Preethi Venugopala's Blog, page 42

Much Ado About a Surname

I was named after someone my mother admired, an acquaintance of hers, at her work place. I was okay with my name. It was a rare name at the time. My full name was Preethi Kannada then. But I didn’t like my mother’s family name which was my surname because of two reasons. First, it was a synonym for glasses in my native tongue and secondly it was also a language name. I had plenty of nicknames and adding to the woe was my surname. I never wrote it on my books. I kept my name short. I was just Preethi.K . Only a few knew the expansion of my initials all the while. My brother and sister had adopted the family name without any issues. They were brave souls!
Those who knew my surname would ask me whether I knew Kannada language or ask me about the meaning of the bizarre family name, or ask whether I wore glasses. I was ill equipped to face the ridicule that followed usually. You know how mean kids can get in school.
So my surname hid under my initials for a long time and it was never revealed. Then I got married after I completed my Engineering degree. My husband’s name is Venugopala and he is known as Venu or Venugopal to his friends. I quickly adopted his name as my surname as it sounded cool. It was also the name of Lord Krishna, the most worshipped and loved God among the Avatars of Lord Vishnu. I quickly created a Facebook account with the name and I became Preethi Venugopala to all. I loved my new name.
Nobody had asked me to change my surname. It was my decision. But our names do change us, doesn’t it? I have mellowed down with this change in surname. It is as though the name has given me a new identity.
The numerology sites help me argue my point. Look at the reading about my name before and after the change in surname. Source Source

I am not in favour of changing surnames after marriage as a custom. If you like it, adopt it. If you don’t, keep your maiden name. There should not be a compulsion. It has to be done with love.

After marriage you do get a new identity. You become somebody’s soulmate and become a member of a different family. But that doesn't mean that you should change your surname as well.
Didn’t we all doodle our names with that of our crushes while in school to check whether it matched, whether it was awesome or whether it sucked? Same way, doodle your name, find the impressive one, and keep it.
I have read about traditions of families where the bride is required to change her name after marriage. Not surname, her first name. But again, it depends on love and ability to adapt to the change. No one should be forced to follow it.
After all, in the illusion that life is, we do create much ado about everything. And why to spare a surname?


This post is written for the Indispire Edition 56.
The prompt was 
Should a woman change her maiden surname after marriage?

The Power of Togetherness

(We three)


Home is always where happiness is. Even if we are wallowing in darkness due to our personal problems or work tensions, the moment one reaches home and sees the smiling faces of our loved ones, we attain peace. Days filled with tension becomes cheerful and happy. 
Two years ago, I had my MA literature exams. I had joined a correspondence course to fulfil my long cherished dream of learning literature. I was a Civil Engineering graduate and hence studying for literature was as different as chalk is from cheese, for me.
All that helped me was my reading habit. I had read half of the novels prescribed in the syllabus. But poetry, drama, early English, criticism and linguistics were strange fields for me. I had begun studying for it earnestly months before the exams was to begin, but I had a toddler to look after and a house to manage. It was tough. Free hours were rare. But I squeezed in a few hours of studies every day after my husband and son slept.
With hardly a month to go before the exams, I panicked one afternoon and broke down in tears. I had applied to write for both years of MA simultaneously and that meant ten days of continuous examinations. Naturally, I felt I would never be able to complete studying the portions or pass.
When my husband returned from office that evening, he understood something was wrong from my moody silence. He made me sit with him and I wept uncontrollably. I told him I was a fool to have applied for it, as it was so different from what I had studied. My ardent love for literature was probably not enough.
Initially he let me blabber all the things that I wanted to let out. Then he began to talk. He told me how passion was all I needed for anything. It didn’t matter if I scored well. All that mattered was that I wanted to learn literature as it was close to my heart.
“If you can’t manage to attend all the examinations at a stretch, skip a few. You can attend it next time. Concentrate on what you find easy and leave the rest. And yes, there is no compulsion. Don’t worry about the money you paid. It is all for your happiness. If it is making you miserable, leave it. You don’t need an MA to prove that you love literature or to pursue your writing dreams,” he said.It was as though a burden had been offloaded. I began to see the exams pragmatically and not with dread. With my tension gone, I was able to concentrate on my studies better. He started to come home early and would take care of our son and help me with cooking.
He took fifteen days leave during exams from office and arranged a taxi to drop me and pick me back as the exam centre was at a distance of one-hour travel by car. My toddler who would not leave me alone for a minute spent hours in company of my husband alone. When he missed me, he would come into the room where I was studying behind closed doors to hug me and say he loved me.
With all this love, I looked up with optimism and I attended all the exams and the ten days changed me in more ways than one.Together we passed MA English literature with flying colours



This post is written for the #together, #LookUp campaign by https://housing.com/

Love Vs Destiny Book Review

Buy Now: bit.ly/LoveVsDestiny-FlipkartBuy Now: bit.ly/LoveVsDestiny-AmazonFacebook Page: www.facebook.com/LoveVsDestinyTwitter Page: www.twitter.com/LoveVsDestiny
Blurb: A story full of dreams, love, destiny, confession, vengeance or say something beyond LOVE... Unlike sadness and happiness, LUCK ain't a feeling. It's just a notion. An unstable notion. A moment of sadness can never become a happy memory, and a moment of happiness can never become a sad memory. But that's not the case with luck - a moment of bad luck might eventually become a good memory for you, because YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN A BAD LUCK IS SAVING YOU FROM SOMETHING WORSE.
Confusingly amorous Aryan, a guy besotted with daydreaming. Super snobby Tanvi, an ardent crush of Aryan.Sublimely angelic Parina, Tanvi's sister who loves Aryan.And the bad...bad boy Varun, the secret lover of Parina.
Giggly desires and deeds of adolescence. Strokes of Jealousy and Dire storms of Society. Confidential phone calls. Smiles and Tears. Loneliness and Companionship. Despairs and Hopes. And over and over again, THE STRANGE GAME OF LIFE... ...remember after every autumn, the flora senses the rapturous kiss of cheerful spring.
About the Author:
Atul Purohit (Born 21st April, 1991) is the founder & CEO of Write India Publishers and the compiler of 'The Unbreakable You' (An anthology of 27 unbreakable stories.) He was born and brought up at Ahmedabad. He completed his B.tech in Electronics & Communication Engineering from Rajasthan Technical University, where he tried his hand at writing for the first time. He went on to satisfy his creativity instincts and penned down his own love story. He strongly believes in entertainment, activism and knowledge. He is also a prolific blogger, and ethical hacker. He loves playing Snooker & Volleyball.
Review:
Often books give insight into the personality of the author, as unconsciously every author puts a part of him/ her into the book. But what if the book is a fictionalised memoir of the author’s life? It becomes more interesting. Because truth is often stranger than fiction.
Atul Purohit pens down his own love story in an endearing manner. There are no heavy words to grab your attention, no grandiose metaphors or anything to show off verbosity of the author. It is written from the heart and hence touches the reader’s heart. Through the pages, you read about the various stages in the life of the young boy. From the darkness of his childhood where he studied at a boarding away from home to the pleasant love affair that he develops with a girl in his neighbourhood, everything is told in a language that is simple yet it keeps you turning pages.
In an age where lust rules than love, this simple love story about two true lovers was like a fresh breath of air for me.
The language itself is simple and the narration is very vivid with day today happenings in the life of the narrator Aryan. His fears, his insecurities, his dreams all have been written about. The beliefs and traditions of Rajastani and Gujarati Families, the festivals, the Dhandiya, everything finds mention in this book, which talks about the conflict between love and destiny.
Does Aryan succeed in finding true love in Parina? Or does destiny throw them apart? Read this novel to know more.
Publisher: Write India PublishersFacebook: www.facebook.com/WriteIndiaTwitter: www.twitter.com/Write_India

The Birth of a Writer

It was during one of the most traumatic periods in the life of my family that the writer in me was born. We had lost our dear father and we all were in denial about the loss. We couldn’t believe that the person who was our pillar of strength, the sunshine of our lives was no more.
I tried to distract myself by painting. I created more than 40 Acrylic paintings within a span of two months. The pain remained. Colours were not enough to drown out the pain. My health suffered, I was frustrated and sad.
I read about the law of Attraction, how negative thinking brought episodes in one’s life that are more negative . I read about the ability of words to erase pain, to bring about change in individuals and helping them to move on. I wrote in journals initially. But I knew, I had to distract myself from reality and had to create a parallel world where it was all rosy around, where positivity and happiness reigned.
This Blog was born to fulfil those very needs. I write positive stories, positive poems and articles on the effects of positive thinking which I had adopted. Undeniably, my world changed. Words began to work their magic. From being just a stay-at-home-mom who was once a busy Civil Engineer, I became a published Author, an Editor and an Artist. 
I use my paintings on my Blog as add-ons to illustrate my stories. Though people want to buy my paintings, I have not sold any till date. I have gifted them, but I can’t put a price on my creativity.
Until now, two of my stories have appeared in print, in the Second Life Anthology and Blank Space. Many others were published on online platforms and magazines like womensweb.in, Writer’sEzine and Readomania. My novel is about to be published this year too. I also contribute articles to online portals.
Blogging circuit brought me new contacts and I was requested to step in as an editor for two Anthologies. One was Blank Space and the other will be published shortly. I write stories regularly on my blog and have a set of regular readers who appreciate my stories. I met many with whom I vibe well with and also found people who inspire me with their word, their work and their enthusiasm towards life.
Another significant change happened when I entered into the Game of Blogs competition. The challenge was to write a novel along with your team of 10 bloggers within three weeks. We struggled to decide on a story-thread, we debated, we wrote thousands of words every day, edited and met deadlines effectively. Among thirty teams, our team emerged as the Winner. Leadstart Publishing will publish our Novella this year.
What started as a desperate attempt to get over a traumatic loss has transformed itself into a career for me. I have become serious about writing and I try to learn more about it daily. I read more. I update myself with the best writers and their books and follow them online to get inspiration.
All this, I believe, is because I am my father’s daughter. He always was a champion at overcoming obstacles and challenges. This March 19, it will be four years that he left us. But daily I find inspiration from his life, his words and his positivity. Still tears blind me when I write about him, but these tears make me strong.




This post is part of #StartANewLife campaign by https://housing.com/.

Unsent Letters

Maria loved writing letters. They made her feel alive and brought cheer into the colorless life that she led. The addressee, never received these letters as they never found way to the mailbox. They were the bearers of her unbridled emotions, her toughest decisions, her heartbreaks. Every single one of them addressed to the man she had almost married.
It had been a life changing summer for Maria, the summer of 1978. Joseph came into the cafeteria where she worked, drank coffee, ate croissants and scones and somehow found way into her stubborn heart, which had never opened up to anyone. Joseph asked her out for dinner that night and one thing led to another and soon they were a couple. He was a bright student at the nearby university, studying to be a lawyer and she was an eighteen-year-old high school dropout , who was the lone bread winner for her family- a sick mother and three younger siblings.
 “Maria dear, I would be the President of the United States one day,” he would say, that was what he wanted to be. And Maria would smile her innocent smile. Her world was just him; she would spend hours listening to him talk about his ideas, his visions. She would assure him no one else would make a better President of the United States.
Days passed and within a year, Joseph proposed. During their wedding rehearsal, she overheard an intense argument between Joseph and his professor Mr. Smith, his mentor as he had often mentioned.

“You are committing the biggest blunder of our life. A life with Maria would lead you nowhere; my daughter is the one you deserve. You need funds and she comes with that. You need a highflying career, for godsake. Marrying that good for nothing waitress would put an end to all your ambitions,” said Mr. Smith.
“Mind your words professor. You are talking about my would-be-wife. I don’t care for the riches or my ambitions. I love her. I love her more than I love my career. I know you are right, but I can’t and won’t leave Maria. I gave her my word. I won’t betray her,” said Joseph and something in his voice told Maria that his decision was killing his dreams. Eventually it would kill their love. Was their love strong enough to stay afloat in the bitterness of disappointment?
Next day, a note arrived for Joseph early in the morning. It was from Maria.
“I set you free. Go live your dreams. I will never be a hindrance in your path. God bless.”
Maria ran away to North Carolina and settled there for life. Her Joseph, married Mr. Smith’s daughter Linda eventually.
“They make a fine pair,” Maria told her mother when the marriage photo of the senator from Texas appeared in the newspaper.
She wept hot tears, wrote a long letter congratulating Joseph, and added it to the pile of unsent letters that occupied an old iron trunk.
Years again passed and soon Maria watched Joseph taking oath as the President of the United States.  Every day, Maria devoured the newspapers which would have photos of him attending one or the other function. As the initial euphoria of celebrating a new face died down, the press as it often does, dug into Joseph’s past and published an article about the girl the President had almost married. That led to a series of articles that sought to find her current whereabouts.
One young reporter from the New York Times, Nancy Daniel traced Maria to North Carolina and next day pictures of her appeared in the front page of all national dailies. Myriad Captions adorned her photos. “Almost First Lady.” “The Lady who lost it all.” Maria cringed. Her house became surrounded by paparazzi. She never spoke to anyone. Her neighbors and friends hogged lime light by giving interviews to magazines and newspapers. Her visitors tried to pry details from her. She kept mum.One morning Maria woke up to an article that featured her trunk of unsent letters. It even had excerpts from her letters, which was an outpour of her love for Joseph. Maria ran inside to find the trunk gone. All she could do was weep. They were not just unsent letters- they were her soul.
A few weeks later, in the middle of the night a sleek black car arrived at Maria’s house. When the bell rang, Maria opened the door to find two soulful eyes looking into hers, a pair of blue eyes, which haunted her dreams every night.
“Joseph,” she gasped.
“Yes, Joseph,” that was all he said before kicking the door closed. Without waiting for another moment, he pulled her into an embrace and Maria forgot the world. Her tears drenched his shirt.
How long they stood that way, they would never know. But eventually they managed to sober down and Maria made coffee for him- without milk, two spoonfuls of sugar, just the way he liked.
“Get ready to be the First Lady Maria. And trust me, this time if you leave me at the altar, I will follow you even to the ends of earth and I will punish you for making me go through hell these past fifteen years,” he said.
“What are you saying? You are married. And that too happily. I have articles to prove that,” said Maria.
“Newspapers, they seek news and we feed them fake news. The last time I believed in a news was the one I read about a trunk full of unsent love letters to the President. All the rest are fake news my dear Maria. Linda hated me; she had affairs after affairs but stood by my side only to help her father realize his dreams of becoming the Kingmaker, the father-in-law of the President of the United States. He died last month and Linda left me officially yesterday, freeing me to seek you out. Her nemesis as she used to call you, the reason I never loved her. I never got over you my Maria, unrequited love is hard to forget. I know you did not forget me, the trunk that lies hidden in my personal chamber holds proof,” he said and wiped the tears that were steadily streaming down Maria’s chin.
Days later, a Lady dressed in a blue summer dress accompanied a smiling President to board the Air force one that was taking off on a two-week long official visit to Europe.
“My Lady, remember this is our honeymoon trip. Be near me always,” whispered Joseph with a wink, holding the door to their cabin open for Maria to enter.
“I will, every moment I thank my God for giving you to me,” said Maria and the tears that shone on her lashes were proof of her everlasting love.
 Her unsent letters had showered heaven's blessings upon her.
This story is written for Indispire

Toddler Tales

My son with my father when he was six months old
Each baby is unique. Kids have a way of endearing themselves to us by virtue of their innocence and zest for all new things that appear before them. New things amuse them and they want to experiment with all possible items.
When my son was two months old, he would become excited when I would make him wear new pampers. He had come to associate changing pampers to going out for a walk or his sleeping time when he would get to swing in his cradle. Both were happy times for him.
His favourite toy then was a plush ball, which had a bell inside. Every time he moved it around, the bell would chime and he would laugh aloud. Until he became six or seven months, that particular ball was his favourite.
By his first birthday, he had taken a liking to auto rickshaw models and every trip to the market would add to his collection of autos. We had autos of every shape and colour blocking our paths in the house, and no, no body had the right to keep them away. One had to have special permission from the owner.
 Sometime after his first birthday, I made him watch nursery rhymes on YouTube and he instantly took a liking towards them. Every day he would demand to watch his favourite rhymes. And there was a forbidden one among them, the Ba-Ba-Black sheep song which began with a close up of a black sheep braying. Somehow, this particular sheep scared him and if he saw the snippet of this rhyme anywhere on the screen, he would run away. This rhyme became our stop button for his rhyme sessions on You tube.
When he grew a little older, he fell in love with English alphabets and numbers and very soon, they became his best friends. With pampers giving him freedom from wetness, he would play on his toy laptop which would trace and re-trace alphabets and numbers much to his happiness. He surprised us by learning the Alphabets and numbers all by himself. We didn’t teach him to draw even a single curve. He had become an expert in Alphabets by the time he was eighteen months old. He could even read small words like cat, bat etc.
When we put him in playschool, every day when I went to pick him up, he would be showing off his prowess in numbers and alphabets to his teachers. He could even count backwards from twenty to one. And he could recite alphabets in reverse order. His teachers labelled him little Einstein.
The only bad habit he had was that he refused to grow out of diapers and insisted on wearing Diapers while most of the other kids were slowing learning to use the potty. But what I couldn’t teach, his teachers and perhaps other kids of his age taught him and slowly he was properly potty trained.
My son has turned six now. Throughout all these years, what has remained strong is his love for languages. He has learned Hindi, English, Malayalam, Punjabi, Bengali, Thai, Greek and Japanese alphabets downloading the apps, which help kids to learn these alphabets and he has created power point presentations of all these alphabets. He tells me he wants to be an expert in languages. He is still little Einstein to his teachers.
I am relieved to know that he no longer wants to be the auto driver, which he had confessed, was his dream job when he was a year old.
  This post has been written for http://www.rewardme.in/tag/Pampers.

What makes a house a home?

A home filled with love

Home is the place, which has love oozing out of every atom of it. Every brick has been laid with love and every furniture selected with care. The house becomes a living entity when a family moves in. An unused corner suddenly becomes the play area of a kid, the kitchen starts to smell heavenly and the rooms begin to record memories of togetherness, of love, of happiness.
For the first twenty-five years of my life, my home was the place where I was born. It held memories of a little girl, pampered a lot by her father and one, who ruled over the entire house with her own set of rules. I had absolute freedom in what I wanted to do. I could ignore cleaning my room and eventually my mother or some other person would clean it. Nobody questioned my freedom and there was no need to prove myself before anyone. My mother taught me the nuances of housekeeping and cooking. I did them only when I felt like helping her or when I wanted to try something new. We had a maid and so I could laze around the whole day doing absolutely nothing other than eating or reading books.
Things changed when I got married. At my husband’s house, everything was different. Like all new brides, I had no clue how to go about my day. While we used to sleep at my house at around midnight and get up late in the morning, at my husband’s house ‘early to bed and early to rise’ was the norm. I had to get up before the sun rose and had to help my mother-in-law in the household work. I had to fight with myself to adjust. It was very hard for me to undergo the change. But my husband helped me at every turn and encouraged me. Within a month, I adapted to the new routine and my parents were delighted at my change.
Then came another twist in the tale. My husband joined for work in the UAE and we set up a home together for the first time. This time the change was harder. I was completely in charge of my home. I didn’t have a mother-in-law or mother to advise me as to what I had to do to maintain my home. Telephone calls were expensive and hence I depended on my kind neighbours for guidance. I too joined work but miraculously I managed household and work without any issues.
Change again came with the birth of my son. We shifted to Bangalore when he was just a year old. This time, I had a toddler, a very active one at that, to manage and my household duties as well. My son gave me sleepless nights, loads of dirty clothes and a chaotic house. I was still happy and content. Every day brought new cheers. Every moment was a revelation. My new home became my entire world and this home bonded the three of us together. A house again became a home, where love and happiness was cherished like fresh air.

When love exists, every change is a happy twist in the tale. 

This post has been written for #lookup campaign by https://housing.com/lookup.

Love, Rotis and a pinch of Wisdom from a mother

Dear Son,
Hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits and health. You might be surprised to find an email from your mom. But something told me to write to you; that you need to hear from me today.
It was indeed one of the best evenings that your father and I spent when you visited us with your new wife yesterday. Rest assured, we liked her immensely. I could see that both of you are very much in love and that makes me happy. May your love grow every moment!
Now to mention the reason for writing this letter. I don’t know whether you remember, but during dinner, you cracked a joke about the shapeless rotis that Lavanya makes. We all laughed and your father laughed the loudest. There were tears of laughter in the eyes of your father and there were tears in the eyes of your wife too. I can assure you that her tears were not of mirth, they were tears of mortification, of shame brought about by the innocuous joke that you cracked.
I guess that joke was the reason why we heard raised voices coming from your room yesterday night and the reason why Lavanya appeared puffy eyed in the morning. May be, she cried all night.
Son, I want to tell you something. I love shapeless rotis. They bring back many fond memories. They remind me of the shapeless rotis made by my father on certain Saturday mornings, when mother had extra duty in her office. They lacked salt, were hard like rock and were shaped like various continents. But his love for us compensated for all that it lacked.
Shapeless rotis also bring memories of those days when your father turned into my cook. It was in those early days of pregnancy while I was carrying you. I couldn’t bear the smell of spices or rice or anything cooking. Your father would churn out shapeless rotis and experimental curries, which tasted quite good, because he wanted to provide home cooked food for his wife and unborn child. His care and affection made those rotis priceless.
Do you remember how you used to insist to help me while I prepared rotis when you were around four years old? You would play with the dough and create various shapes that you wanted to be cooked and served to all. I can tell you, those were the tastiest rotis that I ever ate.
Words are all we need to create a world of love. Yet, a thoughtless word is enough to destroy that world.
You and Lavanya are equally qualified, you both even earn equal wages. You both have spent equal number of years educating yourself to be the professionals that you are. But you expect Lavanya to become the perfect cook and home maker from the moment you married her! How unreasonable that is?
Rahul, no new wife wants to be ridiculed in front of her in-laws. Trust me, I can tell you that. Been there, done that. She craves to be loved by them and she expects her husband’s support in her effort at endearing herself to them.
Teething troubles in marriages are often capable of draining out the love you have for each other. Be there for her while she adapts herself into your world. A small token of appreciation and open support is all that she would need.You are my beloved son and I know you have learnt to see the brighter side of things. Value love more than any other thing, because son, perfectly round rotis are often machine made. They lack the most essential ingredient of love.
Yours loving mother.
 Renuka

A Decisive Night

Source : The Book Club


His eyes roamed around the room and he shook his head in disgust. He knew most of the girls; he had met them at one or the other party. They were all shallow, selfish and narcissist creatures that bored him to the core. When he couldn’t imagine spending ten minutes in their company, how could he spend the rest of his life with them. His disgust began to metamorphose into a panic attack as he remembered his promise.
“I leave it to you to select my bride. I am sure you know my choices better than anyone in the world.” He had told his father exactly seven years ago. And as the heir to the multibillion dollar steel empire that his father had built up from scratch, he had his pick of girls if he chose. And he had to choose today from this pack of girls.
He glared at his father, who was seated on the mezzanine level that overlooked the ballroom along with his mother. Promise or no promise, he wouldn’t, couldn’t choose one of these giggling, silly girls as his wife. His wicked father flashed a grin at him, raised his thump wishing him luck and winked. What nerve!
Rajeev cursed himself for falling into his trap and walked towards the bar. Seated on the bar stool, caring not a thing about the world and engrossed in relishing the red wine in her hand, was a girl in red. His face lit up with a smile as he recognized who it was- Diya, his nemesis in a sense. The only person who was capable of making his blood boil with her opinions and speeches. But he loved that spirit of hers, it made him feel alive. Unfortunately, she was forbidden to him, as she was a protégée of his father, an orphan whose education he was sponsoring.
When she turned to face him, she smiled her lopsided smile, which meant she was having the time of her life laughing at his predicament.
“So prince Charming, found your princess?” she asked, her smile now breaking into an obnoxious chuckle.
“Come dance with me,” he said.
“Hey, hey… I am not one of those silly girls who want to be your princess. I am the devil as you have named me. I am not princess material Mr. Prince. Uncle knows that quite well. He asked me to be here to make sure you choose the right girl,” said she, but Rajeev pulled her onto the dance floor and twirled her around.
The wine glass threatened to spill over and Rajeev summoned a waiter and relieved her from the menace. But she was not pleased.
“You know what, I prefer to taste that exquisite red wine than make a fool of myself dancing in this appalling red dress. I will trip over this damn thing any moment, Raj. Please stop,” cried Diya.
Suddenly the music changed and the orchestra began playing a waltz and Rajeev instantly pulled her near. Her proximity wracked his inhibitions and he allowed himself to breathe in the essence of his girl in red, the one who never failed make his heart throb wildly. As the dance progressed, she began to talk, the girl could never keep her mouth shut for more than a few seconds. Every syllable of her words played a different chord in his heart. As though the twinkle in her eyes had magic, as though her moist lips were inviting him, he closed the distance between them and covered her lips with his.He had expected fireworks from her. But to his delight, she kissed him back ardently. As he deepened the kiss, he knew he had found his Princess.
The chime of the clock striking twelve brought them back to their senses and he examined the face of his princess- his Cinderella- to look for any sign of disapproval. Unlike Cinderella, his princess appeared in no hurry to leave.
When Rajeev looked up at his father, he sniggered. Like the good old king in the story of Cinderella, his father was celebrating. He raised his champagne glass towards Rajeev and beamed like Cupid at the end of a mission of love.

 This story is part of Picture prompt by THE BOOK CLUB

His Perfect Stranger

My artAryan had met that perfect stranger at an inter-collegiate badminton championship during the final year of his MBBS. She and her gang of friends had belonged to a prestigious Engineering college, which was known as the hub of nerds.
Aryan was playing against Rohan from their college for the individual championship trophy and he was winning. That was when the cunning sports chief of their team sent the girls to take position behind Aryan and boo him while continuously cheering for Rohan. It was emotionally tiring to Aryan as he had none to support except the two members of their men’s team who had taken off on a tea break. As expected, he began to lose.
His eyes met with a pair of mischievous and shining eyes, when he turned to pick the shuttlecock, which he had dropped. It was as if a current had run through him. As though he had recognized those pair of eyes, her, from a time that belonged to a forgotten past.
After that Aryan lost steadily, he was busy trying to analyze the effect the beautiful pair of eyes had created in him.
Throughout the day, he watched her. Vaishnavi- that was her name. When she won the women’s individual match, he grabbed the opportunity and joined others to congratulate her.
“Congratulations Vaishnavi. That was a superb game,” he told while shaking her hands. She smiled at him and he continued to hold her hands, stunned by the fact that her smile was equally devastating to his feeble heart as those mesmerizing eyes. He was lost. Like a lost puppy who had found its owner, he followed her around causing much headache to his team members who knew him as a person who put his brain before his heart always.
By the end of the day, he managed to get hold of her address and email id, which was written, in the logbook of participants. At night, he waited for the dawn. He would meet her again, as it was university team selection next day.
She wasn’t there though all of her other team members had arrived. He asked about her casually to her friends and they informed him she was down with flu.A few months passed and Aryan continued to roam around with the old card on which he had her address scribbled and wondered why the strange girl with whom he hardly knew was occupying his thoughts constantly. Then came his final exams and he immersed himself in his studies and put his thoughts about her on a back burner.
Years passed by. After his MD, he went to Australia to finish his fellowship and while on a coffee break from the hospital, he stepped into a nearby Café and the same pair of eyes met his.
“Vaishnavi… aren’t you Vaishnavi?”
She appeared taken aback but smiled.
“How do you know me? Yes, I am Vaishnavi?”
“We had met a long time ago during an inter-collegiate shuttle match. Do you remember me?”
His words jogged her memory and she opened her eyes wide when she finally recognized him.
“Don’t tell me you are that spooky guy Aryan who followed me around making my friends tease me like hell,” said Vaishnavi, shaking her head in disbelief.“Unfortunately, I am,” said Aryan and sat on the chair opposite her, ”What are you doing here?”
“I am on an on-site project here. And you?”
After they exchanged news over a cup of coffee, Vaishnavi asked him why he had followed her around that day.
“I had fallen in love with you that day. Don’t question my sanity. I was perfectly sane but somehow you made me insane. I was never able to forget you. You were that one stranger that I longed to forget, but was never capable of, the one whose memories were the most colourful in my entire life.”

“Aryan, I indeed now doubt your sanity. How can you love a person whom you hardly know? I might have been in love with somebody else, I might even be married now,” said Vaishnavi.
“No…you can’t be. If God made us meet unexpectedly, that too again, he has planned something for us Vaishnavi. Please, do give us a chance. Or have you fallen in love with that pen friend of yours?” asked Aryan.
“How do you know about my pen friend?” asked Vaishnavi and then Aryan’s silence told her the answer she needed to know. He was her anonymous friend, the one who wrote numerous emails to her every month and had become her closest friend throughout her engineering days until now.
“When I scribbled down your address, I had no definite agenda. But then, I wanted you to fall in love with me. So I started to email you. Initially you didn’t reply. Then you replied, and we have remained friends from then. Why do you think I opted to do my fellowship here? I knew you were here. I knew you lived in this place and frequently came for tea in this café. I was always just a step away. I have waited for long Vaishu, I can’t anymore,” said Aryan.
Vaishnavi stood staring at him and then slowly walked into his arms, one she had come to love through the many letters that she exchanged with him. Aryan hugged her with all the love he felt and raised his eyes to thank the creator. 
His perfect stranger was his now, forever.



This post has been written for Indispire