I spent one of the most uncomfortable evenings of my life sitting in Gladys Staines’ living room in Baripada, Orissa. The discomfort was not because of Gladys, who was a wonderful host, taking me around the leprosy clinic that her husband had set up in the morning and inviting me over for tea in the evening. The discomfort was all mine. I couldn’t just get it out of my mind that here I was sitting in a house that had once seen three kids running around, two of them boys who must have played football, chased the dogs and done all those things that boys generally do. All that was left of that for this woman were memories, haunted by the worst possible end any mother could imagine.

Sitting there, I didn’t have the heart to interview Gladys or remember the list of questions I’d prepared. It seemed enough that she had shared the work she and her late husband had done at the leper clinic with me in the morning; that I had seen her interact with the people she was caring for and the people who worked with her. It felt normal to sit there and simply talk to this amazingly strong woman who shared memories of her husband as and when they came to her, smiled if an object in the room associated with the memory caught her eye, spoke about her daughter who was then studying in Australia, spoke of her ailing father back home and the support she got from people around her in India and why she forgave the fiends who committed that heinous crime. She never mentioned her two sons. I never asked. There are some things you just can’t intrude upon. It feels like slapping the person awake from a stupor that's probably keeping them sane.

I wasn’t a mother then. Very far from the thought actually. I’m one now and cannot even think of what Gladys as a mother must have gone through after that horrific night. How would you feel if your husband and kids who weren't even 10 were burnt alive as 50 men with sticks ensured they couldn't escape the inferno? Would you feel they were converting people into their religion forcefully and therefore deserved it in some way, something the court judgement reeks of when it calls this crime not the rarest of rare and comes down heavily on conversion, completely ignoring the work done by the same man in other areas altogether?

So when I heard of the Supreme Court verdict that has removed the noose off Dara Singh’s neck, I thought of Gladys Staines. And prayed that Dara Singh’s conscience, which apparently tells him he’s innocent, gives him an equally horrid death within the walls of the jail where he will hopefully spend his life term now, mentally, physically or otherwise.

Happy New Year

To all those who still come here. Spent New Year's Eve at home with friends having potluck party. Had plans of making exotic food with complicated name as a gourmet type start to the year but realized most people I know prefer paneer makhni and butter chicken to pesto sauce and prawn croquettes. Eventually had the table laid with very odd combinations that included dal makhni, pulao, gobi mussalam, dahi bhalle and chicken biryani courtesy me and my friends. Have become complete behenji type and will never be employed by Brunch or Mint where recipes are only about interesting sounding things like onion tarts, honey glazed pork and apricot ginger cake, best had in a French spa type ambiance.
Chances of employment though are very weak this year as have baby number two coming soon this February. Yup, I seem to be a sucker for staying up nights and going in the cow mode again. Jokes apart, we really are excited and that includes the young man who alternates between wanting a baby brother and a baby sister. Though am not quite sure if it's because he expects the baby to emerge ready to play with him.
Speaking of babies, what a difference the first time and the second time is! The excitement is still the same but the preparations are different, mentally and otherwise.
The first time I had a list of baby names by now and had shopped at every baby store I could find in Bangalore. I had also memorised What to Expect When you are Expecting and by this time had started practising my breathing exercises.
Have since then given away my dog eared copy of What to Expect to a friend and between reading out Cat in the Hat to the tyke and trying to finish my own review copies have had little time to read anything else. As for shopping, I have a lot of the tyke's stuff that I could use for the little one and some lovely generous friends. Oh of course I am shopping for new stuff but I am older and wiser and no longer fall for 'this is a must have for baby' spiel by salespeople and books written for American readers.
The names? Perhaps it's time to get started on that.