Puja in pink and Maya in red—are sisters. Puja joined us a few months back to look after Maa. Soon after, Maya—younger of the two—came to help my brother in household affairs.
From the bits and pieces that are thrown at me by Maa, I learnt—their father doesn’t earn anything, is a drunkard, and drowns in alcohol every last penny these sisters bring home. Puja and Maya are two among the six sisters—born in quick succession. The youngest is six, and the oldest—Puja—is 22. Their mother lives the nightmare created by her husband day and night.
I never ask them anything, lest i dent their dignity.
From what little I have observed, both are neat in their methods and manners. They are cheerful while working, at peace when resting, and carry themselves well. They don’t complain, but are straight forward.
Puja and Maya hug or have arms on each other’s shoulders whenever they meet. Naughty Maya has an attitude. Puja acts the elder sister.
When I returned from the office today, both had an earpiece each in their ears from the same mobile cord—talking to their mother. They accepted my request for their pic with grace, Maya managing to remain still for the shot.
These two sisters and the other four don’t know what the future holds for them. I don’t know about the other four, but Puja and Maya live each day as it comes.
Puja maintains a Diary…Perhaps writing what remains unsaid. Maya doesn’t…Perhaps she is weaving a fairy tale.
We come across workaholics who sacrifice their health, mental peace, relationships and pleasures that life offers for the sake of excessive work, endless earnings, or both, even if they have gold in their teeth and diamonds in their toes.
At opposite end of the spectrum, we encounter the breed who treat work as part-time hobby at its best, and as a dirty word at its worst. Their priorities are shopping online, shopping offline, partying and more partying. They waste the best years of their lives (when the adrenaline is pumping in full force, and limbs, mind and faculties are at their prime) seeking the fake and indulging in the frivolous. They consider themselves as a gift to the mankind and take people and privileges for granted. When cautioned or counselled, their inflated ego can’t tolerate and they throw threats and tantrums. The close ones give up. The savings, largely ancestral, are blown away. The long rope of time and space thrown for bringing them to senses is used to hang themselves. Atrophy soon sets in, the rot is irreversible, the decay is complete, total and final.
And mind you, both the specimen are mindful of the consequences of what they are doing. It’s mind-boggling, flabbergasting. The fire in the belly is in the wrong belly.
One deserves when one earns, or at least sincerely tries. Also, all work n no play makes us dull n boring.
So the Mantra ? …..Work Hard and Party Harder !
I received photo of this painting which depicts three women, all carrying water, but in different ways. This triggered a thought: All women, whether young or old, are working women…mostly without salary : ). They work silently and incessantly….. look after family’s well- being, hold the family together …in their own unique ways. Their contribution mostly unrecognized, lack of appreciation doesn’t belittle their awesome contribution.
Let’s salute women!
And in a lighter vein, let me add: Women who aspire to equal men, lack ambition! : )
Stop clapping imperiously n shouting “koi hai” the moment you are out of slumber n sleeping bag. ‘Raj’ and “Raj-Idiosyncrasies’ no longer exist, not even in Rajasthan. With the helping hands becoming aspirational (rightly so) and maddeningly moody , it wouldn’t hurt to pick up your empty plate n wash it. Shun dependence even on the cuddling n befuddling family members. Apart from powdering your nose or splashing after-shave as the sole arm-lifting exercise, begin brewing your tasteless tea, burning your toast and holes in your shirt/skirt by ironing out wrinkles of your expectations, for family members have their own 1,2,3…lists (nothing wrong with that). Mastering the art of measuring sugar miserly will come in handy when you are salt n pepper and children take wings with their own families due to compulsions of work/kids/creating their own space (absolutely understandable). And in the foggy age when you pretend to come to senses n see life squarely in the eye, your wife may not see eye to eye, turn religiously religious, desert you in favour of God, n delicately but devilishly decline to pour wine in your goblet leaving you low in spirit n dry as desert. And if you happen to be a woman, you run the ultimate risk of being saddled with a spent sentinel sans senses slowly but surely sliding into senility. Dependence, like proximity, breeds contempt. So, ladies n gentlemen, tighten your belts, loose motions n emotions and wield a broom with gusto and a wild Woosterly “WHAT HO”! Waiting in the wings, Jeeves will approve!
No multi-tasking for me,
One at a time is just right!
And there is no tomorrow,
Oh…when the work seduces…
or pleasure kills!