Kavya Janani U.'s Blog, page 6

Lemon And Sorceress (short story)

Before you jump to conclusions, let me tell you that this is not a story about witches, ghosts, or anything that is remotely associated with the supernatural. It is a story about two friends. Oops! Did I tell friends? Well, we were enemies, then frenemies and gradually friends thereafter. Did it stop with that? Was there something more to our relationship? Wait! No, it stopped with friendship. Do not expect this to be a breezy love story. So, does it mean we hang somewhere between being friends and lovers? No, that is not true. It was and is a pure friendship. Then why am I cross-examining myself? What really happened that has made me ask all these questions?

It all began when I was in my 9th grade. Well, as usual, the yearly shuffling was taking place. A bunch of new students was transferred to our section. He came along with it. It was a dashing entry by him. No, it was not love at first sight for me. It was not even friendship at first sight. It was disgust at first sight. I did not like the way he walked. Can you believe that? If someone could judge a person by the way he or she walks, then I would top the list. His was a duck-like walk with his blue coloured school pant half inches above the ankles, exposing his white socks a bit. The other thing was his girlish features. With bright eyes, jet-black eyeballs, long eyelashes, chubby cheeks, and pouted lips, he looked almost like a girl.

THUMP! He sat down on the bench behind me. My bench shook! Our classroom had a seating policy – there should be alternate rows of girls and boys. I turned around and gave him a nasty look. He was surprised. “Sorry!” he said. It sounded like ‘Saary’. ‘Hmph disgusting!’ I thought and turned away. Right from my childhood, I was not on good terms with boys. I would be their enemy first and then become a friend later. So, I knew that it would be the case with him, too.

Well, I did not speak with him for several days. It was not that I picked up a fight with him or disliked him completely. I was just uninterested. I would bury my face in my books, listen to the lectures, copy notes from the blackboard, chat with my bench mates, catch up with my best friend, Subha during interval and lunch break, and finally return home. I did not give a damn about him, though he was seated just behind me. Occasionally, I would listen to his banter with his bench mate but it was not anything to be curious about. They were just plain, without any humorous streak in them.

Then, all of a sudden, he started cracking jokes. At first, I enjoyed them a lot, though I did not appreciate or even properly acknowledge him. Soon, his jokes turned so lame that I could not help twitching in my place. Sometimes I would smirk at his outrageous sense of humour. Finally, I could not bear it anymore. Irritation hit its peak in my mind.

“Oh, shut up!” I yelled at him, turning around to face him. He was stunned. He stared at me with his beady eyes. I couldn’t comprehend his reaction.

“What?” he asked.

“Your jokes are too boring. Horrendous they are! Will you stop cracking them?”

“Aahaan! Is it so? But, they are jokes, right? Pray that I didn’t crack your knuckles.” He burst into laughter. I felt like slapping him but I refrained from doing so.

“If you want to continue piercing my eardrums and making it bleed with your lame jokes, you can very well change your place and go away from here.”

“Why don’t you change your place?”

“I won’t! You’re a newcomer to this classroom. I have been here for the past two years. This is my desk and bench.”

“Box your ears and sit then!”

“Aiyo! Why are you like a lemon?”

“Lemon?”

“Yes, you are too sour to be with. Henceforth, I’ll call you a Lemon!”

“Oh! As if I am gonna speak with you. Don’t ever think I would befriend a sorceress like you.”

“What? You called me a sorceress?”

“Yeah! An evil witch.”

“Okay, you can call me ‘Sorceress’.”

“Wow! So, do you accept defeat?”

“Nah! Don’t categorize me as a timid one.”

“Then, why are you allowing me to call you like that?”

“Well, a sorceress can squeeze a lemon and a lemon cannot do anything. He he heee!” With that, I burst into a series of giggles. I could notice his nose perch up in anger. It was just mock anger. I could see through his eyes, which told that he was genuinely amused at me.

*****

Lemon and I were at loggerheads most of the time. Our classmates dubbed us as “quarrellers”. We used to fight and throw at each other anything that we could lay hands on. Our class teacher termed us as troublemakers. Usually, Lemon would begin a quarrel and I would blow it up into a big issue. That was the pattern formed by us together. Sometimes, he mocked at my drawings, which I artistically drew, while I mocked at whatever he did. We never knew that there was an invisible layer of friendship underneath the ostensible hostility between us. We considered ourselves as enemies. Or rather frenemies. When we were surrounded by others, we would intentionally throw mild abuses at each other, but there were no ill feelings between us. Somewhere amidst all those fights, quarrels, tiffs, and abuses, we cared for each other. I never knew when I pictured him as a friend. But it did happen.

“Hey, Sorceress!” He was seated in front of me. Certain circumstances had made me to take the last bench. Though I hated being in the last bench, I was relieved that I could play more pranks on him from behind.

“What?” I asked absentmindedly, while working out an elaborate quadratic equation.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that you look so ugly today!” He flashed his usual evil grin and turned away.

I was used to such comments from him. However, of late, we were not playing many pranks on each other. We were trying stopping our tantrums and being jovial. More than being a frenemy to him, I liked the transformation that was taking place between us. So, when he made the ‘ugly’ comment, it was like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. I was a strong girl with stubborn opinions. I would never budge even at the slightest criticism or rumours about me, but when he had said that, my eyes welled up with tears. I began sniffling silently. Sensing that I had not retorted to his comment, he turned around with another wild grin. He stopped short when he noticed tears in my eyes.

“Hey….what the hell! Sorceress? Are you crying?” He shook my right wrist gently. But I pushed his hand away immediately.

“I am sorry, Sorceress. I really didn’t mean it. It was just a prank. My usual prank.”

“It isn’t funny, Lemon. Don’t talk with me!” I choked on my tears.

“I am sorry, Sor….” I could sense the hurt in his words.

“I said, turn away!” I interrupted.

Knowing that I would turn wild, he turned away. Soon, I wiped away my tears and returned to normalcy. I vowed to myself that I would not talk with him. Earlier, I did not care if he said something that would hurt me. I used to continue talking with him and playing pranks on him, not even acknowledging that he had hurt me with his words. I did not know why I let my floodgates open as soon as he called me ‘ugly’. It was his usual prank but it hurt me deeply. At that moment, I realized that he was more than a frenemy. He had turned into a friend. A FRIEND! A close one, too. That was why I could not bear it. My heart deeply desired to be his best friend. I wanted him to support me, talk with me jocularly, fight with me in a friendly manner and not hurt me.

Moments later, I patted his shoulder absentmindedly and asked him, “Lend me an eraser!” At the next moment, I regretted talking with him. “Damn it! I’ll ask someone else.”

“Wait! Take it.” He placed an eraser in my palm.

I took it without any enthusiasm. After using it, I said meekly, “Lemon! Thank you.”

He held on to the eraser and gripped my fingers, too. I was taken aback.

“What are you doing?” I asked him impatiently.

“Won’t you talk with me?” He brought his face closer to mine and asked me.

“No! I won’t.”

“Really?”

“Go away, Lemon! You are scaring me. Zoom out!”

The next moment, we burst into laughter and hit each other.

After the laughter died down, he looked at me with a peculiar expression in his eyes. I could not unravel it.

“I like you, Sorceress,” he declared, finally.

From that day onwards, the classroom had an ideal example of close friendship. That was Lemon and I. We helped each other in all our endeavours. I corrected his English pronunciation while he taught me the basics of hockey. We had our tiffs, too, but they were mostly friendly in nature. Serious fights had also popped up between us. We had gone without talking to each other for days. A strong bond of friendship held us together, always. We just could not be without each other. It was all rosy until we stepped into our 10th grade.

*****

“Can you draw this in my record notebook?” Lemon asked, while pointing to a species of Agaricus.

“Yes. Give me ten minutes.” I took the notebook from him and began drawing. As I stepped into a crucial phase of my life, I took a seat in the first bench. Lemon did not like that. He wanted me to sit in the second last bench as his place was in the last bench. A huge fight ensued between us. He finally gave up and let me take the first bench.

He was annoyed with me for weeks after that. He had also begun a friendship with Sanusha, a newcomer. As she was seated in front of him, they were becoming closer with each other. I was uneasy about that. I did not want to lose Lemon from my life. I wanted him to stay as my close friend forever. I was somewhat possessive about him. He did not understand it. He continued his banter with Sanusha, sometimes to the point of ignoring me completely. So, it was a complete surprise for me when he asked me to draw in his record notebook.

“Lemon! I have completed it,” I called out to him.

He came forward to receive his notebook. One look at the drawing, his face contorted into disgust.

“What is this?” he asked me sarcastically.

“Agaricus,” I replied coolly.

“Thu! I could’ve asked Sanusha to draw this for me. She would have drawn better.”

That hurt a lot. I could never bear anyone comparing me with others. When Lemon, my close friend, did such a thing, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I fumed at him, “Then why did you give your notebook to me? You could’ve given it your dear friend Sanusha, right?”

“Yes, I am going to erase this and give it to her.” He moved away from me hurriedly. I cried for hours after that. ‘Lemon is moving away from me,’ I thought. It pained me a lot.

As days passed, Sanusha caused a strain in our friendship. In one such instance, I was also shooed away by Lemon when he was sharing a secret with her. I bore everything patiently, though I was deeply hurt. We shared our friendly moments, too, which I treasured. I was sure that Lemon would move away from me completely. He would choose Sanusha as his close friend ultimately. Though I was afraid of losing him, I could not do anything about it. Having a heart-to-heart talk with him would not change anything. He was Lemon, a sour friend. He would not give in to emotional talk. Practicality was what he believed in. He was achieving that with Sanusha, rather than an emotionally driven ‘sorceress’ like me.

Then it happened. Lemon stopped talking with me completely by the end of 10th grade. He stated that I was too emotional for him. He also said that I was not fun to be with, but Sanusha was. I begged him to talk with me at least. He did not. He just moved away. The stupidest thing that I did was to let him go. It literally broke my heart to see him hanging out with Sanusha, while I was friendless. Life without my close friend Lemon was very painful.

*****

“Our feelings towards someone would actually grow in their absence. That’s what is happening with you,” announced my friend Subha.

That was true! By the middle of my 11th grade, I was sure that Lemon meant something more than a friend. I was in love with him! It was outrageous to be in love with someone who did not bother about my existence. Still, the pleasure I derived out of my one-sided love was too much to let go off. I was constantly around him every moment. Though he did not even take notice of me, I loved to brush past him intentionally. I admired him stealthily, while capturing every expression of his. I scribbled his name a hundred times in my notebook. It was a magical feeling. I loved him crazily. His non-caring attitude was actually acting as a catalyst, provoking me to love him more. I knew that it was of no use. I tried talking to him but he would intentionally avoid me. He was content with Sanusha and his circle of boisterous friends. 

I completed my 12th grade and entered college. Nevertheless, I constantly thought about Lemon. Yes, my love was unrequited and my feelings were unreciprocated. Still, I was happy with that. It was a pleasurable pain, which only I could understand. Later, I came to know that Lemon and Sanusha were in a relationship. Well, surprisingly, I did not feel any pain. I knew that that would happen.

Finally, I, too, got into a relationship, with Mano, my classmate in college. Time had healed my wounds and made me fall in love once again. I feared that I might die single, thinking about Lemon for the rest of my life. Mano changed my life completely.

*****

“I..I just cannot believe this!” Tears were streaming down from my eyes, as I held the receiver close to my ears. Lemon was speaking with me after a long time. It was three years since he spoke to me.

“Well, can you meet me at Starbucks now?”

“Sure. Why are you so formal? You know that I would surely come.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up and dressed myself in a casual kurti and leggings.

*****

“I don’t know where to start. I have mixed feelings,” said Lemon, taking my hand in his. “I am sorry, Sorceress.” I could see droplets of tears forming in his eyes.

“Hey, that’s okay, Lemon. You were, are, and will be my friend always,” I said reassuringly.

“Is it? Did you not feel anything more for me?” His question pierced my heart.

“I…I…”

“I knew it, Sorceress. You fell in love with me, right? Actually the reason I stopped talking with you was simple. You were becoming emotionally attached to me, instead of thinking about me practically. We were poles apart. We were meant to be just friends, nothing more. I feared that you might fall in love. So, I moved away from you. My fears came true. You indeed fell in love with me, even during my absence from your life. Subha told me about it. I thought that you’d forget me if I acted indifferently but you did not budge. You were the stubborn Sorceress. That’s why I never talked with you even after the completion of our schooling. Gradually, Sanusha and I fell in love with each other, as we were very compatible. I hoped that you’d forget me and move on with your life. To my relief, I came to know that you are in relationship with a Prakash. So, I thought, as there are no ill feelings between us, we could rekindle our friendship. Ummm..Can we start from the beginning?”

I was completely astonished at Lemon’s rigmarole. ‘So, he knew that I was in love with him!’ I felt embarrassed to face him. Nevertheless, I knew that it was my past. Now, he was ready to be my close friend again. I was ready for it, too. Never would I mess up with my feelings once again. I was sure about it.

“Hi! I am Madhumitha,” I said, extending my hand for a handshake.

“Hello! I am Rohit,” said Lemon, while taking my hand in his.

~THE END~

A tête-à-tête with Nimmi – With Love, Forever

Hello, Kavya Janani here! It’s September 14th, 2017. I am here with something interesting.

Though I have ended writing the story of Bhavana and Jairam, I am still in touch with the characters. I meet them sometimes. Talk to them like an old pal. It’s actually been a year since Bhavana and Jairam’s reunion. They got married after six months. Phew! Those six months were a fairy tale for both of them. They had lots to talk. They never even had time to spend for their friends. In between, there was Nimmi and Vikram’s marriage, which was really magical. Since Nimmi was a Potterhead, they had arranged a Potter themed reception, which was a runaway success. 

Nimmi was dressed in Hermione’s silky pink Yule Ball gown and Vikram wore an elegant emerald green dress robe. Well, to tell that they looked like million bucks is an understatement. They were something else, altogether. How Rowling would have wished to attend the reception! And then there were pancakes, butterbeer, roasted chicken, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, and chocolate frogs among other dishes. Each and every guest was given a wand, a quill, and a Harry Potter picture book especially illustrated by Nimmi.

Okay, okay, I’ll get back to the present. Currently Nimmi and Vikram are settled in Mumbai. I am also in Mumbai for some personal work. So I called up Nimmi and arranged a meeting with her in Cafe Richo. After some initial reluctance, she accepted to the meeting. Anyhow, I am her creator and she has to abide by my rules. Right? Okay, so now I am entering the cafe. Woah! She is already there. I think I am a bit late. I am actually running to her seat now.

Hey, Nimmi! I am so sorry. You know, the traffic in Mumbai sucks. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.

Hey, that’s okay, Kavya. I know, the traffic really sucks! It’s just been five minutes since I entered.

Oh! Thank God. I thought you were going to bash me. Anyway, you wouldn’t do that. I am your creator and if you misbehave with me, I’ll mess up your….

Don’t you have anything new to tell? 

Huh?

I mean, you spoke these exact words to Bhavana too. You said that you were her creator and blah, blah, blah. Of course, you ARE our creator. We all know that. But we have our own lives too. Don’t you think? Otherwise you wouldn’t have sat here for a chat with me.

Well, hmmm…I think these threats don’t work with you guys. You all are way too smart for me. Okay, so, how’s life with Vikram? Exciting, uh?

Yeah, he’s a storehouse of fun. Even after being married for a year, I can guffaw at his slapstick jokes. Can you imagine? Jokes that can be a damp squib for others are a runaway success with me.

Then I think you have a bad sense of humour. Actually, while creating Vikram, I didn’t inject any humour in him. Don’t know how he acquired that skill of his.

Arey, he can even perform stand-ups now. He’s soooo good at it.

The waiter arrives and takes our order. I ask for a cranberry latte and Nimmi orders a cappuccino.

Okay, did you meet Bhavana? How’s married life for her?

She’s doing great. Though they are two extremes, they get on well. I am kind of proud of them. I didn’t actually think that they can sustain together. I mean, Jairam is a conservative Rajasthani at heart, though he changed himself for Bhavana’s sake. He might still have some inhibitions about her. But he sheds everything, understands her, and moves along with her. The same goes for Bhavana, too. She is so outspoken and modern. I can’t even imagine her putting up with a conservative guy. Her lifestyle is entirely different. To know that she is following some of Jairam’s traditions is quite a surprise for me. Yeah, she does some weird pujas, when she is in Jaipur. I don’t know how she learnt doing all those.

Seems like they are happy, even being diverse. How’s your compatibility with Vikram?

We are absolutely compatible. We are just the antonyms of Jairam and Bhavana. We have the same tastes, wishes, and dreams. Though we might turn ponderous at times, we try to do things creatively to keep the spark alive. And lemme tell you something. Vikram would have been the best life partner for Bhavana, in my view. I should not say this, being his wife. But I am tempted. Things would have been much better, if you had just married off Jairam to someone else. Eventually Vikram would have married Bhavana, chucking me out. Then I’d have been a freeee bird. Ha ha ha!

Our orders arrive and we take a few moments to indulge in our delicious coffees. I am chuckling at Nimmi’s weird idea. The waiter throws a nasty look at me and leaves the place.

Hahaha..That’s a good idea. But my dear readers would have mercilessly murdered me. Well, yeah, Vikram was good for Bhavana. But how can I break a high voltage old-school romance and bring up a contemporary one in that place? That would have made the story more complicated. Okay, do you have any advice for young couples?

Yeah, I do have. Just let your partner be themselves. That is the secret mantra for a long-lasting relationship. Though I sound like someone who’s been married for ages, I can definitely provide this advice for the to-be married couples. Coz, issues begin after six months into your married life. To cope with them, you have to patiently listen to your partner, understand them, find out their exact needs, and give them freedom. You must not be egoistic or selfish. You should also find ways to keep the romance burning in your relationship. It should not fizzle out because of the emotional problems or external disturbances. Never let any third person know your troubles. Talk to each other and sort them out. Accept each other whole-heartedly. Adjust, don’t compromise. Take decisions together and take life as it comes.

Woahhhh! That was beautiful, Nimmi. So, what happened to your real name? Do people still call you Swapna?

Yes, some of my relatives still call me as Swapna. As you know, my full name is Swapnalatha Singh. As time passed by, my parents shortened it to Swapna and even changed my name in all the certificates. Vihaan, my cousin, used to call me by the nickname ‘Nimmi’. He’s no more. Passed away twelve years ago, due to a brain tumour. So I retained the nickname and asked my best friends to call me as Nimmi. Especially I requested Bhavana to address me as Nimmi, permanently.

Superb! I never knew that you had a backstory for your nickname, too. How did I miss that?

Like you have missed many other things.

What? What did I miss?

Why don’t you have a chat with Vikram? Sometime later?

Wait, don’t leave. Tell me everything.

No, I am sorry. Bye. It was sweet talking to you. You are the best, Kavya.

Th..Thank you so much, Swapnalatha Singh.

Oh, no! She’s gone. She didn’t even listen to my calling her as Swapnalatha. Anyway, it was fun talking to her. She’s sunshine. Hope she maintains the jocund aura around her.

13 A.R.Rahman Albums That Are Youthful And Pleasing Like Dil Bechara

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We can’t stop raving about the music of Dil Bechara. The album is colourful, with songs that are peppy as well as scintillating. If you’re looking for some Rahman soundtracks that are similar, I have a list of recommendations. Here are some A.R.Rahman albums that have a youthful vibe interspersed with melodies:

1. Kadhalan (1994)

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The earliest Rahman album to have vibrant songs, while catering to melody lovers at the same time. You can either enjoy the quirky Urvasi Urvasi & Petta Rap, or delve in the mellifluous Ennavale or tap your feet to Kadhalikkum Pennin and Mukkala Mukkabala. Rahman won many awards for this versatile soundtrack.

2. Kadhal Desam (1996)

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Three peppy songs, three melodies. The perfect balance for a youthful album. You will never get over Mustafa Mustafa and Ennai Kaanavillaiye.

3. Boys (2003)

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This entire album is youth dope. The movie deals with a bunch of college-going youngsters, their friendship, passion, and romance. So, the album is a complete winner. Rahman at his funkiest best. Girlfriend, Maaro Maaro, Sa Re Ga Me, and Ale Ale are pure camp for music lovers.

4. Enakku 20 Unakku 18 (2003)

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Who can forget the cheeky Askava or the addictive Sandhipoma or the dreamy Yedho Yedho or the friendship anthem Oru Nanban Irundhaan? This album was another runaway hit of 2003. Go for it!

5. Aaytha Ezhuthu / Yuva (2004)

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This soundtrack was a roaring success. Filled with a couple of melodies, a youth anthem, a breezy beach duet, and an energetic club song, this album is the perfect potpourri of peppy tracks and melodies.

6. Rang De Basanti (2006)

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This whole album is a treat for Rahman fans. Filled with positivity (the inspiring Roobaroo and the quirky Paathshala) and mesmerizing melodies (the effervescent Tu Bin Bataye and the tearjerker Luka Chuppi), this soundtrack is evergreen. Highly recommended!

7. Azhagiya Tamizh Magan (2007)

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The youth anthem Ellam Pugazhum is still popular among all the youngsters, while the foot-tapping Maduraikku Pogathadi is still aired in all radio stations. Valayapathi Thavile is an unusual number that incorporated different musical tropes in it. The remix of Ponmagal Vandhaal, the club song Nee Marilyn Monroe, and the melodious Kelaamal Kaiyile turned the album into a complete package.

8. Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na (2008)

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If at all someone asks me to choose one youthful album of Rahman, I’d definitely choose this one. This soundtrack shaped my entire 10th grade. Kabhi Kabhi Aditi was my morning alarm. Pappu Can’t Dance pepped me up whenever I was in low spirits. How can I forget the ethereal Kahin Toh? I would write a whole letter for this bittersweet song. And, of course, Jaane Tu Mera Kya Hai is my lifeline even now. Just forget everything and listen to this album right now!

9. Sakkarakatti (2008)

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Remember Taxi Taxi? Of course, who can forget this chartbuster? This ode to friendship is a household track even now in colleges. Friendship Day is arriving. So, don’t forget to listen to this number. The utterly melodious Marudaani took this album to another level, while the scintillating Naan Eppodhu stayed longer in everyone’s playlists. Well, the experimental Chinnamma Chilakamma was a raging hit during those days. 

10. Jhootha Hi Sahi (2010)

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Awww! This album is as sweet as ever. One can only marvel at the beauty of songs like the ebullient Cry Cry and the evergreen Do Nishaniyaan. Especially the latter is a heart-melting song that would make you go for repeated listens. Since the movie did not perform well, some hidden gems like Maiyya Yashodha, I’ve Been Waiting, Hello Hello, and Pam Pa Ra went unnoticed.

11. Lekar Hum Deewana Dil (2014)

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I really wanted to at least like this soundtrack, but it fell so flat even after four listens. I had to abandon listening to it. And I have never listened to it since then. I can only remember Alaahada, which stood out somewhat in the entire album. So, the reason I am adding it to this list is that it is still a youthful album with songs that might suit a section of youngsters. Give it a go, though!

12. O Kadhal Kanmani (2015)

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I just realized that this album finds a place in almost all the lists I write for Rahman’s songs. Well, it deserves all the love in the world. Which soundtrack can have a potpourri of emotions? Mental Manadhil, Malargal Kaettaen, Parandhu Sella Va, Aye Sinamika, Naane Varugiren, and Theera Ulaa are unforgettable gems. Forget the Hindi version of this movie. Though it is colourful and pleasing, I don’t really vouch for the title track, or Humma Humma (remix), or Enna Sona.

13. Tamasha (2015)

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This was a phenomenal soundtrack in Rahman’s career. With songs like Matargashti, Agar Tum Saath Ho, and Heer Toh Badi Sad Hai becoming chartbusters, this album had something to offer for every kind of listener. So, if you’re familiar with those three songs, why not give Chali Kahaani, Safarnama, Tu Koi Aur Hai, and Wat Wat Wat a listen? I bet you’ll never regret it.

If you know anymore A.R.Rahman albums that are youthful and pleasing, drop their names in the comments below. And, of course, add Dil Bechara to this list!

Love,

Kavya Janani. U

 

I Like You (poem)

I like you

like the overcast sky that promises a rainy evening. like the cozy white beds in hotel rooms. like new music that becomes my addiction for a few weeks. like my baby’s soy-milk powder that I devour secretly.

like the rose wreath with a heavenly fragrance. like the ethnic gown that I have preserved for my best night. like the aroma of fresh cheese. like fluffy Panda dolls that smell of gentleness. like my aunt’s extra spoon of sugar in my cappuccino.

like honey on pancakes. like the pages of my journal that contain my well-guarded secrets. like the few drops of lavender oil on my pillow. like scented candles in a warm room. like library books with creased and blotted pages.

like milk baths. like the chill that prevails on full-moon nights. like this unexpected poetry that popped in my mind.

 

~Kavya Janani. U

This poem is written after Amy Kay’s ‘I like you’. 

©All Rights Reserved

Blue Blush (poem)

The sky adorned a blue blush,

pregnant with diaphanous clouds

while the dandelions swayed

to the merry songs of the

sweet-tongued nightingale.

A picture-postcard scenery,

yet it couldn’t invoke in me

the feeling I craved for.

Don’t you realize it now?

Only you can crystallize

happiness in those recesses

where no one has access to.

Only you can defrost

the poems caked in my veins.

With you gone now,

tornadoes rage in my soul,

and I find no way to frolic

in the crimson sunsets.

I wonder whether my heart

would ever be vacant

for the love that the universe

has decided to place in my way.

Instead, I covet for your love

that’s made only for

snow-capped mountains

and not for dense woods like me.

I draw isohels in my life’s map

to check whether the same love

happened to you or not.

Yet, I don’t stop writing,

for you once told me not to cease

the truth that flows from my pen.

You said that my metaphors

were the ichor running in

Aphrodite’s sinews and nerves.

So, I place three dots

at the end of my poems.

Whenever you read them,

you’d know that I’d never stop,

but you’d never realize

my inundant love for you.

Much like how I’d never realize

what a picture-postcard scenery

can do to my well-being.

 

~Kavya Janani. U

The Zeroth Patient (Maya Krishnamurthy #4)

2049

Maya walked happily, her high-heels click-clacking on the road, two shopping bags hanging from each hand. As she walked, she gazed at the roadside shops selling fancy accessories, handbags, casual wear, and back-cases for smartphones. Though her shopping bug prodded her to buy some accessories, she was running late. She got several calls from her home. Mom. Sister. Dad. Uncle. Aunt. She patiently answered each call and assured them of her safety.

She stopped at a sugarcane-juice shop and ordered a cup. Taking little sips, she revelled in its sweetness. Just as she was about to throw the disposable cup into the bin, someone patted her shoulder. She turned and came face to face with an old woman. The woman was dressed in a black sari; her mane was completely white. A huge red bindi adorned her forehead. Thick black beads decorated her neck and wrists. It was obvious that she was a fortune-teller, for she had a bejewelled stick in the right hand, and held a brown leather-bound diary in her left.

Maya did not like such people. She wasn’t superstitious, by nature inclined towards science and maths. Before she could speak, the woman spoke in a shrill voice, “You must be Maya Krishnamurthy.”

Maya let out a tiny gasp. “Excuse me?! But how do you know my name?”

“I know the names of everyone in this town,” the woman replied.

“How is that possible? Parilaya is a small town, but you cannot know the names of the thousand people here.”

“Parilaya is a small but unintelligent one. These thousand you speak about are the ones who migrated here in 2022, because this town perished due to people’s reckless nature. They never listened to what the world said. They thought that they were clever. They believed that eating bats would bring them good luck. But, what did it do? It created a pandemic that lasted a year and wiped out half of the world’s population-“

“Okay, I know about that. Coronavirus and all. My mother was eight months pregnant when she migrated to Parilaya in 2022, after the pandemic ended and this town was completely disinfected. But what that has got to do with me now? I am running late. I have to go home. Here, take this hundred-rupee note. I don’t want your fortune-telling, or hear about my future or anything. I am not interested.”

Maya thrust the note at the woman, who declined it. She said, “You don’t want fortune-telling. But you’d want to hear something scientific.”

That stopped Maya on her tracks. She stared at the woman, wondering how much she knew about her. 

Maya placed the shopping bags on the floor and folded her arms across her chest, nodding at the woman to go on. Her family could wait, but this could not.

“Here, take this diary. It is not as ordinary as you think.”

Maya was reluctant to take the diary. Not being superstitious did not mean that she shouldn’t be afraid of inexplicable things. 

“Go on, take it. Only you can do this. You could save the world if you prevent the zero patient from spreading it. This diary allows you to travel back in time. This was given to me by a higher official, who said that Maya Krishnamurthy from Parilaya can travel back in time and save the world from the Coronavirus. When I asked him why he chose you particularly, he told me that you were born with a rare time-travel gene and only needed an object to activate it. So he prepared this diary for you. The instructions are on the first page. And yes, I tried, but I couldn’t travel back in time. If you succeed, please stop those stupid people from selling bats.”

“This is so ridiculous! How can I save the world? So, if I travel back in time and stop that single event from happening, the world should never have heard about the virus. But here we are, talking about it. So, my experiment was a failure. Somehow, the virus will come and wipe out half the population. I don’t want to experiment with this.” Maya withdrew her hand.

The old woman heaved a sigh. “Maya, I know you will say this. But I have another explanation. This diary was created just a few days back. So if you use it to travel back in time and save the world, it will create another timeline – where the world remains unaffected. You’ll leave the timeline which has experienced Coronavirus and create a new timeline which hasn’t experienced the virus. When you come back to your present, all the information about the virus would have vanished. Only you’d know about its existence. In that new timeline, I will not even recognize you. Understood? Please take it. You have to do this for the world.”

That explanation convinced Maya and she took the diary. At that moment, her mother called her phone.

“Yes, Ma! Sorry, sorry. I will get a taxi and come in a few minutes.”

*****

Maya placed the diary on the desk, and settled on a chair beside it. She turned the first page. Handwritten letters stared back at her.

“Hello, Maya. Since you have been identified as having the time-travel gene, I have chosen you for this task. In the middle pages of this diary, you will find a sheet made with handwoven paper. Write ‘Nov 11th, 2019. Parilaya wet market’ on it. You will then be engulfed by a force which will take you back to that date and place. You cannot write any other date or place, as I have programmed this diary so that it takes you only to that date. Good luck!”

Without wasting another moment, Maya did as instructed. A moment later, a force engulfed her and she vanished from her desk.

*****

N ov 11th, 2019

Maya’s feet touched the ground. A few raindrops fell on her face as she opened her eyes. She was at the edge of the Parilaya forest, near the wet market. It was drizzling, but a few people were still about. Fortunately, no one had seen her appear out of thin air. She walked briskly towards the market, clutching the diary in her hand. She looked around and read the boards which displayed the types of meat sold in the corresponding shops. But she couldn’t see any mention of a ‘bat’. Intrigued, she approached the shop that sold mutton. A butcher was cutting up pieces for a customer.

“Excuse me. Do you know anyone who sells bat meat here?” she asked, her voice low.

The butcher looked up in disgust. He spat, “Bat meat? Are you out of your mind?”

“No. But listen… Someone is going to sell bat meat here. If they do that, we’re doomed. The world is doomed.”

“Hey, madwoman, what are you saying?”

“What’s going on here?” A woman came out of a storeroom. 

“I’m looking for someone who sells bat meat in this market.”

“Oh, yes! Lalitha was telling about it. She said that some astrologer told her that selling or eating bat meat will bring good luck. So she’s going to hunt for bats tonight.”

“What the fuck?!” Maya swore. “Where is this Lalitha?”

“Over there.” The woman pointed to a store two shops away, which sold turkey meat.

“Thank you.” Maya broke into a run, reached the shop, and demanded to meet Lalitha immediately. A woman in her late 40s came out and shook hands with Maya.

“Ms. Lalitha, you don’t know me. But I should warn you about something disturbing. I know more than the astrologer. Please listen to me. Don’t sell bat meat. You are going to unleash something that will abolish this entire town, bringing about millions of deaths!”

“What are you saying, madam? Really? My husband and I were going to hunt bats tonight.”

“Don’t do that, Lalitha. Please.” Maya begged.

“Okay, madam. You look like a scholar. I will listen to you.”

“Thank you, Lalitha. Does anyone know about your plan other than the mutton woman?”

“No one else knows. I was about to tell them after catching the bats.”

“Okay, don’t tell anybody, and don’t sell bat meat.”

“Sure, madam. I promise. You can rest in my guesthouse tonight and keep an eye on us, so we don’t go hunting.”

“Haha, okay. Thank you. I’ll stay tonight and leave tomorrow.”

*****

Maya did a mental jig, having accomplished her mission. It was 9 PM and she was taking a walk on the forest road. It was dimly lit, but she used her phone’s flashlight. Crickets were chirping and a slight breeze was blowing. Maya shivered and hugged herself for warmth. Suddenly, she heard a strange sound, like a child rubbing his molars together. And the next second, without warning, a bird flew at her. She ducked on time, but ended up with a nasty cut on her cheek; the bird’s claws had scraped her skin.

She went back to Lalitha’s house, where the woman tended to the wound. After a sumptuous dinner of chicken biryani, Lalitha and her family went to sleep, while Maya watched over them.

The next morning, Maya took leave. She opened the diary and followed the instructions to return to the present.

*****

2 049

A gentle sobbing sound filled the entire room. Maya was sitting on her bed, surrounded by newspapers with articles about Coronavirus. She was still in Parilaya. Coronavirus had won, even though she had found patient zero. The articles still pointed to Parilaya’s wet market as the origin, though Lalitha was not mentioned. She tried to go back once again, but the diary did not help. Apparently, it was just for one-time use.

“I failed in a mission that I never wanted to undertake. And that still hurts.” She spoke to herself in the mirror, passing her fingers over the scar on her cheek.

She locked herself in her room, wanting to be left alone. For two days, she feasted on the biscuits and chips that she had stocked up. On the third day, something happened to her. She found it difficult to breath. All her joints ached. Before she could even process what was happening to her, she collapsed on the floor.

*****

“How is it possible? How was she affected by the virus after thirty years?” Maya’s mother asked the doctor, a week after Maya’s death.

“It’s so strange. Your family of seven has been tested negative. We traced her contacts over the past two weeks. The sugarcane juice vendor, a fortune-teller who was seen speaking to her on the road, her friends… they all were tested and found negative. But the potency of the virus inside her was such that she couldn’t even experience gradual symptoms. It led straight to her death. It was like she had come in contact with the original virulent strain of the virus.”

Maya’s mother cried. Her daughter’s death in 2049 due to Coronavirus would remain a mystery forever.

*****

“How could you do this? She was a poor girl. She would have been a gift to the scientific world if you hadn’t messed with her life,” the fortune-teller yelled.

“Some things are destined. We cannot change them. This pandemic had to happen. Earth had to heal. Maya had to start it.”

A wave of shock caught the woman. “What are you saying? Maya was patient zero?”

“Yes, she requested Lalitha to not sell bat meat, but she herself went on to become the zeroth patient. On the night of Nov 11, 2019, Maya was taking a walk on the forest road. An insane bat with this new virus clawed at her cheek. Then she came in contact with a lot people that night and the next morning. She touched so many places with her bare hands and-“

“The rest is history,” the sad fortune-teller nodded.

FOOTNOTE: Wrote this one for WattpadShortStory ‘s Imagine Contest for the 3rd prompt. This story is a part of A Time Damsel (Maya Krishnamurthy series).

Package Delivered (Maya Krishnamurthy #3)

2019

It was one of those mornings, where I felt that something was about to happen. A sudden wave of intrigue engulfed all my brain cells. I opened the balcony door and stood leaning on the railing, with a cup of warm coffee. I caressed the cup in my palms, inhaling a whiff of roasted coffee beans.

Not even I had taken a single sip, I heard the doorbell ring. I had no visitors in the mornings, usually. Intrigued, I placed my cup on the little stool in the balcony and went to the hall. I looked through the peephole and found a delivery person standing at the entrance. Though I remembered that I did not order anything, I opened the door.

“Is this Maya Krishnamurthy?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” I replied, puzzled.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, stretching it out to me.

“Thank you.”

I picked it up carefully and examined it. The delivery man moved away without another look. The package was wrapped in a neat brown paper with a red satin bow pasted on the top. I placed it on the teapoy, contemplating whether to open it. Nowhere the sender’s name was written. Not even an accidental pen mark. Since I lived alone, I was cautious of such things.

Anyway, I unwrapped it and found a thick maroon leather-bound diary with the words ‘Zeit’ engraved on it in a silver font. Immediately, I pulled out my phone from my pant’s pocket and googled the word ‘Zeit’. It was the German translation of the word ‘time’. Someone clearly knew that I was obsessed with learning about time and that I was also a part-time writer, who loved writing in a diary, but couldn’t find time to do it. Mystified, I opened the first page. As expected, someone had written on it.

‘Dear Maya,

Please write all the interesting ideas and experiences in here. Doing this will change your life. Please don’t repeat the excuse of not having enough time. Also, don’t worry. This is not a scam. Have belief and start writing.’

If I said I was confused, I would be underestimating myself. I was flabbergasted at the casuality of the writing. I also could not comprehend the connection between ‘Zeit’ and the note written on the first page.

I didn’t want to question anything. If I thought too much, I usually ended up with anxiety. So, I just took a few deep breaths and did what was instructed in the diary.

I began to record all my ideas and experiences from then.

*****

2030

Tara brought in a plate of sandwiches for me and crackled, “Maya, breakfast time.”

Before I could pat her metallic head, she skated away from me. I sat down on my bed and took a bite out of one of the sandwiches. It was the yummiest dish I had had for breakfast. Seriously, robots were great chefs.

After breakfast, I opened my laptop and stared at the blank page. Even after a full tummy, the words didn’t flow. They just did not come to me. Frustated, I shut the laptop fiercely and began fidgeting.

Just then, Tara brought in her tablet and showed the screen to me. It was written, ‘Type in your problems and we will provide you a solution by sending objects to your past. We have already sent more than a thousand objects to the past of many people. Soon, we will be sending people to the past. Yes, time-travel is real now!’

I laughed out loud reading the ad. Even after years of learning, research, and experimentation, I, as a scientist by profession, could not find a way to travel through time. How could someone have invented it?

Tara nudged me to type something. So, I typed, ‘I am suffering from a severe bout of writer’s block…’

When I clicked on ‘Submit’, I saw someone typing from the other end. This was their message, ‘Just go to sleep, Maya. Tomorrow morning, everything will be different.’

I let out another chuckle, thinking that it was a huge joke. If what was written in the website was true, I wondered what object it would send to my past to help me.

A few seconds later, I realized that it was really a joke. If the website was genuine, I must have received an object in the past. But I didn’t remember receiving anything strange at any time. Satisfied that it was a scam, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up, rather fresh. My first thought was about the peculiar ad. I looked for Tara, but she was nowhere to be seen. I was just about to open the bedroom door, when I noticed something strange. There was a poster with a popular Stephen King quote,

Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.

My heart thudded mercilessly. I didn’t remember buying it.

“Tara!” I hollered.

“Yes, Maya,” she crackled and came to me in a jiffy.

“Did you hang this Stephen King quote here?”

“Nope. You did that.”

“Me? I never bought this.”

“Okay, if that’s surprising, there’s more. Go to the third row of your bookshelf and see for yourself.”

I hurried to the bookshelf and rummaged the third row, which was filled with crime-fiction novels. There, amidst Christie’s mysteries, sat a maroon leather-bound diary.

“What is this?” I turned the pages and found them filled with my handwriting. “I didn’t write these things.”

“You did, but not from the timeline from which you came.”

“What? Tara, you’re going to explain me clearly.”

“Maya, yesterday when you replied to the ad, the agency sent a diary to your past-self to write all her ideas and experiences in it, so that you can read them today and overcome writer’s block.”

“But, how can I not remember writing them?”

“That’s simple. When they sent the diary, they changed the course of events. Another timeline was created, where you wrote these. Yesterday when you went to sleep, you were in your original timeline, where you didn’t write the diary. But since they sent it to you today morning and your past-self began writing on it, you woke up in the new timeline.”

Once again, I opened the pages and read a few lines.

“My precious ideas!” I cried and hugged the diary to my chest. My next bestsellers were already half-ready.

Also, the scientist in me decided to meet the people behind the website. After all, time-travel should become the new normal.

FOOTNOTE: I wrote this flash-fic for a prompt by Terribly Tiny Tales. But I expanded the story and posted it here. This is a part of A Time Damsel (Maya Krishnamurthy series).

The Woman In Time (Maya Krishnamurthy #2)

Excerpt from the book ‘The Body Myth’ by Rheea Mukherjee :

The woman was sitting on a park bench in West Point Gardens, where I came every Sunday for a five-kilometer walk. She couldn’t see me, but I had stopped midstride to stare at her. I looked at her for three reasons:

(1) her face was twisted in contemplation;

(2) she was wearing a beige kurta with a transparent golden dupatta; and

(3) she was fucking gorgeous.

I am a woman who takes great pleasure in noticing other women, in raw appreciation for our sex, but also as a comparative study. I could not, however, take the time to assess her beauty. She was onto something strange.

Her head darted behind and to the side; I was sure she was checking to see if anyone was looking at her. She was in the center of a vast bamboo garden. No one else was around. I was in the corner, out of her view.  She looked back to the center, her facial muscles tweaked with confidence. She took a few deep breaths and started to tremble.

NOTE: In this contest, we were asked to continue the story with maximum 500 words. Below is my continuation.

Right then, there was a blinding flash of light. I closed my eyes reflexively. When I opened them again, the woman had vanished into thin air.

I stepped out of my hiding place and inspected the entire area. She was nowhere to be found, much to my horror.

‘How could she disappear like that?’

I continued searching for her. Slowly, people came in small groups. I had to stop looking for her.

I walked back home, pondering over the incident. I found a fourth reason for my staring at her.

(4) she seemed familiar

‘Where had I seen her?’ I scratched my head. She was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recall why. Somewhere at the back of my mind, a picture was forming. A woman dressed in a beige kurta, looking at me with kind eyes, speaking to me incoherently, and handing me something that looked like a translucent golden dupatta!

I rushed home and almost broke open the main door in a bid to clear my mind. I barged inside and opened my cupboard, pulling out all my dresses in a frenzy. There it was!

In a far corner of the third shelf lay a translucent golden dupatta.

*****

2003

“There are no magical beings, Tara! Draw something relatable. I don’t want you to sketch nonsense. Okay?” My dad, Brijesh, chided.

“But, Papa, they exist,” I insisted, teary-eyed.

Before he could retort, I ran to my room and shut the door. I burst into sobs, thinking about my drawings of mystical creatures. Suddenly, I heard a sing-song voice.

“Hey, Tara. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

I looked around, but could find no one. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Here I am!” With a blinding flash, a woman appeared.

She looked cherubic, in a beige kurta with a translucent golden dupatta, a happy smile dancing on her pink lips.

“Don’t panic. I’m Maya Krishnamurthy, a fairy.”

“A fairy? But fairies don’t exist!”

“Oh! What were you telling your father a few minutes ago, then?”

I looked up abruptly. “Are you really a fairy?”

“Yes. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Magical creatures exist in this world. And I’ll be your friend, if you ever need me.”

That moment changed my life forever. Maya handed me her dupatta, asked me to keep it safe, and vanished suddenly.

*****

2019

I clutched the dupatta, feeling its rough texture with my tender fingers.

Going back to the park, the dupatta around my neck, I looked around. There were some people doing laps on the walk-path. Soon, I noticed the woman in the bamboo garden, sitting on the stone bench and meditating. She wasn’t wearing the dupatta, as I’d deduced.

I scuttled towards her, peaking in anticipation. She opened her eyes and smiled at me, beckoning me closer.

“Who are you?” I asked, handing her the dupatta. I was panting, since I had run towards her.

“A fairy born with time-travel gene.” She extended her hand. “Friends?”

“Yes, friends,” I shook her hand gently.

I felt a jerk under my navel, as the world spun.

FOOTNOTE: This flash-fiction is a part of A Time Damsel (Maya Krishnamurthy series).

Breech Position (Maya Krishnamurthy #1)

She stood still, staring at the entrance of the hospital. ‘City Towers Maternity Hospital’ – the neon name-board gleamed in the pitch dark surroundings.  It was a quaint little hospital situated away from the bustling city. Maya Krishnamurthy’s eyes travelled up to the third floor, where room no. 303’s window was tightly shut. Lights were on, indicating that a patient was inside the labour ward. She wondered whether the woman inside the room had a natural childbirth or a caesarean operation.

It was the same room in which her mother had given birth to her vaginally. She had always wanted to be inside the room to see how her place of birth looked like and to see the doctor who had touched her for the first time. She remembered her mother telling her that she was in active labour for seventeen hours and that she, baby Maya, was in breech position. It was just before the pushing sensation that she had turned head-first. Maya always wondered about that miraculous moment which saved her mother from a C-section.

“It was like God had sent a signal to the baby to turn. I felt so relieved,” her mom had said.

“What if God had indeed sent me a signal? After all, it is said that babies can see God,” Maya had replied.

“Haha! Silly girl! Babies are Gods.”

“No, Ma. Babies cannot be Gods. Gods don’t give you so much trouble, but I did. I swallowed all your dreams and I was a difficult child. So, I wasn’t God.”

Her mom had embraced her then and had replied, “You were difficult, yes. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t God.”

As Maya recollected the conversation and stared at the hospital room, something heavy pressed on her chest. Her hands immediately flew to her bosom. She began having palpitations and she gasped for breath. She shut her eyes tight, as she felt something engulf her. The conversation in her head turned into a faraway echo. Her surroundings swirled while she clenched her fists in an effort to stop the peculiarity.

The next moment when she opened her eyes, all she could see was red. She was confined to such a compact space that she couldn’t even wriggle properly. Something like heartbeats pounded in her ears with a Dolby Atmos effect. Then a lone wail pierced the pin-drop silence. A woman’s cry.

“Aaaaaaa! Someone help me. I don’t want this pain.”

“Don’t wail, Shreya ma’am. Your baby is in breech position. We have to wait till it turns head-first. If not, we have to operate on you.”

Epiphany washed over Maya as she realized what happened to her. Her 25-year-old self was trapped in her yet-to-be born self’s body. She somehow wriggled and looked at her right hand. Teeny-weeny fingers covered in vernix. Though she couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to travel through time, she realized that time was running out. So she delivered a ferocious kick to her mom’s belly.

‘Mumma, I will help you!’ She thought. With all her energy, she swivelled and did a somersault. She heard her mother gasp and then, “I think the baby has turned.” There was, indeed, relief in her mother’s voice.

Few minutes later, Maya heard voices that chanted, “Push, push, push!” Without any further ado, she squeezed herself out of her mother’s birth canal. Gloves-adorned hands picked her up and exclaimed, “It’s a girl!”

A sudden fear attacked baby Maya, as she realized that she should start her life all over.

‘No, no, that’d be so difficult. Imagine a 25-year-old acting like playing with toys and learning ABCs in kindergarten. I’d rather get trapped in the body of my 16-year-old self and relive my life from that point. Never from my baby-self. No, no, no.’

Terrified immensely, she turned to the doctor for help. She just glimpsed at the doctor’s face, before she was engulfed by the same force that had brought her back to her birth moment. The next second, she was the 25-year-old Maya staring at the entrance of the hospital.

To this day, Maya Krishnamurthy wonders how she had travelled back in time just like that. Also, it had created a paradox. Did she turn herself head-first because she knew the information from her mother? Or did she know it because she had turned head-first and her mother had informed her about it? The same chicken-egg theory.

Even though she knows that it would never happen again, she sometimes stands in front of her school and college, wondering whether she can involuntarily travel back to those days.

**********

FOOTNOTE: This story was written for Half Baked Beans’ Annual Microfiction Contest (2019). The version is that anthology has just 500 words. I have expanded it here. This flash fiction is a part of A Time Damsel (Maya Krishnamurthy series).

Where Do They Go? (poem)

Where do all the unexpressed love go?⠀

Do they take rebirth in the same souls ⠀

that carried them decades ago?⠀

Does the sky absorb them and display them to the world as constellations?⠀

Do they fall at the feet of the circumstances that made them ‘unexpressed’ and beg to ⠀

give them a second chance?⠀

Does the wind carry them along with the fragrance of the dried flowers ⠀

and deliver them at a garden ⠀

created for such love?⠀

Do they mix in the ocean and come out

as tidal waves when the full moon shines?⠀

Do they reside inside secret poems, ⠀

forever encompassed in a maze⠀

of unheard words?⠀

Do they walk on the path that the saints have walked on and seek salvation ⠀

from the universe?⠀

Do they take refuge in all the ⠀

ambiguous playlists that people create ⠀

for hiding their feelings?⠀

If someone could tell me ⠀

where all the unexpressed love go, ⠀

I wouldn’t suffer long in containing it ⠀

within myself.⠀

⠀

⠀

~Kavya Janani. U⠀