Extra Ordinary Sailee Tiwari

First published in 2020 by Becomeshakespeare.com One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd. 119-123, 1st Floor, Building J2, B - Wing, WadalaTruck Terminal, Wadala East, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India, 400022. T:+91 8080226699 Copyright © Sailee Tiwari All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. © ISBN - 978-93-5438-015-0

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The evergreen Palm tres................................... 5 Chapter 2: Strangers to Friends to Strangers to…?.........15 Chapter 3: Friends Forever...............................................29 Chapter 4: Tea is Survival................................................. 39 Chapter 5: Solving the puzzle............................................ 49 Chapter 6: An Innocent Thief............................................ 59 Chapter 7: Love Again...................................................... 70 Chapter 8: Uncertainty...................................................... 82 Chapter 9: Passion Is Purpose........................................ 94 Chapter 10: A Journey to Dreams................................... 105 Chapter 11: Love is Undefined........................................ 115 Chapter 12: When Hopes meet Destiny!......................... 123

Chapter 1 The evergreen Palm trees

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t was a usual day for me, only that it was a Sunday. I got up late at around 11 am. It was a cold day with temperatures dropping every hour. I was wearing pullovers, scarfs, and gloves to evade it but still, my teeth were crunching together. I headed to the kitchen to make a searing Cinnamon tea. I tried mixing some white pepper into the tea to let it generate some more heat inside and rescue me. I collected the daily newspaper lying carelessly at the entrance and sat peacefully in my balcony. The weather reported a temperature of 4 degrees in Paris. I bawled and huffed looking in the skies – there were barely any birds around. I closed my eyes, smiled, and uttered – “Come on nature, freeze me. Consider I am a Snowman.” As I turned some more pages, sipping in the soothing tea, I could sense a moment of relief after a tedious week at college. I was in my second year of master’s in an interior design course. Unlike any other day, Sunday was different – rather I kept it for unusual chores. I would

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do everything that I couldn’t do in the week – I would write song lyrics, watch an entire season of ‘Two and a half men’, bake few cupcakes, skype my mother and then meet my friends in the evening. I enjoyed living alone in my small, rented room. Life had never been better – a great career path, few great friends, and a beautiful city – a city of elegance and romance. I was mixing the ingredients to make a nice chocolate pancake for my lunch – I put on the speakers to play my weekly favorite – Unforgiven. As I was continuously beating and whisking the ingredients, I was crooning the lyrics of the song, “What I have felt, What I have known, never shined through in what I’ve shown. Never be, never see, Will not see what might have been.” I was repeating the words in synchronization – the perks of a holiday. In another hour or so, I was ready for my lunch while my stomach was making various churning sounds. As I was walking with my plate towards the dining table, my phone screen flashed – it was my mother’s call. I picked it up, swiped the screen, and switched it on a speaker mode. I heard an agonizing weeping sound; it was as if it tattered me in a second. “Hello! Mumma? Are you okay?” I got up hastily, concerned, and worried. The phone call got disconnected. I called up again only to hear a very distressing sound – Something was majorly wrong. “Kayra, your grandmother.”, she trailed off. “Hello Mumma, what happened to her? Please calm down and tell me.” She replied, “She is ill. She had a stroke in the morning and now I am here in Nainital

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with her.” It broke my heart to hear the words. I imagined my mother crying like a child, I imagined my grandmother’s pale face – I had not seen her in years. Involuntarily, my eyes gushed a stream of tears. I felt weak and shattered. I gathered myself up and uttered, “Mumma, I am coming. Don’t panic.” I booked the latest available ticket online. It however would take me more than a day to reach there. I had to go via Zurich – New Delhi – Pantnagar. When I looked outside the window of the flight, I could see vivid colors of the distant city sparkling like tiny stars on the earth. However, it could not lessen or ease my grief. I was battling with my tears. I had not seen my grandmother in years. I wished I could have, I wished to have spent some more time with her. I was drowned in regrets and memories. The memories of her when she was an art teacher in school, and she used to hold my hands to teach me how to draw. She would always try to resolve the problems when I used to fight with my mother. A sweetheart, a soft-spoken person, who always loved me with no barrier and no conditions. Whenever I visited her, she would cook hot aloo paranthas, chutney, and Dahi Wada for me. She would also make sweet Jalebis exclusively as a desert. I was a pampered, adored princess in her castle. She would caress my hair until I slept at night, she would recite poems, narrate mythological stories, play games, and do everything to keep me smiling. She would often tell me, “You should always follow your heart. Your heart finds the right way no matter what.” She would take me to her school where I made many friends who were her

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students. We would sit in the lawns, draw and paint together. She would then distribute our favorite chocolate candies for having put in so many efforts. Her kindness, her optimism, her attitude towards life, her values, her love was incredible. In the entire journey, I was pacifying myself to mitigate the sorrows – only if I had met her more often in the past few years. When I reached Pantnagar, I was undergoing a mixed state of mind. I was happy to return to the place where I had spent so many wonderful days – my childhood days. I boarded a taxi as I stepped outside the airport and told the taxi driver the address – I had memorized it. As I opened the window, I could feel the air fiddling with me and whispering the giggles of my childhood days, the collective laughter, the distant lullaby of my grandmother while fondling my hair, the fragrance of her hands when she would grind the spices together and held my tiny palm. The glimpses were coming naturally as if the old days were appeasing me. I closed my eyes and let it ease my heart. It was needed for me – I had to be strong and unscathed to face her and see her like that. As I rang the doorbell clumsily, my mother opened the door. I could see her swollen eyes, her lustreless face that had lost the charm. I had not seen her like this ever before. It was as though anguish had taken away every bit of her happiness. I felt a pang of pain rushing through me. I hugged her, fondled her hair, and told her that I was there. I could feel her warm tears dripping down my neckline. I knew I had to be strong and unblemished. “It’s okay Mumma, it’s going to be fine.

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Where is Papa?”, I asked. “He is on his way.”, she answered. As I was entering inside, the familiar smell of the rooms, the familiar décor, the memories played like a kaleidoscope right before my eyes. The time was playing a strange game with me, I was instantly catapulted between the past and the present. As I entered her room, I saw a frail and mundane figure lying on the bed. I flinched, sad in disbelief. I stood there immovable just gazing at her. She looked different, the liveliness of her face had vanished, bereft of life. She opened her eyes and immediately smiled looking at me. Her marvelous smile almost instantaneously took away my griefs. It gave me hope that the old golden days were there yet again. It made me believe that she was still there, her warmth was dwelling in the aura. I touched her feet seeking her blessings, sat near her on the bed, touching her face I said, “How are you feeling Nanee? How did this happen?” She was still smiling while she uttered, “I am fit as a fiddle child. The doctor said I need to rest for a few days. My blood pressure soared up; it is just the doing of my old age. You had to travel from so far because of me, sorry sweetheart.” I could not help myself and I hugged her and said, “I should be sorry Nanee, I should have come here before to meet you.” She nuzzled my hand, caressed my hair, and said, “You don’t know child how much happy I am right now to see you.” We met after so many years, we both had changed, time and situation had changed. But our relationship was still the same – priceless. I still felt like a small child when I was near her, talking to her, just like many years before.

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“How are the studies going on child? How is the city in France?”, she asked in a slow hushed tone. “It’s great Nanee. You imbibed the love for arts in me and see how I am heading in the same field. I give the credit to you”, I said kissing her forehead. She had tears of joy in her eyes and she spoke, “I have always been proud of you. I knew you would do something extraordinary one day.” I nodded my head and realized how much this meant to me. I wanted to cherish every moment with her. It was as though every minute was making up for the times, I could not be with her – while I was busy in studies and work. I could not thank her enough for patronizing me, supporting me, being there for me whenever I needed it. I said, “Nanee I am lucky that I have you. It is your love, support, and direction that has always helped me in my life so far. I still follow my heart and instincts. It will lead me to my destination eventually.” She spoke, “I know it will sweetheart”, with the same hint of belief in her eyes. I washed my face after the long journey and looked at the mirror. My eyes had become red and swollen. The absence of kohl had made it look strange and grisly. I faintly saw my mother’s reflection in the mirror. She called out, “Kayra, come and have something to eat.”, I responded, “I am not so hungry mother. I can have it later.” I walked across the other rooms, almost desiring and wishing to connect to the previous days. I fumbled across the things in the cupboard of the room that had all the collectibles and souvenirs of my childhood days. I saw many toys – some broken, some

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intact, some distorted, dolls, notebooks, drawing books, and pencils with broken lead. I could connect to each and everything there. There were baby frocks, sweaters, and shawls also. I smiled touching them, remembering and trying to remember some of the things. My mother entered the room and uttered, “Nanee has preserved them all. It belongs to you Kayra”. “It is the same drawing book Mumma. I remember this so fondly.”, I said. “Do you want to see something more special?”, she asked. She took out the keys of another cupboard and withdrew a huge photo album from the drawer. She handed it over to me, smiled, and said, “See this album. Go and show this to her.” I opened the photo album to see monochromatic photographs of my Mother and Father’s marriage, the ceremonies, my grandmother and grandfather attending the ceremonies, either following customs or talking with one another. I showed them to Nanee. She would tell the stories of the day when they got married, reminisce about the auspicious day. She would smile and I could see a glint in her eyes. The other photos had my parents, me and grandmother cheering and enjoying in an amusement park, my first birthday party, my grandmother tossing me in the air, my naked infant body bathing and crying in a tub, and so on. I heard many tales connecting to each of the pictures. They were new for me, interesting and heartfelt. I saw her beaming memorizing those days, often holding my hands, touching my hair. The twinkle in her eyes meant a lot to me and my mother at that moment. She would remember the days when my grandfather was alive, and they used to spend memorable

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times together – the only time I sensed grief hidden deep in her eyes. She felt sad that she was not able to cook for me and serve me my favorite dishes, she would sob at that thought. She felt unhappy and helpless. I would pacify her, telling her that it was alright, she should first be healthy and should then cook hot aloo paranthas for me. Her enigma was captivating, a lot had changed but some things could never change. The warmth of her smile, her redolence, and vibe, her love for me was perennial. I made a tulsi ginger herbal tea for her, gave her medicines, cooked porridge for her. She would gladly eat from my hands; she would talk about her neighbors and her friends. She would tell about her students. She asked me about Paris and if the city was good. I told her about the Eiffel tower and that it was a beautiful city, a hub for fashion and arts. It is called the ‘City of Light’ and a city where I had to find my direction in life. She heard it all intently and was more curious to know about the place. I promised her I would take her there as soon as she recovers. The room turned dark as evening ensued. I ambled towards the French window, moved the curtains on one side, and opened it. To my amazement, I saw the setting sun in the skies and a garden in front of me. I had blurry visions and memories of the days when as a child I used to play in the same garden – only that it did not have so many plants back then. It was only plain grass, which was mended by my grandparents. I stepped outside into the garden to have a look at the beautiful plants. There were many herbs and spices like Rosemary, Lavender, Basil, Lemongrass, Mint, Sage, Oregano, Mustard, and Coriander.

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It was a kitchen garden as well as there were floral plants like Rose, Marigold, Sunflower, and Hibiscus. I rejoiced with the vivid colors and aroma of the garden. There were small succulent plants arranged in a small corner –cactus, echeveria, jade, aloe vera under a green translucent net to make a shade and shelter for them. I noticed that it was cold but still a pleasant one – unlike Paris. I did not need several layers of woolen and pullovers to cover myself. The breeze was soothing, the greenery was extraordinarily serene. I was lost in trance and the delightfulness when a hand nudged my shoulder. I turned around and saw my mother standing there. She was holding a wheelchair and Nanee sat there smiling. I exclaimed, “Nanee! This garden is so beautiful. You have made exquisite greenery here.” “I learned some botany over the years child. This garden has been my passion for the past 10 years.”, she said. As I was looking around, observing, and reading the different plant species and adoring them, she held my hands. “Child come here.” She directed me a few steps away in another corner of the garden. “You haven’t seen this. Have you?”, she asked. My eyes were wide in amazement and surprise. There was a long line of meticulously standing Palm trees. I used to love them since I was a kid. I had a faint memory of the day when I found a dead palm tree in the school and I told Nanee that I wanted to plant that tree and that it saddened me to see it dead. “Nanee, it is that Palm tree. I mean I love them”, I said. “I have been taking care of them for many years child. I knew you love them so dearly. I wanted to surprise you one

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day. I knew it would melt your heart.”, she said smiling. I saw the glint in her teary eyes. I sat down and hugged her saying, “Nanee, I am amazed and so happy that you did this. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. I promise I will grow more of them.” A tear of joy streamed out of my eyes.

~ Chase your instincts to travel the unknown path, The magnetic quest of destination runs forever, Gather the little joys to establish your inspiration, For kindness, love, care, connections die never ~

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Chapter 2 Strangers to Friends to Strangers to…?

I

t was around 11 in the morning. She boarded Hirakud Express that runs from Delhi to Bhubaneshwar at the Sambalpur City junction drawing a grey trolley bag and a purse. She had a plain attire – a blue salwar kameez, a plain white dupatta, and a silver hoop earring. Her curly hair was carelessly lying over her shoulders. She had a bland look with minimal make-up on her face – and spellbinding eyes. She folded her legs over the seat, and she was continuously gazing outside the window – as if pondering about something. The black leather purse and an overturned book with a cover that read ‘Fault in our stars’ were lying beside her. She was unaware of the happenings around. Tea sellers were passing by every few minutes shrilling ‘chai-chai’ but she was indifferent to it. There were other vendors selling Pakoras, Bhel-Puri, Chanachoor – she would not budge. She would sometimes read a few pages of the book – her face portraying myriad

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“ Ov e r whe l me d,Is pok ewi t has mi l e ,“ Whe ndowe me e ta g a i n? ” L ov ei snotha ppi ne s sbuta l s os or r ows , J us tl i k ek nowi nge a c hot he rt hor oug hl y , I ti snotde fine dbywha tdi dnotwor k , Buta boutwha tsl l wor k e d. If umbl e dt hr oug ht het hi ng si nmyba g ,ope ne da z i p,a ndwi t ht het r e mbl i ngha nds ,t ookoutt he be a c hpa i n ng–hi sma s t e r pi e c e . T hi swor l d, ort ha twor l d, Y ouwi l l a l wa y ss t a ybymys i de , L i k et hes ha dowsi nl i g ht , L i k et hes t a r ss obr i g ht . “ I don’ twa n ta n y t hi ngbuts t opc r y i ngno w. ” T hewor l dt ha tbe l i e v e si n‘ Gi v ea ndT a k e ’pol i c y oe nf or g e t ss ome t hi nge s s e na l , Al il ec ompa s s i onwi l l notonl ye l e v a t ey ours pi r i t buta l s og i v ey oual otofl ov e . ”

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