Neeti's life

 

Life is a journey. In the end all of us die so the end can't be something to look forward to; it's the journey that matters. It's the journey that teaches us how to learn, how to grow, how to heal, how to love; it's the journey that makes us who we are. But in the journey of life, we often find that we are mere passengers. We can open a window for fresh air, we can try to reason with the driver about what turn to take, but many times we find ourselves on paths that we never chose. As passengers there is only so much we can do. As passengers we accept the situation and adjust.

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Monsoon bhuttas on the highway...

 

'

Neeti:

 The Sanwer road looks so different today. Plain, barren and cold. In the monsoon it was green, glistening and full of life. We had come here to have the famous Sanwer bhutta. Even though I have been living in Indore for almost seven years, I had never gone to Sanwer before. Raj and I were standing by one of the makeshift stalls, overseeing the vendor as he roasted the local variety of corn on the cob for us. The vendor looked up at the overcast sky as he fanned the embers in the small black sigdi on his wooden cart. The fragrance of the corn was mixed with that of the soil. The indication of the approaching rain did not deter us from waiting for the bhuttas to be roasted to perfection. Soon it started to pour and Raj rushed back to the driver seat with one bhutta in each hand.

"Bhabhi, come quickly!" He urged me to follow suit.

As I approached the car with the rest of the wares, Ronit slipped to the middle of the back-seat to give me room. I was wet, it was windy, but I felt warm. We were five full-grown adults in a small hatchback but I could feel only Ronit's presence. His legs brushing against mine, the fragrance of his cologne overpowering my senses. He laughed at Raj's jokes and fussed over how Amma was eating her bhutta. My presence went unnoticed. 

 

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Neeti's insecurity

There are a lot of people to help with things around the house. Nevertheless, there is still a lot that needs to be done in a big household with in-laws. But this work between home and school keeps me busy and keeps my mind focused. It doesn’t give me enough time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. Also, this effort is nothing compared to the depressing vibe of living with Maa. The Maa without Papa, that is. I am not as strong as Bhaiyya. I don’t know how he tunes out Maa’s rantings and mood swings. Whether she screams in the middle of the night or breaks all the glasses in the kitchen on a whim or decides to hack down all the plants in the garden one day, he seems to just be able to hold it together and not be affected by it. Whether she is diagnosed with depression or intermittent explosive disorder, my brother is stuck with my mother. Even though my mother has gotten better over the years, I don’t think she will ever go back to being the person she was when my father was alive. I already feel bad for my future bhabhi. If I can’t handle my own mother like this, how will she handle a mother-in-law like that? Maybe that is one of the reasons why Bhaiyya isn’t married yet. How can he marry someone and subject them to Maa? In fact, if Ronit knew the real me, he would probably not want to be married to me either. Divorce, no matter how uncommon, is not completely unheard of. But it’s best not to dwell on that today.

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Ronit's heartache

 

She was perfect but my life wasn’t. And that was it. That’s where it ended. My love story with the woman of my dreams. It ended because she could not be the daughter-in-law that my family was looking for. And that day I realized that if the woman that I loved could not be my parents’ daughter-in-law, then some day my parents might insist upon a daughter-in-law that I could never love. By choosing to support my family in a time of need, I may have bid farewell to love forever. The romantic kind of love. The kind of love that makes your life magical. 

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Neeti's nightmare

 I see myself walking on a wide never ending road. A road that is straight and even and comfortable to walk on. As I walk blissfully wearing a colourful dress that blows gently in the wind I can feel the joy in my heart reflected in the twilight sky above me. A sky that is a beautiful canvas of pink, yellow, and blue. A sky that fills my heart with hope of endless possibilities. Suddenly, a divine switch flips. A switch that turns off my beautiful sky into a blank black screen, a screen on which lightning strikes at the horizon, a lightning that fills my heart with dread, a sense if dread that is mirrored in a gale that ruffles my wavy shoulder-length hair and tangles it into a maddening mess that I absolutely fail to manage. In the madness of the moment I notice the clouds, the dark clouds that spit out a moon, a moon that illuminates the tall and muscular frame of my brother walking silently beside me. He is not looking at me though, my brother. He is looking resolutely at the horizon as he forges ahead. His presence reassures me, a ray of hope in the endless darkness. I try to grab his arm but the moment I reach out to him, he flickers like a hologram. I try to call out to him but no matter how hard I scream, he does not register my presence. He is walking faster now, moving away from me. I try desperately to catch up to him but no matter how fast I will them to go, my legs refuse to run. The clouds engulf the moon leaving me in utter darkness and despair. Suddenly, I fall into a bottomless pit.

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Ronit is frustrated

It’s strange walking with Neeti like this. Things were not like this with Vaishali. We would walk together holding hands, sometimes I would keep my hand on her waist and she would rest her head on my shoulder. We used to enjoy going for walks late in the evening. I can’t imagine that level of comfort with Neeti. She is so conscious of the surroundings and somehow distant. This one time I took her to a cake shop and bought her favorite choco-chip cake for her. When we were waiting for the cake to be put into a box for us I casually put my arm around her waist. She jumped away from me, looked around and then glared at me as if I had committed a crime or something. It's not like I was trying to make out with her in the middle of the street! She is just so annoying sometimes! Why should I care though? I didn’t marry her because I necessarily wanted a wife. I simply married her because my parents needed a daughter-in-law.

'You're stuck with me for life!' Soon to be published. 

Neeti is bored

Lying down comfortably in the plush bed at the hotel, I can see intricate floral patterns lining the moulding of the ceiling. One pink flower after every third green leaf. I count fifteen flowers on the long side and twelve on the short side of the ceiling. I am extremely conscious of the large wall-mounted TV staring at me, daring me to turn it on. But what is the point of coming so far away from home if I’m just going to sit in the room and watch TV? It has been an hour since we came to the room and Ronit is still sleeping. He didn’t even bother to change into more comfortable pajamas and jumped into bed in his jeans. Can’t be too comfortable sleeping in those. That too with a T-shirt that has an uncomfortable looking collar. 

I don’t understand this concept of being so lazy on vacations. On working days he is so active and full of energy. From his morning workout, to long days at the office, to evening errands and grocery runs, he is quite a Duracell-bunny. But the moment the weekend approaches, he becomes a completely different person altogether. He wakes up late in the morning, has breakfast, and goes back to sleep. Then he wakes up for some time to have lunch, and then it’s time for his afternoon nap. All that is still fine at home, but right now we are at a new, exciting, and beautiful place. I can’t waste my holiday like this. I need to be in charge of my own entertainment!

'You're stuck with me for life!' eBook soon to be published on Kindle. 

Unbelievable!

Ronit:

I am standing on the highway, practically in the middle of nowhere, with potato chips in one hand and a bottle of water in the other hand. My car doesn’t work and this woman has suddenly decided to sprout a temper! What a way to celebrate my wedding anniversary! 

But really, where is all this attitude coming from anyway? First she wants to see that ridiculous park. Then she wants to control my vacation and make it into a military drill. And then she wants to yell at me for breaking my own car! Who breaks their own car? Obviously it was an accident! And who yells at the victim of an evil speed-breaker? That too, a victim who is shortly going to have to shell out a significant sum of money to fix the damned radiator! This is practically inhuman! And now she is behaving as if she is doing me a great favour by bringing me these potato chips. These chips which will make me grow fat and have a heart attack! What can I do about it though? I am the fool who got emotionally blackmailed into bringing home a daughter-in-law for my family. I have no option but to eat these deadly high-calorie chips and hope to die quickly when the heart attack comes.

'You're stuck with me for life!' eBook to be published soon on Kindle. 

He doesn't understand, of course!

Here are a few lines from my upcoming novel 'You're stuck with me for life!'

Neeti is on a road-trip with her husband on their first wedding anniversary. Things are not going as she had hoped.

Neeti:

As the sun sets on the evening of our first wedding anniversary we are not gazing at the Taj Mahal together, real or replica. We are sitting in our broken-down car being towed into Kota city by a very questionable-looking van with a very scary-looking crew. We are moving very slowly, keeping to the leftmost lane.  As we approach the city, I can see the bright tail-lights of more and more cars ahead of us. Suddenly, my phone begins to ring. It’s my mother. 

“Hello.” I say in a measured tone as I pick up the phone.

“How are you beta?”, asks Maa, “Have you reached Kota? Have you checked-in at the hotel?”

She sounds quite tense.

“Yes Maa. We have reached Kota. We are right outside the hotel.” I lie.

No point in adding to her stress. 

I look towards Ronit. He glances at me with a questioning look on his face.

“Was the journey comfortable?” Maa goes on.

“Yes, it was very comfortable. Achha, Maa, I need to go and check into the hotel now. Can I call you later?” I say, wanting to bring the conversation to a quick end.

Lying to my mother is not easy for me.

“Yes of course beta. Take care.” she says.

I cut the call.

“It was Maa. I didn’t want to worry her.” I tell Ronit.

“What’s the big deal?” He asks “I told Amma and Baba everything. Why lie?”

He doesn’t understand, of course.

 

Dhaba on a highway

 

These are some photographs I have taken in eateries on highways (dhabas) during road-trips that I have been on with my husband across Central India. 

Here are a few lines from my soon to be published novel 'You're stuck with me for life' where Neeti and Ronit take a lunch-break while on a road-trip from Indore to Ranthambore:

Neeti:

“Look out for decent dhabas”, Ronit instructs me, “We need to stop somewhere for lunch.”

“I see one coming up on the left.” I inform him.

“Seems too basic”, he says, narrowing his eyes in disapproval before he continues, “There are no cars parked there. Try to spot one where a lot of cars are parked. Cars, not trucks, mind you.”

His comment brings back memories from a long time ago. Papa used to joke that some dhaba-walas probably park old cars in front of their establishments to convince people about the quality of their wares. It seems people are more likely to stop at an unknown eatery if they find it somewhat crowded. Of course, people of a similar social strata are the ones that count in this equation, hence Ronit’s comments about avoiding the dhabas with too many trucks. Finally, we settle on one that claims to be a 'Jain family restaurant'. There are over half a dozen cars parked in front of the single-storied structure. The wide entrance leads to a covered sitting area with plastic tables and chairs. There are a few khatiyas on one side with wooden boards serving as tables. To the left of the sitting area is a small shop with streams of brightly coloured packets of snacks hanging from one side. There is a small freshly painted yellow building on the right with T-O-I-L-E-T written in big, bold, blue letters. The place looks promising. I hope the toilet is clean.

Ronit:

I take off my sunglasses and place them on a red plastic table. The sitting area is quite airy and open. About half the seats in the eatery are taken. It doesn’t feel crowded. I look around for a waiter and wave my hand to grab his attention before I take a seat.

“Kya lenge sahab?” The middle-aged waiter asks, bending his right shoulder towards me, focusing his ears to receive instructions. The blue and white checkered gamcha on his left shoulder seems somewhat at odds with his well worn dark trousers and cream shirt.

“Ek dal tadka, ek jeera aloo, chaar roti.” I inform him. It’s best to keep the menu simple.

“Tandoori roti or chapati?” He asks, his eyes focused on the edge of the red table in front of me.

“Which one will I get faster?” I retort, wanting to know the implication of my choices.

“Everything is fast.” He says, looking towards me with pride and confidence. No doubt an eatery on the highway must often need to cater to customers in a rush.

“Get me tandoori rotis then.”, I decide, “No butter. And be quick with the food.”

Having received the requisite instructions the waiter walks to the large window of the open-ish kitchen right in front of me and has a chat with a stout man in a brown ganji who is stirring some concoction in a large black kadhai using a giant ladle. I wonder if some of the contents of that kadhai are going to end up on my table.

 

Tiger! Really?

 

I took these photographs at the tiger reserve at Ranthambore many years ago. Here are a few lines from my novel 'You're stuck with me for life!' that are inspired from that trip:

Whether one manages to spot a tiger during a safari in the wild life sanctuary or not is kind of luck of the draw, but the zone that your vehicle gets assigned plays a big role in determining your chances. The zones are supposed to ensure an even distribution of vehicles in the national park and prevent overcrowding of the most popular spots. Even though all zones are supposed to have some probability of allowing the sighting of a tiger, not all zones are equal. From what I understand, zones 1 to 5 are known for more frequent tiger sightings. Unfortunately, our canter is assigned to zone 8. The driver of the canter and his companion, who is serving as our tour guide, are trying their best to sound optimistic. As the gates to the national park are opened, all the vehicles that had been waiting in line enter the park. Some of the open jeeps that can be hired at a higher price than that of booking a seat on a canter enter the park with a bit of urgency. Some other vehicles, like our canter, move forward at a relaxed pace, knowing that the odds of any exciting events are on the lower side. The terrain in this zone is a bit hilly. We come across rocky patches along the way. When we find no tigers near a water-body that we cross, the guide tries to divert our attention towards an owl sitting in the hollow of a tree. He is trying to convince us that citing an owl in the morning is supposed to be the most magical thing ever, but I’m sure most people know that’s not true.

“See! Pugmarks! There is definitely a tiger close by!” The guide says excitedly after some time.  

Really? I don’t think so. It’s all drama.

There are other nice animals to see besides the tiger. We spot a few different types of deer. We also spot birds of different shapes and sizes. Overall it’s not so bad. But not quite as magical as it could have been. Kind of like my life. 

"Sherni hai Sahab!"

I took this photograph on a visit to the tiger reserve at Ranthambore many years ago. Certain events on that trip inspired me to write my first novel 'You're stuck with me for life!'. I intend to publish it soon. Here are a few lines from the current draft of the novel:

I look up at the clear pale blue sky. I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air and my gaze shifts to the hills on the other side of the lake. Even in the barren winter landscape, there are patches of green on them, no doubt from the large evergreen trees that the forest is peppered with. On this side of the lake we have left the forest cover behind us and our vehicle is parked on a barren stretch of land dusted with red soil. I gaze at the bank of the lake that is a patchwork of red soil and golden grass punctuated with black rock jutting from within. The tiger’s golden coat with black stripes makes it look absolutely at home in its surroundings. The territorial beast walks around the golden grass for a while before it settles on a patch that seems to be to its liking and sits down in a majestic pose.

“Sherni hai, sahab” The driver of our jeep says, letting us know that the tiger we have spotted is a full grown female.

She looks like she thinks she owns the place, doesn’t she?

Why should she have to choose?

Why should she have to choose between career and family?
Why should her decisions make them question her sanity?
Why should she have to choose between him and her dream?
Why should they care about what her actions might mean?

She knows that her life could demand sacrifices.
She knows that she could have to make some compromises.
She knows it won't be easy to keep all her dreams alive.
But why should she give up before she even tries?

Why should she have to choose between science and dramatics?
Why should they say that her ideas are not pragmatic?
Why should she have to choose between money and peace of mind?
Why should they think she has to leave her world behind?

She knows some parts of life could have to take a back seat.
She knows that some of her dreams might have to face defeat.
She knows it won't be practical to chase all her dreams at once.
But why should she not chase them anyway and see what she becomes?

the flight

What would you say to a ten year old who wants to fly?
Not on feather-wings.
This is the 21st century. Kids know what they are talking about.
He wanted to be a pilot.
Not the pilot of boring passenger airlines.
He wanted to fly real aeroplanes. The fighter planes.
He did not remain ten years old forever.
He grew up to be the topper of his class in 12th standard, science stream.
And is studying computer science in the most reputed engineering college of the country.
Did growing up always mean growing out of your dreams?
Was 'being practical' always synonymous with 'following the herd'?

the story of a young boy

He had spent his entire life in that gully playing street-cricket and dancing in the rain during Ganesh Visarjan; it was the only home he had ever known. As he looked at his mother's kholi one last time, a tear trickled down his round cheek. The bulldozers had arrived.

Mitali

The golden sky turning blue and then fading into darkness had always been a part of her life. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. Every evening, since as far back as she could recollect, Mitali had found herself sitting on one of the benches lined in front of the park, looking at the familiar saffron disc sink into the lake. The scenery ceaselessly amused her. Soft lavender flowers of deadly water hyacinth that was choking the lake lent an undeniable charm to the beauty of the breathtaking view. The graceful white birds flying in the sky gave her a sense of freedom while the kites hovering far above made her feel uneasy. She loved the brightly colored boats bobbing lazily in the calm waters but the sight of the run-down shed of the abandoned boat-house gave her an eerie sense of loneliness. Soothing sounds of a bell ringing in the Devi-Temple visible on a piece of land jutting into the blue expanse emanated a sense of peace and calm. She felt like a part of the scenery. The sunset could not be complete without her.

She didn’t really do anything while sitting there. Who would want to read a book when there was poetry all around, and the birds never let her miss her walkman. She had made friends with some of the other regular visitors of the park though. Mister Ramanathan always greeted her with a smile and had a special Hersheys Milk Chocolate to offer whenever his son came home on a rushed trip from the US. Mrs. Rathod could be seen power-walking on the walk-way every Tuesday and Thursday. She managed to convey her greetings without a break in the rhythm of her steps, never waiting for a response. Radha and her friends, on the other hand, made it a point to sit and have a long chat with Mitali after they were exhausted with their day’s quota of Chor-Police and I-Spy. They thoroughly enjoyed the treasure trove of stories that Mitali seemed to have amassed. She had endless tales to tell of her various escapades as a child. She told them stories of her adventures in the haunted woods behind the lake and of the fishing trips with her friends. In the rains, she taught them how to make sturdy paper boats that didn’t topple while flowing in the gushing water of the nallah. The children were her favorite company. They reminded her of the best times of her life.

Mitali was born normal; a healthy 3 kilo baby with patches of golden-brown locks all over her round head. Her uncle still called her Goldilocks. She was the liveliest and the prettiest kid in the locality, an apple of her parents’ eye. The only child of her parents and the youngest of the grandchildren in her extended family, she was used to being under a spotlight at most times. Leadership came naturally to her. Being the youngest didn’t deter her from persuading all her cousins into playing wild games she invented. Jumping off the swing while it was at the highest point in its trajectory was one of her favorites. Being stronger than she looked, she never hesitated in picking a fight with children older and bigger than her. When she started going to school, she was the teachers pet and the naughtiest girl in school, all rolled up in one bundle of boundless energy. Sports like basket ball and hockey came easily to her. With a healthy team spirit and an athletic body, she was the first choice for any girls’ sports team in school. She never stood first in class, but clearing her courses was never a problem. Life seemed like a deam come true.

Like scores of other young boys and girls in Bombay, Mitali too went to college in a local train. A first class pass on students’ concession and a walkman on her father’s consideration got her through the long journey from the suburbs to the hub of the elite – St. Xaviers College of Arts and Sciences. It was the first youth festival she had attended and the Rock-Night was not to be missed. Lost in the rhythm and the energy all around her, she did not feel the time fly past. The yelling and head-banging made her feel high. It was the most memorable night of her life.

On her way back, she got into the first class ladies compartment as usual, and regretted it instantly. At that late hour of the night, she and her friends Lalita and Rohini were the only occupants of the compartment apart from a lanky man who had hopped in as the train left the platform. The girls felt uneasy, but they had no choice, at least till the next station. Finding three well dressed girls cornered, the ruffian decided to take advantage of the situation. Approaching them with a knife in his hand, he demanded that they hand over all their valuables. The girls hesitated, but another look at the glistening blade of the knife dispelled all their doubts and reservations. They handed over whatever money they had in their wallets. Realizing that the next station was approaching, the man started moving towards the door. That is when the gold chain peaking out from under Mitali’s t-shirt caught his attention. He made a jab at her but the excellent reflexes afforded by years of an active lifestyle helped Mitali dodge the attack. The thug lost his balance. He fell out of the moving train, dragging Mitali along. A train running on the adjacent track took the man’s life and Mitali’s legs.

The golden wisps of sunlight had given way to inky blackness of the night. The mosquitoes made it impossible to sit by the grass. It was time. Raghu Kaka was just a phone call away. He was a fast but cautious driver, having been a part of her family since Mitali was a child. Putting an end to his talk with the chanaa vendor, he rushed to take ‘Baby’ home. As the white car turned around the bend, a keen observer could notice a small sticker on the windscreen of the car – Professor Mitali Deb, Humanities Department. Mitali would be back for her sunset, no matter what.

Four Legged Followers

As I walked into the corridor at 7 o’clock in the evening to go to my lab, I noticed a dog following me. In fact, it was following me from the front. This is an art the dogs of IIT Bombay seem to have mastered, having been persistent practitioners possibly for decades now. They walk in front of you. Wagging their tail, tongue hanging, a perfect picture of beatitude, doing exactly what they love. On every fork on the road, they wait for you to show the way and then continue - following from the front.

Some of my friends say animals have an unusual affinity towards me. Last evening I was sitting in Hiranandani with a friend of mine, having a sandwich, when a white street dog approached. That was quite normal. Dogs do come when they see people eating in the hope of being treated with some leftovers. But then a brown dog too came over. Okay, probably they were friends, or had a deal to share every meal, or seeing two not-so-thin people eating they thought that food was available in excess. When a third dog, a black one, came I stood up feeling rather uncomfortable. “But you should be used to such things by now!” said my friend. That is when I realized how I had come to be associated with animals. It seemed to have become a defining trait of my personality.

I must say, my friends aren’t really all that unreasonable. What they say does make sense to a certain extent. A monkey did come running after me and caught hold of my leg while I was walking down the corridor one day. I shrieked in fright and tried to run. The only thing the security guard could do was smile with an amused expression on his face. The monkey relented soon, but I was quite shaken by the experience. Since then, I try keeping a safe distance from those cunning trouble-makers. My adventures with animals are not a recent occurring though. Having stayed in this nature-friendly campus for almost all my life, I have had various amusing experiences with the four legged. My friends and I were once attacked by a herd of cows while going to the weekly classical-music lessons. But that happened a long time ago. I was a little kid then. I do have very graphic memories of the incident, but I’m afraid most of them must be fabrications of my imaginative mind. I barely give credit to the idea of young children being able to fend off an attack as brutal as the one I seem to recall and get away unscathed. A relatively more recent occurrence would be the encounter with a pack of dogs. I do have more distinct memories of that incident, and by the nature of their not being too fantastic, I think they might be genuine. I was going to school. My father had miraculously agreed to take me in his car that day. When I kept my bag on the back seat, I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my water-bottle upstairs. I was already getting late, so I ran towards the stairs. A small pack of dogs had chosen the parking area of our building as their shelter for the previous night. Only half of them seemed to be awake. As some of them saw me running, even though in a totally different direction, they got rather excited. I still remember it vividly. Five dogs ran after me, barking like maniacs, their teeth bare and mouths frothing. Of course, I freaked out. But common-sense prevailed soon. I was a bright kid you know. Somehow I gathered enough courage to stop while being chased by those brutes and turning towards them I screamed “Get lost you stupid dogs!” And that was it. My dog-adventure was over. I think it must’ve been surprise, or rather shock. Those dogs might not really have expected a young girl to turn back and yell at them. Whatever the exact feelings my actions might have triggered in them, they promptly put their tails down, stopped jumping at me and went back to the parking lot to resume their repast.

Though my childhood was adventurous, the most memorable incident is the one with the dog near the tea-stall in Hiranandani. I was in a habit of going there with my boyfriend for a post-dinner tea session. I think that is what got me addicted to tea. I get really restless in the absence of this beverage these days. Anyway, the point being, there are lots of street dogs around that area. Usually they are harmless. Accepting biscuits form dog-loving tea consumers keeps them content in general. But then again, generally I am not around. I was standing with my back-side resting on my boyfriend’s bike, a cup of tea in my hand, sharing a packet of biscuits with him. As it so happened, one of the street dogs in the vicinity did not seem to like the idea of letting things run in so smooth a manner. It started walking to and fro in front of us. That was conspicuous enough, but maybe the dog really wanted its presence to be felt and did not want to take any chance lest it not be noticed. So, with an elegant move it jumped as if to pounce at me and then stood on its hind legs, its front paws resting on my belly. Now that was quite an experience. A street dog staring into your face with its front paws resting on you, all uninvited. My scream would’ve probably woken up half of Powai. The people around me soon came to my rescue, shooing the animal away. After some time, on having duly recovered from the overwhelming situation, we returned to the campus. I am so used to it by now that on an average day I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, but the events of the evening did not let me ignore our friendly neighborhood dogs following us from the front.

Heathcliff

I can never forget Heathcliff. He had a lasting impression on me. How could a person be like that? This creation of Emiy Bronte put my innocent little mind in distress. He was the villain of Wuthering Heights, but I couldn't exactly hate him. The blend of pity, fear, loathing, anger, awe, sympathy, curiosity, wonder left me confused. Heathcliff made me feel uneasy. Sometimes he still does.
The story started with his being tormented and exploited. Then came the cruel revenge. Even the horrors of his past - the deprivation, the humiliation, the betrayal he had suffered - could not justify the treachery and heartlessness of his vengence.
He couldn't really have been devoid of a heart. He loved Catherine deeply. But it seemed that he had a heart only for her. Her loss drove him to insanity. Torturing his wife, tormenting his enfeebled and dieing son, imprisoning Catherine's daughter, annihilating all those who seemed to be responsible for distancing him from his love, even destroying the lives of their children.
Probably if I had read the book later on in life, it wouldn't have had such an effect on me. But as it so happened, I was an innocent young child then, unaware of the terrible shades human nature could acquire.
Heathcliff is a name that is etched in my memory forever.

Mister Pink-Whistle's Party

I don't even remember what the book was all about. A fat, rosy-cheeked Mister Pink-Whistle smiling benevolently out of the cover of a timeworn book with yellow pages is all that comes to my mind. Well, there were balloons in the background. Probably red, blue and yellow. and it was one of the first few books that my younger sister ever read as a child.
My parents had a tough time getting me to read novels. I would always give-up on them after the first few pages. Also, the first books that they tried to make me read were not the easiest ones to grasp as a child. Enid Blyton was Vineeta Auntie's idea. Her daughter was my age and had a whole cupboard full of Famous Fives, Malory Towers and Saint Clares.
The first book that I ever managed to read, however, was 'The Adventurous Four'. My mother and I read it together. It was fun competing with her to read it and then discussing the story. It was a hard-bound book with a blue cover and had a boat painted in the front. The same boat that led the four friends to a remarkable adventure.
Thus began my adventures in the world of Enid Blyton. Famous Five, The Five Findouters, The Twins at Saint Clares, The Naughtiest Girl in School were all my childhood friends. How the piggy 'runned away' in Billycock Hill still makes me smile. And Mister Pink Whistle's Party sure was a success.