Showing posts with label Telugu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Telugu. Show all posts

The Ogress (The Telugu Tableau Through Translation)

Telugu original1 by: Dr Siri

Translated by: U Atreya Sarma
(With the permission of the original writer)

Dr Siri
In a village, Rajendrapuram, there lived a wealthy man, Veeraiah. But he was miserly and greedy. 
Veeraiah was into money-lending. Whoever borrowed from him, he heavily compounded the interest and collected twice the original loan amount. He was equally usurious whether the borrowers were his kith and kin or others.

“Please heed my words for I am your wife cum well-wisher. To be miserly and greedy doesn’t befit a human. It doesn’t help you in anyway, and you won’t gain anything. On the other hand, you’ll lose a lot, especially respect among the people. You know, everyone in the village is cursing you.” His wife urged Veeraiah so ardently.

U Atreya Sarma
“Who can dare to damn me? Money-lending is not such an easy job. It’s only the defaulters that find fault with me. Why should I care them? If I have become rich, it’s only because I am penny-wise, piling up every coin in a thrifty manner. It’s only those who don’t know the value of money that rattle on about my ways. It’s only my parsimony that has made me well-off. Anyway, I know pretty well what I am and how to conduct myself. You better keep off from doling out free advice.” An irritated Veeraiah blurted out.

Knowing his anger only too well, she couldn’t speak any further. After all, a wife is keen on the welfare of her husband; and it’s only she that has the duty and liberty of offering a word of advice to him. But given Veeraiah’s incorrigible temperament, she fell silent, and he went on scot-free with a redoubled avarice.
***

In the same Rajendrapuram village, there was another money-lender. He was Subbaiah, an inherently good-natured man with a spirit of charity. If he found anyone in a hard situation, he would pronto go to their rescue. Everyone in the village heartily praised him and his positive qualities.

Subbaiah’s wife was Lakshmi. Observing the over-liberal way of his financial transactions, one day she opened up and shared her views with him.

“No doubt, it’s good for every person to be good, but one should not be excessively good. One should not be too meek and diffident, neglecting one’s own genuine interests. Noticing your excessive goodness and gullibility, and taking undue advantage of it, some of the people who have received your help are tending to cheat you. Please think over what I have said, and try to change yourself in a well-balanced way.”

Subbaiah felt that there was truth in what his wife had said, and began trying his best to change his ways.
***

One day, Veeraiah visited Subbaiah’s place, and said, “Subbaiah, I am in urgent need of some money. That’s why I am here for a loan.”

‘Isn’t it strange that an affluent person like Veeraiah has come to seek a loan from me who doesn’t match his riches?’ felt Subbaiah, and he spoke out his surprise.

And Veeraiah responded, “However rich one might be, a day comes when they too would be in dire need. Anyway, I’ve nothing to hide from you. All of my money has stuck in the lending business. The borrowers are not repaying in time. As a result, I am totally out of money. Of course, I am expecting repayment of a loan but only after a fortnight. In the meantime, how to eke out my livelihood? That’s why, I am at your doorstep,” feigning a twinge of discomfiture.

Buying his words, Subbaiah lent Veeraiah the five thousand rupees he had asked for.

The promised fortnight’s time passed by, and then even six months rolled by. Veeraiah didn’t repay the loan. Whenever Subbaiah gently reminded him, he would simply defer it from time to time.

Knowing of this, Lakshmi said to her husband, “Veeraiah borrowed from you not out of any necessity but only as a deliberate ploy to trick you. He is the richest man in our village. How at all can he be short on funds? And how would he approach you, of all people? His was a well-planned strategy. He cashed on your proverbial weakness. Assured that you would never insist on repayment, he wanted to usurp the money for himself with his wonted avarice.”

“Okay. But isn’t there a way of recovering our money?” said, an anguished Subbaiah.

“Why not? Here you’re…” she whispered into his ears.

Subbaiah was so happy with his wife’s smartness.
***

The next day, Veeraiah went to a neighbouring village on a recovery trip. He collected the debts and was on his way back. There was a thick forest between the two villages.

“I have told you a number of times that it isn’t safe for you to go out all alone to such places. At least now, better take someone along with you as support,” advised his wife this time too, but it fell on deaf ears. If he were to heed her advice, he would have to meet the companion’s expenses of travel, board and lodge. The incurable skinflint he was, he ploughed a lonely furrow.

That day, after Veeraiah reached the other village, things got delayed. So, by the time he was in the middle of the forest on his way back, it was very dark. Clutching the sacks of money to his chest, he kept crawling through the wooded patch scarily and creepily, trying to summon up the courage that wasn’t there.

Now, lo! As if from no-where, an ogress pounced on Veeraiah.

Grabbing him by throat, she yelled, “How dare you step into my territory?”

Frightened out of his wits, Veeraiah bowed to the demoness, and said, “Oh, the Ogress Queen! Pardon me, please. I didn’t know this is your domain. Never would I enter here again, I promise. Please let me out.”

“Humph! Because this is your first trespass, I’m forgiving you. If I see you even once again here, I’ll butcher you. Rats! Get lost, never once looking back,” roared the demoness, deafeningly. 
In the flurry of things, Veeraiah dropped his sacks of money like a hot potato, and ran away in fear of his life.
***

The next day, Veeraiah went to the village council and vented out his story, grief, and loss of money. 
Sighting Subbaiah who had just then arrived there, Veeraiah said, “My dear Subbaiah, I had planned to repay you the loan of five thousand rupees, but now you’ve seen my plight! What can I do?” with a feigning pain. He presumed that Subbaiah, the good soul that he was, would willingly write off his loan. Thereby, Veeraiah hoped to be richer by that amount.

Then, Subbaiah walked up to the Panchayat head. “Sir, today morning when I was going to the neighbouring village, I chanced upon these sacks of money in the forest. It’s only after coming here, have I come to know that they belong to Veeraiah,” saying so, he handed over the sacks to the Panchayat chief. Veeraiah jumped for joy, and grabbed the sacks, saying “My goodness! Yes, these are my own. Thank God, I have got back my money!”

“Of course, you have got back yours. But it contains my dues of five thousand rupees too. As you promised just a while ago, please repay my dues,” said a smiling Subbaiah.

This development upset Veeraiah’s applecart. He was on the horns of a dilemma. He couldn’t take back his word, having uttered it in the public. He would otherwise lose his prestige whatever was left of it. So, without a demur, he passed over the amount of five thousand rupees to Subbaiah, though with some sting.
***

Subbaiah was on cloud nine. After returning home, he said, “Oh, Mrs Ogress! Here’s your money!” placing the money in his better-half’s hands.

“Wow, finally, we’ve got back our money!” said Lakshmi, with glee.

But back there, Veeraiah was still sullen that he couldn’t evade the repayment for ever. 
******

1. Original Telugu story titled ‘Rakshasi’ from Rakshasudi Padaraksha (Ogre’s Shoes) – a collection of Telugu stories by Dr Siri. Sashi Ram Publications, Miryalaguda, Dec 2019, pp 110, ₹ 100 / $ 3.
***

Bio: Dr Sirisha Macherla, popular as Dr Siri, hails from Miryalaguda, Nalgonda district (Telangana). A qualified dental physician, she is a prolific and popular writer of children’s literature in Telugu – poetry, short story, novel. She is the judge of many competitions in the field of children’s literature. She is active not only in writing but also in the voluntary service of various types of children including physically challenged. She has brought out collections of stories like – Vennela Pudota (The Moonlit Garden of Flowers); Vendi Nemaleeka (Silver Peacock-plume); Rakshasudi Padaraksha (The Demon’s Shoe); Manchu Ooyala (The Snowy Swing); Vanamlo Virisina Kathalu (The Tales that Bloomed in the Garden); and Aksharalato Aata (Play with the Syllables) a book on word play containing short stories, crosswords, proverbs, and riddles.

Collaborating with the LV Prasad Eye Institute, she produced audio editions of 200 stories for the benefit of the visually challenged children of the two Telugu states. She is a specialist in narrating stories in the schools for the deaf-mute kids and also making them narrate. She has also released 200 animation stories through the Lollipop app.

Besides children’s literature, Dr Siri has published 2 novels, 2 poetry collections, and one collection of short stories. Dr Siri’s achievements in the field of children’s literature won her the Telangana Government Distinguished Woman Award-2018.

Email: ragasri03@gmail.com


The Tale of a Junior Queen (The Telugu Tableau Through Translation)

Telugu original by: Chaganti Tulasi

Translated by: U Atreya Sarma
(With the permission of the original writer)

Chaganti Tulasi
INTRO: The Telugu original ‘Chinna Deveri’ [Junior Queen], written 45 years ago, was first published in the Andhra Jyoti Weekly (14 January 1977). This story goes back to the time when the young women from the upper-caste middle class families were just entering the jobs and it captures the environment and fallout of those days…, says Dr Chaganti Tulasi, the original writer. And she adds: In the current times, while women of all classes are progressing, they are also subjected to abuse irrespective of their age. How regress has tainted the progress during these four decades in the journey of women, this story helps one to make a comparative assessment of the situation. 
***

U Atreya Sarma
They were beating their chests and crying havoc. “It was only unsuspectingly that we advised her to go out and attend the bhajans,” they wailed like a banshee.

How could they ever sniff out even in their wildest dreams that she would foul her own nest? They only thought that the bhajans and the devotion to some saintly figure or God would wean her away from the depressing consequences of an idle and restless mind and keep her tranquil. They never smelt a rat that the story would have such a bizarre turn. It was not the bhajan but only her corrupted mind that should be faulted. If not this rogue, she could have found someone else. Anyway, she was so depraved that even the very God who created her could not have mended her ways.

It would naturally be a source of grief for anyone to witness the unenviable situation she was in by remaining unmarried, vegetating, and eking out a stagnant life. She certainly needed a support like a vine needing a prop to weave around. But they couldn’t help her find one. What was the use of grieving over something that the fate denied her? So, they reconciled themselves to the shocking development.

They could have consoled themselves had she found a guy with some semblance of eligibility. But the bloke she was hooked up with was a crook. He was already married, his wife was alive, and they were saddled with children not one or two but a large brood of eight!

The cat was out of the bag only after the sudden unfolding of a long story that had already hovered behind the smokescreen. They had no iota of suspicion on her. She behaved just like a normal woman. And she was too much of an adult for any conditions or restrictions to be placed in her way. She always came off as one minding her job and the home and nothing else. Even her colleagues had the same impression. She spent her time in the office typing out documents amidst so many men from 10 am to 5 pm on every working day. Couldn’t she find someone suitable among them? Of course, all of them must have been younger than her. Yet, wouldn’t it have been far better had she chosen to hitch with one of them instead of hanging with someone already married and living with his wife and children?

Alack! They wouldn’t have overly fussed about it had she picked out someone from a caste or community different from theirs provided he was unmarried. They would have reconciled to it by and by. Anyway, during these days who at all was unduly bothered with the type of crisscross relationships all over, mindless of one’s caste, community, or race? What a twist of fate! To run away with a married man who was living with his wife and children!

What a poor girl! What happiness or respect she would derive out of this odd relationship by falling in his trap? The money that he earned would be barely enough for him, his wife, and children. So, it was only this woman that had to bear the brunt to feed him and his family. He was certainly super slick. Or was it she that had trapped him? No. It was undoubtedly he that had fished her into his net. She was simply and helplessly beguiled by his looks. He looked like a prince charming though he had sired as many as eight children. Aged he was, but it did not show on his face. There was not even a wrinkle on his countenance. He was gifted with a sharp nose and glittering eyes. His blond lips were so synced that they looked like a sculpted straight line. When he flashed a smile, his lips opened out to lay bare the line of his shining teeth. No doubt, he was irresistibly handsome with a come-hither look. And the way he sang the devotional songs! Mesmerizingly melodious! Even a hard-core atheist would not help but wallow in ecstasy. Yes, the fellow’s very song had done her in.

It was not that she didn’t know how to sing. She did have a sweet singing voice. Ever since she began attending his concert, he switched over to singing even more enchantingly and it ended off as a smasher. Earlier he was bunking off the bhajans now and then, but ever since he noticed her presence, he was the first one to arrive on the scene. Before this development, the voices of the chorus were raucous and mismatching with discordant notes, raising the decibels to a hell.

Discerning that his voice among the males and hers in the females were melodiously conspicuous, those in the choir with hoarse, weak, and discordant voices began to control themselves and find their tongue to be in harmony with the rest.  The ensemble drew everyone – devotees, sceptics and non-devotees – to it, and the venue got overpacked. But nobody could even remotely sniff at this humbug. The two main singers were totally devoid of godly devotion. It was just a parade on their part.

Finally, the game was up. The liaison came to her older brother’s ears and it made his blood boil. Wasn’t she guilty of heinous immorality? It was a matter of family prestige, and how could he keep quiet? Wasn’t he concerned about her welfare?  Wasn’t it his bounden duty to intervene and talk her out of the pit she was falling into?

“Don’t you think what you’re doing is wrong?” he said, gently. She was simply unmoved, and callously silent.

“What an idiot you’re! Have you become blind? There is no element of love here. He’s just on the prowl for your money. That’s why he has snared you.” He showed the true colours of the fellow. 
With that, the lava burst out of the volcano. The brother didn’t know that it had remained covered and suppressed until then.

How would her pent-up feelings be known when she quietly nodded to everything and never raised any question all through her life? Way back when they said, “She has passed the school final, and she knows basic language and counting skills. Where is the need for college studies for a girl?” she didn’t open her mouth. The education of the elder brother wasn’t yet over. In the meantime, her younger brother was ready for higher studies. So, it was imperative to send him to the college.  It was right to give higher education only to the sons. Wouldn’t it be a double whammy if money was to be spent on a daughter’ education as well as on her marriage for the latter involved a heavy budget? Of course, she was the topper in the entire state in her school final exams. It was no wonder, since she was very intelligent. Even then, higher education for girls wasn’t that important. The money spent on a boy was an investment whereas that spent on a girl was simply a wastage. That was why she had been denied further studies. She was too obedient to demur. They would anyway get her married sooner or later, and let her bide the time until then by staying at home. “We will get her married in this season, in this auspicious season.” They went on repeating it from season to season, from year to year. Many a year rolled by in silence but with no result.

How would she while away the time with nothing worthwhile to do at home? They had suggested that she better learn typewriting and shorthand at least as a pastime. Did she raise her voice? No. Well in time, she proved her competence by clearing the exams so easily. Alongside, the elder brother completed his studies and he entered a job. Soon he got married and begot children too. However, there was no progress in her life. The brothers younger than her grew up, and they lined up demanding studies and marriage. The entire burden fell on the shoulders of the eldest brother. She was asked to take up the job of a typist so that instead of idling away her time at home she could earn something and help her elder brother by sharing some of the family expenses. She didn’t say a no, and simply obeyed their wishes.

She joined the job, and was regularly handing the salary to the family. A homely creature, she never spent any of the money for her own fun or fancies or entertainment. After all, one thing should be admitted. She was too na├пve, plain, and mild to know of any such things. If there was a prize for this, she would be the world topper. She never uttered a word against anyone, or hurt anyone. She was too gentle a girl. Everyone in the family did know that her life was barren. They were all sad about it but they felt helpless. And their helplessness aggravated their sorrow.

Be it a woman or a man, they need a support and it comes in the form of a spouse. Unwed isolation unsettles a person and turns them restless. That was why, they advised her to go for the bhajans so that she would have a prop in the form of godly devotion. Her life would sail smoothly, they imagined. Never once could they guess even in their wildest dreams that the story would turn into such a twist. That her feelings and emotions would burn and boil into a lava, that it would turn into a volcano, and it would explode one time or the other.

Now see her explosive outburst.

“First off, it has been more than clear that you yourselves don’t have any love for me. How can you then question the love between me and him?” she hit the ceiling, and they were dumbstruck. None of them ever guessed that she could spit blood like this for she they always dismissed her as a dumb dunce.

“Have you sent me into the job out of any affection for me? Isn’t it just for the income that lands in your lap every month? Answer this first. Then only I’ll say whether his is love or lust.” She charged towards them, raised the tempo, and roared like a tigress.

“If you really loved me, why didn’t you join me in a college when I topped the SSLC exam in the entire state? Why did you imprison me like a shut-in? Speak up, you fellows.” She challenged them further. 
“Why did you join me in a type institute to learn typewriting? Was it for my own benefit? No, I know the reason. It was only because I would qualify for some job and join it and earn money for you all, lifelong. It has never been your intention to take care of me and save my money for my future. Open your mouth, I say.” She insisted on their response, but they were stunned.

“I know more than enough that your raving and ranting is not for my future or welfare, but only for the bucks I get for you. I see through your rank hypocrisy and crocodile tears.” She called their bluff, leaving them tight-lipped.

“Who’s selfish? Isn’t it you who are so? Reply me first, and then only will I tell you whether he is keen on me or my money. And whether it is egotism or altruism that is binding me and him.” She shot off the questions and dared them, but they were too nonplussed to utter even a word.

“You gave me a tall talk on the benefits of metaphysics by saying, ‘Anyway, you’re shorn of worldly pleasures. At least try to cultivate a spiritual bent of mind. Attend the bhajans. Believe in God and heed the call of the Baba. Thereby you’ll be freed of all your physical or mental stress and strain. Your mind will be clear like a crystal. Go on practising bhajans and meditation. That practice is so essential for you. Once you soak in it, you’ll never feel any unease or sorrow. You’ll have a smooth sail of life. Luckily for me, after all this practice, I have realised the importance of the material aspect of life on the hone of spiritualism. Your own Baba and your own bhajans have shown me the way. Now I know how to bridge worldly life and spiritual life.

“Are you sad that I am now singing the goodbye song to you all? Oh! Is it hard for you to digest it?

“Are you asking me, ‘Being a woman yourself, how do you have the heart to wreck the life of another woman?’ Ha! How sympathetic you’re, my dear bro, toward women!  Oh, are you grieving for her sake? But you have no trace of concern for me, but have all of it for her! Come on, spew out the truth! What exactly is your problem? Isn’t it that you’ll no longer be harvesting my money? Know that I know the answer well though you won’t spell it out.

“Whether I am setting her life on fire, or decking her with flowers, it’s a matter between her and me. Instead of leaving her to her woes, why do you vow to clear them up? Why are you so aggrieved? Would she lodge a complaint and would he lose his job? Is it illegal to have two wives?

“Do you say my life is doomed to break down? Do you say she tears down my life? As I said earlier, that’s totally between her and me. Whether my life will blossom or end ill-fated, she and I can sort it out between ourselves.

“You presume that by slavishly serving the first wife and her children I’ll be living a dog’s life and finally die an ignominious death. But if I slavishly serve my siblings and their children, would I be assured of a glorious death? If I willingly serve him, his first wife and their children who adore me, would my life be abject?

The children you talk of are the kids of the maharaja (sovereign) I’ve chosen to live with. His first wife certainly remains the maharani (empress). And I am the royal co-wife, junior rani. And we’re all sure that we can gel well with one another as a harmonious family. Yes, I am a junior rani!” She thundered, and all of them froze with their blank looks.
***

Bio: Dr Chaganti Tulasi, PhD (Hindi), hailing from Vizianagaram (Andhra Pradesh), is a well-known Telugu author, short story writer, poet, critic, essayist and translator. She worked in the Odisha Education Service for three decades and retired as Associate Professor. She also served as a Guest Professor at Hankuk University for Foreign Language Studies, Seoul, South Korea for two years (1992-94). Born in 1937, she is the daughter of eminent Telugu writer Chaganti Somayajulu, popular as Chaso.

Her writings have appeared in prestigious journals and anthologies in Telugu, Hindi and English including Indian Literature, Delhi; Samakaleen Bharatiya Sahitya, Delhi; Andhra Jyoti; and online magazines from the USA.

She has 33 books to her credit including those edited by her. Two of them are her Telugu originals – Tulasi Kathalu a short story collection which won the prestigious Best Short Story Writer’s Award (1991-92) from the Potti Sriramulu Telugu University, Hyderabad; and Rangante Ishtam (a collection of essays) which has received critical acclaim. Her poetry collection ‘Vachana Kivitvalu – Kunalamma Padalu’ is expected to come out in Sep-Oct 2022.

Tulasi’s translations across Hindi, Telugu, Odia and English in all genres have been well received. Prominent among them are – Olga nunchi Ganga ku (translation of Rahul Sankrityayan’s Hindi original into Telugu); Mahadevi Varma Geetalu (translation of Mahadevi Varma’s Hindi lyrics into Telugu); Ragamalika (translation of Medico Shyam’s Telugu short stories into Hindi); Brahma Rakshasudu (translation of Hrishikesh Panda’s Odia play into Telugu); Telugu ki sresht kahaniya (translation of best stories from Telugu to Hindi); Aranya Jayi (translation of Dr P Keshava Reddy’s Telugu novel into Odia).

She has received many prestigious awards like Telugu Bhasha Vikasa Samman (from AP Official Language Commission); Odisha Lekhika Samman; and from literary associations/trusts like Progressive Writers; Susheela Narayana Reddy; and Dr Avantsa Somasundar.

Email: chagantitulasi@gmail.com

Mob. +91 99633 77672


A Beauty Queen’s Vision & Mission (The Telugu Tableau Through Translation)

Telugu original by: Sarath Chandra

Translated by: Atreya Sarma U
(With the permission of the original writer)

INTRO: The Telugu original ‘Queen’ published in the Visalakshi Telugu literary monthly, March 2022, won the First Prize in the Story Competition held jointly by it and the Makkena Rama Subbaiah Foundation. The themes in Sarath Chandra’s stories reflect only the contemporary social issues. Sometimes, certain personalities inspire his stories, and the protagonist herein is one such.

***

Sarath Chandra
Avantika reached the final lap of the ‘Miss Universe’ international beauty pageant to be held in San Francisco. Her trajectory of winning at every screening stage to represent India hyped up the expectations of the people. She was not only an unsullied beauty but also highly knowledgeable in every aspect concerned. She was even much more. She was a medical doctor, a singer, a shooter and a Yoga practitioner. In short, she was a rare personality. The people all over the country were on their toes, eagerly waiting to see her as the final winner. The words Avantika spoke to the Indian media stirred the country into pondering over them.

U Atreya Sarma

“I have never taken anything lightly. I joined the NCC while at school and it gave me the opportunity of learning shooting. Why shooting? So that I could fight for my country at the frontier, if so called for. That’s why, I practised rifle shooting and won many a medal including one at the national level. With a conviction that a sound mind in a sound body would build a healthy society, I took to the practice of Yoga, and have become a trainer too. I have coached many a top police officer in Yoga. Spurred by a strong belief that our youths should have a commendable goal to chase in their lives, and to make them realise that the life’s journey wouldn’t be meaningful sans such a goal, I have taken up the role of a motivational speaker as well. Whatever we talk, it should be worthwhile for others to heed it, and if they have to heed it, our talk should be founded on some tangible and inspiring achievement.”

Avantika’s views electrified the youth with aspirations and enthusiasm.  With a strong resolution, she had secured a seat for the medical course and had recently completed her degree. Her mother Neelaveni ushered her into music and dance right from childhood.

Neelaveni herself was a competent dancer and singer. Avantika learned the ABCs of vocal music from her own mother. She gave her debut dance performance when she was hardly five. The audience were wowed by the ‘wonder kid.’ With elan she performed the intricate Krishna Sharanam and Krishna Leela Tarangini dances as also the Sapta Tandava in the Kuchipudi style. At school, she always stood out as a special girl, being first in studies as well as co- and extra-curricular activities. In short, she was the cynosure of all eyes.

After she passed through the school, she preferred to opt for the humanities. But her mother said, “Darling, you should become a doctor.”

“Whatever mom says, it’s okay with me,” Avantika replied.

After completing her medical course, she proposed, “I would appear for the Civils.”

Silent for a while, her mom inquired, “Don’t you prefer to serve the people as a doctor?”

“Mom, even as an IAS officer, what I do is only service to the people, isn’t it so?”

“Yet, if you hold the stethoscope and feel the pulse of the poor people, the sight would feast my eyes…”

On hearing this, Avantika ran her arms around her mom’s neck, and said, “Oh, my na├пve mommy! If I become an IAS officer, I can, as the chief district administrator, ensure that the medical services reach out to each and every village. And my medical expertise will help it further.”

Sensing a shade of discontent in the face of her mother, she said, “Why are you so, mommy?”

“Nothing, my deary…,” she muttered, wiping her tears.

“If you don’t agree, I won’t appear for the Civils. After all, I’m mommy’s pet,” assured Avantika.

The mother hugged the daughter, and said, “Why should you nip your aspirations for my sake, dear? Anyway, you have said that a district has many doctors but only a single collector. So, when you prefer to be a collector, how can I come in your way…?”

Avantika realised that her mom wasn’t wholehearted in what she said. She could never forget how her mom meticulously took to moulding her right from her childhood.

It was too fresh in Avantika’s mind. When she was in her ninth grade, her mom joined her in a residential school so that she could focus better on studies. Avantika came home for the vacation, but she didn’t find her father around.

“Where is dad?” she asked.

Without answering, Neelaveni hugged Avantika.

“Did you and dad happen to have a quarrel?” asked Avantika, as she was shrewd and mature enough.

Neelaveni kept mum but her face drained of colour. She looked rather gloomy. It was only then that Avantika could put two and two together and realise that her father had walked out on her mom.

Avantika was a hosteller even in her Intermediate. Why her mom suggested that she opt for Bi P C (Biology, Physics, Chemistry), Avantika couldn’t make out at that time. And now she was nonplussed as to why her mom didn’t encourage her to go in for the Civils.

Then occurred an incident that shook the life of Avantika. It was when she had to admit her mom into hospital during her last days.

“Is this why, mommy, you wanted me to become a doc?” asked Avantika.

Diverting the topic, Neelaveni said, “I am going to wither away and give up the ghost in a day or two. Why should you give up your Civils aspiration for the sake of your mother who is on her way to the grave? Better go to Delhi and take coaching.” And Neelaveni breathed her last.

Avantika joined the Civils coaching in Delhi. Some pent-up restlessness was gnawing at her vitals. An urge of venting out the surge of her emotions before the entire world was gathering storm within her. One day, she shared her thoughts with her roommate Neeharika.

Surprised, Neeharika said, “Born blond, you’re a natural beauty, of course.  But we have never seen you apply even face powder. Then how can you hope to be the winner?”

Another roomie chipped in to say, “Why waste your time like this, Avantika?” and discouraged her.

“Yes, you were a precocious child, and have a photographic memory. No matter how intelligent you are, you need to have some amount of training and concentrate on the subjects. Going off the track at this crucial stage is not advisable,” suggested Neeharika.

“Ok, let’s see,” quipped Avantika, and began practising aerobic and anaerobic exercises. It wasn’t difficult for her to practise them since she was already an expert in Yoga. She also practised swimming, jogging, and rope skipping. She kept away from the chemical cosmetics and used only the home-made ones. She honed her skills in dancing and singing. And she got into modelling to earn some pocket money.

Mere physical beauty is not the sole criterion in the beauty contests. Intelligence and cultured demeanour are also the decisive factors. Well aware of this Avantika realised that her focus on Current Affairs as part of her Civils coaching gave her a double-edged advantage. The Prelims of the Civils and the Miss India Femina contest happened to be slated for the same date.

“Avantika, to clear the Prelims will be a cakewalk for a talented girl like you,” said her friends. “Time would roll on fast and the Mains would come about. And you’re sure to come off with flying colours. The Civil Service would be useful to you lifelong.”

“I have five more attempts to appear for the Civils. But if I miss the Miss India contest now, I can’t go up for the Miss Universe contest,” returned Avantika.

The friends were at a loss what to say. Pausing for a while, they pleaded. “Avantika, please note that beauty contests are like a gamble. Winning or losing is just a matter of luck. Whereas, Civils is your best bet for its result is based on sheer diligence and merit. So don’t give it a miss.”

But she didn’t budge. Noticing that the lineaments of their faces turned wan, she uttered, “Sure, I’ll write the Prelims, but next year.”

Sensing that the situation was getting out of control, they brought Abhijit into the scene.

“Avantika, please heed my words. The image of winning a beauty contest is not permanent. So please don’t get diverted from your original goal,” advised he.

Looking askant, she replied, “Abhijit, come what may, I want to be the Miss Universe. And the gateway to it is the Miss India contest.”

Uneasy for a few moments, he went on, “The members in my family don’t like you to participate in these beauty contests. They happened to notice your photo in a modelling posture in some magazine, and they alerted me. In the meantime, your friends have told me about your obstinacy…”

“Is it for this alone you’ve have come over to Delhi, Abhi?” returned she, looking away from him.

“Yes, baby. Don’t get into this stunt any longer,” he intoned.

“Are you imposing restrictions…?” she snapped.

“Only when we have anxieties or aspirations, do we have restrictions, Avantika,” defended Abhijit.

“But my aspirations are different,” she was curt.

“Once you win these beauty contests and the crowns of Miss India and Miss Universe, you will, of course, earn lots of money. But I am not short of money. I am the sole heir of my parental property. I assure you that I’d transfer all the property in your name well before our wedding. So, please walk off these beauty contests,” he implored.

Staring into his face, she said, “You know well that I don’t attach importance to money, Abhi…”

“Then, is it your wish that the entire world should gape and gaze at your beauty?”

“Any woman on this earth craves to show her entire body and beauty only to her husband. A small compliment from him would send her into raptures. I am also an ordinary woman like all of them, Abhi. I don’t have the type of desires that you think I have,” said Avantika.

“Then, what’s the goal that is so intensely driving you for the Miss Universe contests?” Abhi asked, in desperation.

“I would speak about that from the stage of the finals of the Miss Universe contest, as I have already told you. Please wait until then,” countered she.

“If you partake in these contests, take note that your Abhijit would no longer be in your life,” snapped Abhi.

“Is our love so feeble,” she reacted, blankly.

Looking into her eyes, re-joined Abhijit, “Avantika, please mind that family prestige is also important to me. My mother thought that a simple doc is okay to be her daughter-in-law. After your medical graduation when you insisted on appearing for the Civils, I kept silent though I demurred within. I was upset that you and I would have to work in different fields. Yet, I reconciled myself out of love for you. But once you are away in Delhi, your priorities have further changed…” He paused. 

Looking him in the eye, she said, “So, my entire life has to dance to your and your mother’s tune. Is it what you mean? You’re reminding me of my father. I am scared. Let go of me, please.”

“I know that your father had deserted your mom. But I won’t ever leave you off. As long as I breathe, I’ll stay with you alone,” saying so, he tried to near her. She nudged him away, and a pall of silence descended between the two.

Niharika and Deepika stayed out in the corridor, having left Avantika and Abhijit inside the room for their privacy.

Brushing him off with a goodbye look, Avantika called in Niharika. Abhijit looked a bit hurt.

“Have you finished talking so soon?” said a smiling Niharika.

“Abhijit has to catch his flight,” fibbed Avantika.

Stepping aside, Abhijit whispered to Niharika and Deepika, “Please try your best once again to convince her. Otherwise, she may spoil her life.”

“Don’t you know that Avantika is too smart to heed the words of anyone?” commented a smirking Deepika.

***

Abhijit exited from Avantika’s life. A week after he left, he sent his wedding invitation to her, and she plunged into a daylong lamentation. She had loved him intensely and dreamt a lot about their future. She wished to take care of him like a tiny tot. She wanted to soak in the pleasure of looking after him. She longed to beget two children from him and bring them up ideally. But lo, the chapter came to an abrupt end.

Summoning back her courage, she participated in the Miss India contest and won it with ease, outsmarting all the co-contestants one after the other.

Once she qualified to enter the Miss Universe Contest, sponsors came forward to support her in full measure. The process of going through the Miss Universe contest being no joke, they arranged her the services of dieticians, physical trainers and doctors by moving her to Mumbai. There are so many stages and layers in the contest – introduction, ramp walk, intelligence, talent, knowledge et al – to eliminate the contestants. Keeping this in view, she was given specialised training in all these aspects. One inherent advantage she had was her communication skills. Nearly seven hundred beauties from across the world had taken part in the various rounds of prelims leading to the Miss Universe contest, but only twenty-two of them could make it to the semi-finals from countries like India, Canada, Australia, Singapore, UAE, New Zealand and Kenya. The stage was now set for the finals of Miss Universe competition where only seven beauties were in the reckoning.

A medley of memories were flying into Avantika’s mind, but she waved them away.

The curtain was about to be raised at the Bill Graham Civic auditorium, the biggest on the seashore at San Francisco. The audience were caught agog feeling the ripples of the countdown. They included prominent leaders and ambassadors of various countries as well as artists of international repute. Representatives of the world media positioned themselves to broadcast live the minute-to-minute briefing. The jury to adjudge the final winner consisted of personages with expertise in different fields.

Waves of memories were now reeling in her head. A year ago, Avantika had no idea of what a catwalk was. She was unaware of the outfit to be used in the contest and also of the body measurements concerned. She used to gobble up whatever she liked, be it ice-creams or sweets, with no inhibition and no idea of the repercussions on physical fitness. Once she was nominated to the Miss Universe pageant, the government of India and the Indian embassy in the USA listed her as a VIP. Government of India’s Department of Culture took her into control to ensure her healthcare and security. A train of physicians, Yoga experts, beauticians, psychologists, and educationists took over to ensure her overall fitness. Wowed by her beauty and foreseeing her fame, the Bollywood honchos came out to shower offers on her. All the leading actors declared that they would only be too willing to work with her whether or not she won the Miss Universe pageant. They blared out that they were enchanted by her beauty. This zing made even the Hollywood actors toe the line of their Bollywood counterparts. Leading stars like Jennifer Lawrence, Natalia Portman, and Emma Stone publicly predicted that Avantika was going to be their rival. All the glitzy international mags had already projected her prominently in their issues. There was a trigger for this media hype. It was her announcement that she would take the international podium to speak about an issue that would rock the world.

A few moments before she was to take the stage, Abhijit walked into her memory. She got hot under the collar. The scoundrel would now be enjoying himself at some cool hill-station, lost in a hug with his wifie under a blanket.

Then Avantika recalled her mother and father. Her mother had loved and married him. Yet her father had deserted her mother. ‘What’s this devil of male chauvinism!’ She turned up her nose. Anyway, if she now won this race, she could no longer lead her life like a normal woman for she would be flooded with neon lights, media glare, and camera clicks. She would turn into the country’s cultural ambassador. So, her desire of leading a normal life was ruled out. Marriage was out of question for she couldn’t accept anyone else. Making up her mind that she should live only to achieve her life’s goal, she tossed her head.  She was overtaken by a kind of anxiety and inexplicable tenseness. Her father flew back to her mind. She recalled her childhood and the way he fondled her. She also recollected the way he walked out on her mother. She groaned with agony. Lost in her ruminations in the green room, she now heard the announcement that the event was set to take off. Anusha, the official from the Department of Culture, Government of India, who was deputed as her caretaker, approached her and smiled. “Be confident madam. Our entire country in unison is waiting to see your win. The PMO has sent you greetings.”

Until a few days ago, Avantika was just an ordinary person, but now she was a VIP, a celebrity known all over the country. They were familiar with her name and whatever she spoke, they were all ears.  The whole world was now eager to prick up their ears whenever she was ready to talk. It was exactly what she had looked forward to. She pirouetted gracefully, proudly and stylishly onto the stage where the other six – Miss Venezuela, Miss Australia, Miss New Zealand, Miss UAE, Miss Canada, and Miss Kenya – were already present. All the seven exchanged smiles and greeted one another. None of them was less beautiful than the rest. Each of them was atop in knowledge, confidence, dignity and composure. It wouldn’t be that simple for any of them to outsmart the others and take the lead.

Avantika surveyed the members of the jury seated in front of the stage. Most of them were internationally renowned personalities though she couldn’t readily recognise them by their faces. Each of them had their designation name plate before them. One of them was James Cameron, director of the Titanic movie which she had watched as a child. Later on, she watched it four times along with Abhijit. “I’d like to capture you nude like how Leonardo DiCaprio drew the nude image of Kate Winslet in the movie,” Abhijit teased her with a smile. “Isn’t it enough if you look at it? Why should the entire world look at it?” she demurred with a blend of miff and smirk.

“Isn’t yours a beauty of worldwide fame?” Abhijit grinned.

She recalled all of it, and wondered, “Let’s see if his word comes true and the entire world gazes at my beauty.”

Beauty! Is it permanent? She simpered with a trace of sadness.

Stepping back from her reverie into the present, she noticed the Bollywood bigshot director Karan Johar among the jury. She flashed a smile at him. The other members were Richards, Madhu Sapre, and James Patterson. Richards was a leading psychologist from Denmark. Madhu Sapre, settled down in the USA, was a world-famous costume designer. All of them were ready with their lists of questions and except James Patterson, everyone was looking about with their smiling faces. James, a celebrated novelist, looked serious. Avantika had read Alex Cross, his famous page-turner, cliff-hanger crime fiction series.

Is crime a part and parcel of life? Her father hovered again on the screen of her mind. The muscles of her jaws stiffened up and her eyes turned moist, but she took care in time to blink back her tears lest the judges should notice her mood.

Introduction and ramp walk were over, and now the judges began shooting their volley of questions.

And Avantika was answering every question effortlessly.

“Dr Avantika, you’re a wonderful multi-faceted personality in times when anyone can attain world fame by focusing just on a single field. I’ve gone through your bio. You’ve already graduated in medicine. You’ve said you aim to crack the prestigious Civil Services exam and become a civil servant. It will be no big deal for a person like you with excellent command of the subjects. But you aren’t satisfied even with it. So, is it your aim to reach the international peak even in the beauty contests?” asked psychologist Richard.

“No,” asserted Avantika to the surprise of everyone in the auditorium. Every other contestant has affirmed that it’s her life’s dream to win the beauty queen’s crown.

“If it isn’t so, what exactly is your purpose?” queried James Patterson, the novelist, inquisitively.

“If I have come up to this stage, I have come through various elimination rounds, with the judges being convinced that I am a topper in form and beauty,” said Avantika. “And none of my co-contestants is less than me from any angle. Whomever of them you declare the winner, I’ll feel happy. Why I chose to reach this stage is, I was keen on presenting an issue, passionately.  If the members of the jury permit me, I’d like to unveil it from this platform to the entire world. With the media telecasting this event live across the world, I’ll be heard by each and every one…”  She gave a pregnant pause, resulting in an eloquent silence in the audience. The other finalists were agape with curiosity. As the members of the jury knitted their eyebrows, “Go ahead,” said, Karan Johar giving her the thumbs-up. And the other members gave a ready nod.

Avantika began to speak out.

“Be it the artists, poets or fictionists – everyone focuses on the breasts of women. They like that part of the body very much. And they justify it in the name of aesthetics or adoration of beauty in their own way. Bust is just one part of our body like the eye, nose and ear. The writers describe it effusively, the painters portray it conspicuously, and the costumers specially design the woman’s dress so as to project that part prominently. The female bosom is the cynosure of all eyes, right from the eighteen-year-old boy to the eighty-year-old. Whether this part in our body is a boon or a bane for us the women, I don’t understand…

“Our breasts feed the child with milk, and breastfeeding is a means of enhancing the child’s immunity levels. The bust of the wife is a theatre of voluptuous titillation for the husband. It’s an arena of triggering sensual pleasure. It’s a captivating object for the brush of the painter. It’s a canvas for the poet to unveil his innermost romantic emotions. Thus, this part of ours tickles the fancy of so many. But the moment we the women happen to lose this part for some reason or the other, the same folks conclude that we have lost our femininity. Isn’t this attitude aghast? They even refuse to treat us as humans. How can the loss of a part in our body evaporate the inherent womanliness in us?...

Our innate feminine grace is not merely for the aesthetic or amorous pleasure of man.  We need to protect our grace, our form, and our health. Here is my clarion call…

“We should take every precaution to keep complaints like breast cancer at bay. It’s a matter of grave concern that every year twenty million women are falling victim to the deadly breast cancer, writhing on the edge of death. From whatever little I know as a doctor, I iterate that if we are alert and take due care the moment the preliminary symptoms show up, we can prevent death. After all, prevention is better than cure…

“Motherhood is the unique blessing that Nature has gifted women. I am using this podium only to create a much-needed awareness among our womenfolk. We can keep the breast cancer aloof if we breastfeed our babies and make it a point to take nutritious food. I urge upon every woman to heed this humble advice of mine…

“Now let me disclose a very personal thing. A number of people used to ask me, ‘Why has your father deserted your mother?’ And some used to cast glances of suspicion at me…”

Avantika brought herself to a halt. Her eyes welled up with tears. She surged with a gush of intense emotion. The contestant from Australia who was beside held her in time and prevented her from caving in. As Avantika cleared her throat, the finalist from New Zealand fetched her a bottle of water.

“When I happened to notice accidentally that my mother was breastless owing to the mastectomy she had undergone, I got the answer to my question as to why father had deserted her, but it raised a million questions within me. When we are constrained to necessarily lose a small part of our body, why do our own people mercilessly abandon us? Are we of no use at all any further? How savage is this disowning proclivity? Hey gentlemen, please understand that it’s not just a woman you are leaving in the lurch; you’re pitilessly casting away a mother. Ask yourself, ‘If there is no mother, where is your existence?’”

Venting out her pent-up feelings and thoughts, she broke out into tears and collapsed. All the other contenders, without exception, were moved to tears, and they held her up together. Staying on the stage, they pleaded with the jury with one voice, “All of us are withdrawing from the contest, so please declare Avantika Miss Universe of this year.” Hearing this, even the jury members couldn’t help but burst into tears. 

Avantika turned dizzy and when she faintly sensed that she was losing her consciousness, she felt an arm clasping her.

“Abhijit! Is it you?” she muttered.

“I couldn’t imagine a life without you, so I cancelled the engagement. Standing in a corner of the auditorium, I have been observing every movement of yours, and raptly heard every syllable that you uttered. The angst in your heart has touched every nook and cranny of the world. You have achieved your goal. Now, I promise that I’ll take care of you as a mom,” he breathed his feelings to her.

Her eyes were a pool of joyous thrill. She hugged him close.

And the jury’s verdict was overheard from the mike, “Avantika, from India, is adjudged Miss Universe of this year” to a thunderous applause from the audience.

***

Bio: Sarath Chandra, presently living in Hyderabad, hails originally from Kavali (Nellore District, Andhra Pradesh). He is a well-known Telugu writer having published over 200 stories and 12 novels. 50 of his stories have won prizes. His work has been featured in various journals. An award-winning writer, he is interested in mirroring the contemporary society with a view to further strengthening the human relations. A graduate in sciences, education, public relations and library science, he worked as a journalist in the Eenadu and Andhra Jyothy dailies for seven years. He also served as a government teacher before resigning it and joining the political field. After his entry into politics, he served as the chairman of a corporation with cabinet rank when Y S Rajasekhara Reddy was the Chief Minister. Yearning for a strong India with social justice and harmony, he is an official spokesperson of the Andhra Pradesh unit of BJP. He has spoken on fiction in several prestigious literary meets and conferences – like TANA; Andhra Sarasvata Parishat world-level meeting at Bhimavaram; World Telugu Conference at Tirupati. 

Email: sarathchandrawriter@gmail.com

Mob: +91 98492 41286


Nose Stud: Dr. Chirravoori Shyam (Medico Shyam)

Shyam Chirravoori

Translation by N S Murty


Note: This story was published in the June 1980 issue of Andhra Jyothi, a renowned Telugu monthly of yesteryears. 

A doctor encounters an attendant to one of the inpatients during one of his rounds in a hospital. She is inconspicuous otherwise but for the Nose Stud. That nose stud triggers some memories and a dislike for the women in question. Despite knowing that his prejudice against her was unfair, he could not help it. Her behaviour only compounds it. What unfolds in the climax is not a twist for the sake of a twist but a logical consequence of the narrative.  Dr. Shyam has an excellent narrative technique which is simple, lyrical, and riveting. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, if I had seen her six years back and you asked me for my opinion, I don’t know what I might have had said; but now, she did not impress me at all. She was of such a stocky cylindrical build. I had little flair to look for elegance in such women.
While returning after attending to the patient at bed no 4, it first caught my attention. The nose stud… a thin, white, nose stud. And through the brilliance of the nose stud, the lady caught my attention.
I hurried off the ward and sank into my chair.
I lost myself in thoughts…
*

Why do people look strange?
Particularly this woman… and her belligerence
She was more like a muted color on a painting, an uncultured woman in the garb of cultured!
Yes!
What made her look so insolent?
She was drawing the attention of every male attendant at the other beds in the ward.
Of course, she failed in my case.
She didn’t have that charm.
I would deny if anybody said that humility is an asset to a woman.
I had noticed many times an unearthly charm even in the most supercilious of women.
Even when something got up their nose … 
They had a strange attraction in their anger…
In what others dubbed arrogance, I saw an assertion of individuality.
Even among otherwise unattractive women, I saw great appeal in exhibition of their pride.
But, for the first time, I understood an impolite woman could be disgusting.
People behave so strangely.
There are people who exceed the expectations of their parents
People who feel they were superior.
People who reached great heights.
People who feel that they are above all others.
I was in a dilemma whether to call her a girl or a matured woman.
The way she conversed with her mother… with her father… or fellow attendants… there was something revolting.
If the parents could afford it, they could find a suitable husband for even an average-looking girl.
And if perchance, that husband was rich or a high ranking-officer, she would conveniently forget her origins and behave as if she had descended from heaven. It would not only surprise but nauseate.
The tender green hues of the leafy offshoots, darkness of overhanging clouds, bright azure afternoons, evenings like the sari folds smoothly brushing the feet, and a gentle whiff of breeze… are the gorgeous poetic material that tenant and reflect through the eyes of any sweet, suave, and sensitive women.
A life swept away by the meaningless rant of a boastful, egotistic, conceited woman would seem not worth living.
You might be wondering… whether it is worth abhorring so intensely a woman attendant of a patient.
In fact, there is only one thing that is worth hating!
That is hate itself!
There is only one thing that is worth abhorring!
It is abhorrence itself!
Then?
Her gait was an epitome of the most undesirable qualities in any woman in the creation.
How many women you come across on the road? How many stupid, ignoramus dames you meet every day? How many women try to fool men with state-of-the-art techniques?
“Do you ever spare a moment for them?
Then why do you break your head over this woman?”  one may ask.
In the infinitum of time, people flash like a streak of lightning and disappear in a trice.
But, just as a slew of such 'trice's form a haphazard line, the acquaintance with some people lasts for too short a time, with limited success, even after undergoing several changes over time.
Such acquaintances tempt us to form opinions about those people.
And most of the time, our assessment would turn out to be right, if only we could reason and analyze the situations dispassionately.
*

I was making my customary visit to the ward, checking the BP and pulse, and recording the progress on the chart for each patient.
I went to bed no. 18.
I wrapped the BP cuff around the upper arm of the patient. I casually looked aside before inflating the cuff.
She suddenly stood up.
“Never mind. Please take your seat,” I said politely.
“Shouldn’t I respect the duty doctor?” she said with a strange laughter.
Pressure in the apparatus suddenly dropped! I inflated the cuff once again, checked BP and noted it. I reconciled myself by reasoning that some people could never speak properly.
On another occasion when I was administering injection to a patient, she came to me and said, “I want penicillin injection.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I have a whitlow on my finger. It is pricking me because there is infection,” she replied.
I looked at the nail.
There was nothing wrong with it.
“One should not use medicines casually,” I said.
“Why do you say it like that? It is aching.”
“Penicillin may produce adverse reactions in some people. We should not administer without giving test dose,” I said.
“I am a doctor’s wife! Don’t you think I know that much?”
I was perplexed whether to censure her or to keep my cool.
She began reeling out her knowledge of how to treat the patient.
I came out.
Why are people eager to show off their knowledge at the drop of a hat?
Brilliancy must be apparent, but not to be exhibited.
Brilliance is a short-lived flash with any person, however great he might be. I fail to understand why people always crave to appear brilliant.
Just because her husband was a doctor how could she be knowledgeable about everything in medicine?
Even after years of persistent study and practice, some doctors realize that what they have learnt was nothing!
*

She returned after an hour.
“Doctor! Tell me whether you are giving me injection or not?”
Reconciled to administering her injection, I scribbled the prescription on a paper and asked her to get it.
She looked at the prescription.
“You want me to buy?” she asked.
“Yes. If you can get the injection, I have no objection to administer it,” I replied.
“Can’t you give?” 
“Where can I get that from?”
“You must be having a huge stock in your ward.”
“These medicines and injections available in the ward are meant for inpatients. They are not for others like you,” I said in as cool a tone as I could.
“Hum…” she left in a huff.
*

There was an assembly on the firmament.
The moon was in the chair. All the stars were the spectators.
The proceedings were going on silently.
As if providing background music, a cool breeze capering on the waves was playing strange melodies.
Gita was sitting by me.
No. I should rather say, I was sitting next to her.
In that translucent light, her rosy lips did not look rosy. Yet, their softness was still flitting sweet downy aches in my mind’s eye. There, their redness was a brilliant red.
Over the tip of the smooth, bowing nose, there twinkles a thin nose stud!
The stone on the stud was white.
Somehow, of all the stones that adorn the nose studs, white stone stands out.
And the least appealing is the pearl.
Like the famous artist Bapu’s brush stroke… like a brow stretched like bow, it was a great charm on the nose stud.
“What are you so seriously looking at?” asked Gita.
“Only you,” I said.
“Um…”  she cooed.
“You look more beautiful than my poetry,” I said.
She burst into a fit of laughter.
“Why? Why do you laugh so extravagantly?” I asked.
She did not answer.
I repeated the question.
“Perhaps, anybody would look more beautiful than your poems.”
I could never understand why all the intelligence of a man comes to nought before a woman.
For two minutes I could not say anything.
The moonlight over the vast expanse of the sea was like a thin layer of cream.
And the ‘silence’ within was playing Jala Tarangini (the water instrument) asking in its own way, whether to speak or not!
There is great poetry in life. There is melody of cataracts in imagination. It is a tragedy that they never empty into our conversations.
It is strange why people who could enjoy reading and listening to poetry, cannot accept the same in real life!
‘Your tresses are burdens beyond the forbearance of my sensibility,’ I said to myself.
“Come on, let’s go!”  I proposed.
*

Take it from me, she did not go for injection for another week.
She never needed it.
There was neither infection nor aggravation of it on her finger or toe.
“He did not even respect me as the wife of another doctor …”
I overheard her speaking to someone.
Decency of expression refrained me from putting the later part of the sentence on paper.
I cannot put up with people who can afford to look for freebees always. I cannot suffer them.
I would never have taken notice of her, but for that nose stud. It had such painful nostalgic associations for me!
A thin nose stud is as figurative as a sensitive idea.
It would be a misfit on haughty and firebrand women. It would look pale. The idea would lose its romance.
A nose stud is a beautiful accessory to any woman that could electrify her surroundings, but not that on those who send negative vibes.
*

It occasioned that I had to send the blood sample of the patient on bed no 18 for hematology tests.
Putting some oxalate crystals in a blood bottle, I approached the patient with a needle and syringe.
No matter how ardent, passionate, and enthusiastic you behave, there would be no ripple of response from some people.
Similarly, however much you try, it would be hard to find the veins in some patients, as hard as decent words from the attendant daughter of bed no. 18.
 While I was sweating out to feel the veins of the patient, asking the patient to make a fist, standing next to me she said,
“No use. Even more Senior doctors have tried but failed.”
I went to my cabin, brought the BP cuff, and inflated it. After a prolonged search I could locate a very thin vein. As I probed for the vein and tried to anchor it drawing the skin taut with my thumb, she remarked,
“No. No. No. Don’t puncture the vein unnecessarily. It is so clearly visible.”
It was hard to draw blood from such a small vein. Why should she poke her nose in others’ affairs?
After two or three trials, I could draw the blood.
“Thank God!” I said within.
“Thank God!” she said with a sigh of relief.
It is but natural for me to get irritated on such occasions.
That was exactly what had happened.
*

In her green sari, Gita looked like a vine tossing among the leaves under the light wind.
Darkness was in wait.
The evening was cool … as cool as the green shade of innocence to the limits of vision.
It was a passionate half an hour with her.
And I fell into a kind of automatism, common for all young men on such occasions ….
That means, I was not conscious of what I was saying to her.
“What do you like the most in this world?” I asked her.
“What can I say if you ask me what interests me the most? Interests are relative. You can always find something more interesting than anything before. And interests keep changing over time.”
I don’t know whether she said with a practical outlook so common for women or a repeat of a quote or a dialogue from somewhere.
 I was not able to discern.
Yes. My intention was more to express my likes than to listen to hers.
But she did not ask me.
The wind was still blowing on and off, like a caressing hand.
My mind was rattling in between.
On the spur of a moment, I said,
“The most interesting thing to me in this world is your nose stud!”
This time she did not burst into a fit of laughter.
She was silent for a minute.
With a gentle smile she asked,
“You mean the nose, or the nose stud?”
I was groping for words.
What a weakness! Words desert us when we need them the most!
Eyes rain to make up for what expressions fail to convey.
Tears bleared my eyes.
Why did they come out? Out of excitement? Or grief?
*

Darkness falls.
It dawns again.
Hues sparkle.
Moonlight shines
It rains.
Day breaks again.
Seasons change.
People change.
Roads divide.
People part.
Over time, even the strong wall paint- fades out.
But the most coveted color picture...hidden amidst the most delicate folds in the deep recesses of the mind… shall never wear, tear, or erase.
In that picture… there was a vague fuzzy face.
A beautiful nose appears jutting out from it.
And adorning its lovely tip… lies a brilliant nose stud!
My nose stud!
*

 Unless we unwind and rewind, ruminate and review, the twists and turns of our life will not be so apparent.
More so, for people whose life becomes synonymous with their profession, the impressions are not so strong.
They cannot lead their lives to their choice.
Emergencies and exigencies take precedence over their personal preferences, or psychological choices.
That was why no matter what the attendant of patient on bed no. Eighteen had said, and the consequent reluctance to treat the patient, I had to discharge my duties with due care.
I had to spend a sleepless night - to remove the hurdles and wipe away the tears!
If only we care to give a patient ear, even on the most ebony night, you can hear the hymns of dawn from afar.
And the vestiges of truth seem so real to us at times while they looked exactly opposite a bit earlier.
A whiff of air in the evening after a singeing summer day shall give a great relief.
But the same whiff might frighten you to your bones on a cold wintry night.
With all that, we shall taste success even randomly.
The same thing happened.
Patient on bed no 18 was out of danger.
Like the blue pacific sea glistening under sun visible through the coconut plantation from afar, the atmosphere was pleasantly quiet.
The patient on bed no 18 and her attendant expressed their thanks to me.
Of the most gratifying things in this world, looks filled with gratitude are one.
We should treat them as such.
We should not spoil its purity searching for intentions behind it.
We will be in a different world, even for a fleeting moment.
But some people deprive us even of that consolation.
The attendant daughter of patient on bed no. 18 came to me and said, “Thank you doctor for all the care you have taken to treat my mother. We are deeply indebted to you. We would like to…” she was about say something when I intervened.
“That is my duty and what I am here for.” I said pretending to be busy and leave.
“At least for our satisfaction…” she continued.
I was angry, never understood why people underestimate others.
“At least something as a remembrance…” she persisted.
As if this is not enough, you want to haunt me with your memory… I thought within.
As she repeated her appeal once more, I considered deeply for a moment and asked with a smile,
“Do you really fulfil my request?”
‘Oh, yes,” she replied.
“Are you sure?” I repeated.
“By all means.” She assured me.
“I am asking you very seriously…” I said for the third time.
“I promise you with the same seriousness” she assured.
“Then, will you stop wearing that nose stud?”
She was stunned!
***

Bio of Dr. Shyam Chirravoori

A graduate from Andhra Medical College, Visakhapatnam and Postgraduate from All India Institute of Medical Sciences, New Delhi, Dr. Shyam hails from  Vizianagaram, Andhra Pradesh. He wrote prolifically under pen name 'Medico Shyam' during 1970's and 80's.  His short stories have been translated into English, Hindi and other languages. Vanguri Foundation of America has brought out a collection of Short stories “Shyamyana” in 2010. Dr. Shyam is a consummate literary aficionado with wide network and ready random access memory. 
After taking voluntary retirement from Central Health Services, India, Dr. Shyam settled in McKinney, TX. USA 75092 and reachable at shyamchirravoori@yahoo.com 
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Bio of NS Murty
 
A postgraduate in M.Sc. (Applied Mathematics) and MA (English Literature) from Andhra University, Waltair Mr. Murty was also a graduate student of English Literature at University of Houston, Texas during Spring 2011.
 
Mr. Murty has to his credit two collections of his poetry- Incidental Muses and PenChants; two collections of select Telugu poems rendered into English- The Wakes on the Horizon and The Voices of the Surf; a collection of one hundred best poems from world literature rendered into Telugu with brief introduction for each poem, KavitvamtO EdaDugulu; and a collection of best short stories from world literature rendered into Telugu, Katha Lekhini. At the behest of Mr. GM Rao, Group Chairman, GMR Group, he also translated Marshall Goldsmith’s ‘What Brought You Here Won’t Get You There’ into Telugu independently and Prof. V. Raghunathan’s ‘Games Indians Play’ with his senior colleague Sri SVM Sastry for the GMRV Foundation. 
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