You

Deep down in your heart
You believe I repent
You think you know
For you know me so well
Yet it tortures you that you could not guess
How my mind worked that summer
And you may spend a whole life time tying to
Figure out what went wrong in understanding me…
May be you were too busy loving me

Where my dream takes me

This interior of a house comes in my dream very often. Usually, I am walking around the house…especially the guest area which is not really a room but a part of the living room partitioned by a glass folding door. There is also an extension of the apartment through a corridor but I go there only sometimes. This is the main area where I hang out when i visit this place.

I cannot remember ever having visited such a house ever in my life. The recurrence of the dream intrigues me.

She

She sat on her side of the bed, staring at the pink tablets in her palm. She had emptied all the packs. The phone has been ringing for some time now. She knew who was calling but could not move - as if spell bound by the monotonous rings…

It was that time of the year.
The time of grand festivities.
The time you look forward and plan for for months.
The time you wore best and joined in community revelry.

That year highlight of festivities was screening of a movie on a giant screen.
That year was special for she had turned ten.
That was was a landmark for she was granted the freedom of going out with her friends

It seemed like though everyone was out on the street.
The excitement was palpable.
She was having the best time of her life. And then ...she decided to go home for a quick sip of water.

Mom was at home lying down on the bed.
"Aren't you coming out? Everyone is out there. It will be fun"
A gloomy voice came from the bed,''I don't like all this anymore. Too many people and their aimless chatter. I rather stay home and read."

She stood there shuffling her feet ...feeling a sense of guilt surge through her. "Sure ? They are screening a movie".
'That holds no attraction for me', came the reply."You go if you want to.I am not stopping you."
''Ok , I am leaving..."she said in a faint voice.
"All right".

She lingered around for a few more moments. Should she stay home or should she go? The voices and the sounds floating in through the balcony had her out of the door before she knew it. She ran down the stairs - her heart thumping. Unknown to her, she also ran down the stairs taking with her the burden of guilt about enjoying life that was to weigh her down forever.

Reality bites

The truth finally dawned upon him :

"Mamma, everyone does something to earn money right? People do different kinds of things...some put out fire...some take out garbage...others sell things...make ads or do research... and then there are some who people earn money by asking other people for money."

A Thousand Splendid Suns

I finally finished it. It pained me to see the pages run out rapidly. I tried to slow down but could not. Everyday I would impatiently wait for some 'my time' (which is never enough) to read the book. The book had taken over my life. I tell you, it is painful when you begin living with a book, which sucks you into it and makes you emotionally invest in the lives of its characters. This one left me dazed and haunted for days after it was done with.

Hosseini's second one pulls at your heart strings as does his 'Kite Runner'. A haunting tale of two women in Afghanistan - a saga of misery, abuse, violence enmeshed in daily existence in the backdrop of dark political changes- in a completely different setting from my urban existence in world’s largest democracy - yet so relatable through the common cord of sisterhood. (I was reminded of Tagore story "Kabuliwalla' where the author's empathy for the misfortunate trader from Kabul was echoed in the words: 'I am a father and he is also a father'.)

I did not realize how deeply the book had affected me till about a week after I had finished it. I was aware of the fact that the book was wrecking havoc with my emotions – and I was generally a bit low but It was only after I started upon a lighter read – something I need do to clear my head- that I could related my depression to my relationship with this book. I have not been this affected after a long time.

What makes the story palpable is the mastery of the storyteller to create coherent and believable characters and finely weave a story of suffering, misery, pain, interpersonal violence and abuse in everyday lives with the ravaging political changes of the country. The parallel movement of life histories of the protagonists and the politico - historical events; the shaping of their everyday lives by the reigning political diktat was simply fascinating. An ordinary story made extraordinary.

Synopsis : Born a generation apart and with very different ideas about love and family, Mariam and Laila are two women brought jarringly together by war, by loss and by fate. As they endure the ever escalating dangers around them — in their home as well as in the streets of Kabul — they come to form a bond that makes them both sisters and mother-daughter to each other, and that will ultimately alter the course not just of their own lives but of the next generation.

Ps : In this world, across cultures, there may be some Mariams, many Lailas bonded to Rasheeds missing their Tariques while loving their Zalmais.