Gangaur !

Simmering on the gas stove, the 'churma' (a sort of a sweet dish of Rajasthan) was diffusing its mesmerizing sweet smell. And with it, the memories. The sweet ones. When she was merely 5 years old, and the different and varied delicacies made on this festival used to make her loll her tongue. The churma, the 'bathua'. And, the stories about how Ishar Ji fooled Gauri Mata, and disguised as a shoe-seller only to catch a glimpse of his beloved. And after staying away for a considerable time from his wife, swept the winds in the opposite direction, and used his powers to bring autumn in the season of spring. Ishar Ji came to take her back home, and played  a prank. He was offered lunch, and in a momentum of fun, did not leave anything behind. Not even a single grain was left. All was sitting comfortably in Ishar Ji's wide, big stomach. Gauri Mata was forced to gulp down only a ball of 'bathua' with glasses of water. The granny's way of telling a story. The small kids listening keenly to her. The cute expressions, astonished, giggling, the occassional 'awww!'s, and the very frequent 'then?'s. The granny's smile. Wide enough to reach her eyes, and create a thousand folds at the angles. Sweet memories.


Sweet memories. When she did not even know what a soulmate means. And still kept the fast, coz the ritual of creating that 'Ishar Ji ki Dhoti' and 'Gauri Mata ka lehenga' with the container of water, excited her. Every year, she would wait for the evenings to come, on that particular day, when all the kids of the house would run for the exteriors, carrying their own 'lotas'. Then they would spin around a point and centrifuge the water, and create that lehenga. She would do that a hundred times. The fresh breeze of air that hit her face, the smell of the wet mud, the waters ....Memories.


Sweet Memories. When the prayers had silently taken a form. Form of not Ishar Ji, but that of her crush. She would visualize this person when her lids met in prayers. And a sweet smile would be seen sitting proudly on her face. She would argue when the elders used to ask her about marriage, but her mother could catch that naughty smile and happy glint in her eyes, while arguing. She would explain her 'dream of her man' with utmost exhilaration, and would want him to be smart, and respect her, would allow her to visit her home every now and then, would laugh at her jokes, would bring gifts for her.. and she would dress like a queen....Memories...


Sweet Memories. When what she prayed was, for the 'stable-ness of her relation'. She had that blush on her cheek, the happiness could no longer be concealed in her voice. He, despite eating non-veg very frequently, had not only turned veg that day, but had also kept a fast. The person who could never stay hungry for even a matter of minutes, had stayed hungry all day long. Amidst the whole fan-fare at home, she had quietly found a corner, and rang him up. The first bite was gulped down only when she had sworn that she has had her food. Memories... Of her love.


'Ufff !' She cried in pain. She had touched the burning hot utensil, on stove.


A young lady she had become. Draped in a chiffon-white chudidaar-kurta, hair following the curves of her body, a charming face, with those neatly cut features, the kajal dressing her big eyes, she stood transfixed.
The Gangaur was here. But, the prayers had once again taken the form of Ishar Ji. Age had turned her sensible. She had been busy all day long in her routine. She lived alone, for her job. She did not have her mother near her, to make that churma. It was 6 in the evening. She was preparing the 'thali' for her 'puja'. She was all ready to eat, but there was no bathua. She had searched for it, at numerous places, but she could not find it. And without bathua, she could not have opened her fast. It was a  ritual.


Here she lay...Empty stomached. The hands had run a number of times over the telephone. A certain number had been dialed and disconnected. Once and twice and again, and again. She wished the emotional distance could be crumbled. She hoped the enmity of the egos be resolved. . .


She forced her mind to drift from this. Finally, after some attempts, she gained her senses, and consoled herself that it was nothing but bad luck.


Luck or conspiracy ?


Is Ishar Ji angry with me? 




She could not hold it anymore. It had to leave a mark. The next moment, a black trail was etched on her face...