile, googled him to find details and even updated myself with every new development in his life with the help of common friends. He was still in Texas and his wife too was employed in the same company where he worked.  
I had started blogging to vent and whenever a visitor from his part of the globe showed up on the visitor’s widget, I would obsess that it was he. I started to pen down poems, which talked about a non-existent new lover just in case he was the visitor. I wanted him to have the perfect life that he deserved.
The past five years without him had been hell for me. But perhaps I didn’t deserve Bala. If I did, God wouldn’t have thrown obstacles in the path of our love.
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