Wiping her tears, she stands at the door, trying hard to reach the door-bell. She finally makes it and the door is answered. He stands there, hands folded, her tears unnoticed. The moment his fell on the glistening drop of water beneath her eyelid, he falls down on his knees and grabs her in his arms.

"Taat, they tease me at school."

She calls him taat. And she is his Swasu.

"Why?", he was puzzled?

She is the perfect child a father can have. She was the most lovable person he had ever found, they shared a bond that was beyond love for him. She was a child and a grown woman sometimes. And she worshiped him more than anything. Not even her Barbie dolls, she had loads of them, two for every birthday. Together they made a great pair. Taat would take her on bike-rides evry night and they both would lie down under the sky gazing at the stars. He taught her everything there was to know for a six year old. And she taught him everything there was a father should know. She was perfect. He was perfect in her eyes.

"They say I don't have an AAI. Tara says those girls are stupid and that I should not talk to them".

Now it was his turn to shed a few tears. But he could not. He had buried the past behind, long ago. It was almost 10 years ago when he and someone else had thought, dreamed together, about her, Swasti, as her parents. Until she had abandoned everything, destroyed every possible good they shared.

Today he was alone. Being a father and a mother to his Little Angel.

"You have one", he said gulping that mass of sadness that kept coming up.

"Where? Who? Why isn't she with us then?" she wanted answers. Answers which he had rehearsed for all these years. But when the time actually came, he couldn't. He just god-damn-it couldn't. Her eyes pierced through him. For the first time he felt helpless. He wanted to fall down but he could not, lest she thought her taat was weak. He wanted to put his head in his daughter's lap, cry, hold her, caress her, kiss his daughter with the affection of a mother, run away with her, just die there. He couldn't.

'Taat was a superman. He can do anything' she "knew".

"I am your mother. I am your 'aai'", and he broke down, wept like he was her child.

Swasti took his head in her hand, and he hugged her. She didn't ask any further, went in her room, and brought a small box. She took out a pinch of vermilion from it and put it on his forehead.

"I saw aaji do it to other women." and they both burst out laughing.

He picked her up in his arms. He knew his role had changed. He would now have to take two roles with more care. That now he would be closer to his angel than ever. He smiled inwardly.

She knew she had a friend now that was unlike any other at school. She would come home now to tell every small thing that happened in every small corner of their elementary. And she smiled, giggled, and put her head on his shoulder.

She went in and called Tara.

"I have a mother, I will tell others at school" and she told her everything as they always did, and they both giggled.

"I will see you in school tomorrow" and they hung-up.

"AAI", she called out.

He closed his eyes, smiled and answered,

"Yes beta.."

After a long hiatus I am back to write some blog. Wait a minute before any of you wonder why I disappeared, please people, this is my space. I can write what I want and when I want to. Your job is to read and comment. Haha...
Anyway, as I said, we are caught. Where, how, when, ask your self. I am not saying I am caught or you are. We are all caught, in eachother. In each other's perception that is. For most this might not make sense. It doesn't, for me. But thats what "the experts" say.
William Blake once said,
"If the Doors of perception were cleansed,
all things would appear infinite."
Is this true? But then what are these doors of perception? The way we look at things? Or the way we think that we look at them? Or the way they actually exist? Or the way we think they actually exist? I am having trouble finding answers to these questions and so the hiatus. I will be back soon, may be with answers, may be with more questions.. Until then, c'ya.

Ajchi ratra vegli ahe,
asa tula vatat nahi ka?

Madhech pavsachi sar,
madhech gaar vaara.

Madhech tuzi athvan ani
tyatach maza nivara.

Madhech tuza hasna
achanak tuza rusna,
Rusun -fugun mag tuza,
mazya mithit yeun basna.

Madhech tuza godva,
an kadhi tuza sugandha,
tuzya savlit ata,
maze dole ahet band.

There is something in you, Pune, that makes me think now, why did I not like being there? Why?

This is the city where I spent five years pursuing my 4- year course of Computer Engineering. Yes I am one of those IT guys. I call myself an IT guy not an IT geek because I am not one. On a quite Sunday you will not find me working on some project, but sipping my chai. That one cup of pure bliss. Shaking away the Saturday- night blues of the over filled glasses of Vodka. Well I am yet to get a job but who said you need to work to drink?

Coming back to Pune, the city, Oxford of the East, there’s a notable difference in the city 5 years back and now. As every proud Punekar says, “purvi cha puna ata rahila nahi…” (go find a marathi friend to translate this for you). The thought that I too would be branded as a PUNEKAR sends shivers down my spine. But somewhere, some part of me is still in Pune. Why else would I still think of it when I am sitting comfortably in my home in a Mumbai suburb, wiping sweat off my brow while it is raining outside and there’s not the slightest hint of coolness in the climate? This never happened there. One shower and the average punekar would be seen wearing sweater instead of a rain-coat. The typical puneri would even be wearing a fur or wool cap covering his ears.

Pu La hated Pune, yet settled in this cultural back-bone of Maharashtra after he retired. I hate the city. I hate its ever increasing pollution levels, which no one is bothered about. I hate the “… isn’t it someone else’s responsibility…” attitude that is gripping the entire country and is magnified in Pune. I hate the people who don’t look around while spitting out the over-flowing fountain of gutkha spittle. Bikers spit while riding, rickshaw drivers make it a point to spit on someone. And the ever so popular “Road-side Romeo” scratching his crotch by one hand and splitting his hair with other, and spitting. All at the same time. I hate the traffic jams. I have spent 3 hours covering a distance that should normally-by Pune standards, should take 30 minutes. In Mumbai it would take just 10. I hate the crater marked roads. 9 out of 10 here suffer from some form of chronic back pain. Punekars have a habbit of starting off their day with abuses to Mumbai. That’s evident because this entire city has had enough of playing the second fiddle to the financial capital of our country.

But yet… there is something that I like about this place.

May be it’s the freedom that I enjoyed. The late nights I spent eating bhurji-paav at Swargate. The climb to Parvati at 2.30 AM, the tapri chai which is every engineering student’s elixir, the bike-rides with friends, and I am not hinting at female friends. Just the thrill of it all made me feel today…

What is it about this city that makes me think, why did I hate it in the first place???