Thursday, August 24, 2006

My Dear - 44

To Friend

Do you remember the day when you and I planted some seeds in a little flower pot? I kept checking every 5 minutes to see if they had sprouted. And you said, 'not yet. I'll tell you when they are ready'. I was amazed at your ability to predict plant growth. I looked at you with renewed awe. You told me all about the mysteries of human life. You even told me how babies are made.

Do you remember that time when you and I were fascinated with death? We saw people wailing at my grandfather's dead body and we promised that we would do the same when the other person died. And we fought over who would die first. Do you still recall those days and tell your children about it? When did it all stop?

I ran into you the other day at a wedding. You did not recognise me. I had to introduce myself and you eyes widened in surprise. Have I really changed that much? We stood about awkwardly not knowing where to begin. I wanted to tell you all about my life now. And find out all about yours. But instead I heard myself telling you how hot it was and how nice it was to meet you again. We exchanged numbers and promised to stay in touch. I live in a different country now and I understand your circumstances are some what difficult. I don't expect to hear from you. But I wish I had told you that I now know how babies are made. And that is not by placing an aubergine under the armpit.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

My Dear - 43

To Ammani

Dear Ammani,

As a regular reader, I welcomed your new initiative, seeing it first as a creative outlet, and only then as a channel for people to vent their sorrow, anger and hurt. And many letters were in line with my expectations- amusing and wry, imaginative and interesting. But every now and then nestled in all the "letter to fitness instructor" and "letter to the boss" mirth, there is a letter that speaks of a strained relationship, a letter that lets out years of bottled up sadness. And when I read those outpourings, where the hurt seek comfort in pouring out their woes in the comfortable yet, for want of a better word, cowardly shroud of anonymity to absolute strangers, I think maybe this is not right. Are they who face these demons, taking an easy way out rather than face their troubles, confront those who cause them so much anguish, and attempt to work things out? Wouldn't the words that can make strangers sympathise and empathise with them,be of better use in an open hearted dialogue with the once-familiar-now-far-removed ones?In offering them this window of escape, are you not shutting the door on a final attempt, however futile it may seem,at healing their relationships? Rhetorical as these questions may seem, I believe, the answers lie with you….


My Dear - 42

To Friend

My Dear Friend,

We both know best how we maintain this facade. Sordid
attempts at conversation, ill-at-ease gaps of silence,
when both of us search for some topic to talk on. It
wasnt always this way. A smile still crosses my face
when people mistake us for brothers or call me by your

It wasn't this way till I overlooked your sarcasm,
however caustic it was. It wasn't this way till I
looked beyond words to the 'good' I saw in you, till I
looked at the qualities I admired. It wasn't like this
too, till I left my self respect in a closet for
friendship. It wasn't this way till I tried to patch
up quarrels and say 'sorry' even when I knew it was no
fault of mine. It wasn't this way too till I learnt
from past experiences and tried to avoid anything that
you or your family did not like!!! It wasn't this way
till I realised what you secretly thought of me...
Thank God for the mistakes he lets us commit...

I was wrong in feeling that i could carry it on
forever... I cannot. Tis not because the friendship is
no longer valuable to me ever since I found a life
companion, but that I have some-one else's self
respect to worry about. I wish you could recognise the
same as I did when you walked the same path!!

Though it wrenches my heart
I cannot live this facade
The dwindling association
Is an intentional decision
To reduce the pain
That numbs my brain...

I hope you understand.. but then its too late for such
hope and to late for understanding!!!

Best Wishes .. Anyways !!

My Dear - 40

To Finance

My Dear Fiancé,

I hope I will remember to give you this letter when you are still my
fiancé. I know that in my selfishness to marry the adorable you I
would conveniently forget to tell you this important piece of my life
and that is why I am making this letter as public as possible by
sending it to Ammani.

When I was a kid, I used to be a brat. I was a brat in the worst sense
that is comparable to Calvin (sans Hobbes). I used to beat up my elder
sister (who I love now), break most of the fragile things (especially
the ones marked unbreakable), throw stones at the family elders, had
two life threatening accidents and never studied an alphabet till I
was six years old. But the whole issue is not about me.

My mom, who bore the brunt of my almost violent childhood lost 20% of
her body mass. My maternal grandmother, unable to see her daughter
reduce to want, cursed me. She cursed me with a brat exactly like what
I was. Even though things changed after I was a little older, my
grandmother told me that the curse was real and was afraid that it
might become true. I love my mom and my grandma but I am still cursed.

I hope you realize the seriousness of the situation. I hope you love
me enough to still marry me. I hope we only have daughters.

head over heels in love with you,


My Dear - 41

To Utopia

to my dear utopia

ive never known what you were, and yet, now i know, ive lost you..forever. i stopped believing in hazy mists, i grew up.

au revoir

Friday, August 18, 2006

My Dear - 39

To Nilu

Dear Nilu,

I don't want to embarrass you. But had I found you when I was 12 years old, I might have had better chances at emotional survival. I may not have been this bitter. Or this fragile.


My Dear - 38

To S

Dear S,

What is it exactly that we accomplished in those hours in Madras? I don't have any memories from that day. I haven't forgotten any of that day, not enough to make a memory of it. I was heartbroken. That Punjabi Boy had broken my heart. You were dazzled by V, sitting in that elusive United States. Like eels, they were slipping out of hands and leaping back when they felt like.

At night over that miserable messenger, you had typed out (hiding from your boss) lyrics of a Telugu lullaby. That summer I spent in the hills, I called you instead of called Punjabi Boy.

When I talk of you to others, I am told my eyes fill with something. I hop onto your blog, drag every word onto my soul, and sometimes see glimpses of me. When V left you, and you had that inevitable series of "love failures", I felt guilty for being in a relationship that made me happy. While I wanted you to stop loving me, (as I urged myself to stop loving you), I didn't want you to forget me. It was selfish of me. But it was the only way I could preserve a part of me that had grown old beyond recognition. I sung Gulzar's songs to you at the Marina. And you had sent me little tears in emails for months after.

With all my just-ending teenage angst, six years later, I now know that I loved you. But more than anything else, I am grateful for all the kindness you had in your heart for a girl of 19 years. Love is relatively easier than kindness.



Thursday, August 17, 2006

My Dear - 36

To Ma

You never existed for me. As far as I was concerned my mother was Poonam.
Poonam and I were the only people inside my circle, which i had just learnt
to draw. Everything else was out. Not only me, even my friends and little
cousins thought so. I would run to her if I was hungry, had a bruise to be
fussed over or had to get my unruly hair to behave. I would see you silently
going through the chores of life with strange silence. I remember crying
myself hoarse as a toddler who had just learnt to walk but not enough to get
down the flight of stairs, probably hungry or just hungry for attention. The
steps divided my world from yours.
And you went on sweeping the court yard as if I did not exist. To me you
were someone living in our house who was just there. The why and the
wherefores did no trouble me.
I found your silence strange. You would never show emotions, no smiles, no
anger, no pain, nothing. You would not chatter away with other women. Always
the same pale expression busy with household work. I was four years old and
I hated Holi for some weird reason. You had tucked me in your arms with my
body resting on your waist. Someone came and colored your face a dirty blue.
I just bit you on your neck, probably showing my anger for making me a part
of this bizzare ongoing. I waited to be scolded, thrown down or shouted at.
You tugged me closer and execused yourself from the scene citing my
discomfort as the reason. This cleared one doubt in my mind. I did exist for
you and you cared about me.

The 1984 riots were too complex for my mind to comprehend. The schools were
closed. I had all the time in the world to think who you were. I would lock
myself and imagine you to be the house maid or may be a wicked queen who
wanted to kill the good prince. One day I found your sindoordaani. May be
this is the wicked magical powder that made you so cold. I opened it and
wondered what this red powder was that only you religiously adorned. I don’t
know how I spilled it all over me. The mirror showed an ugly red incarnation
of me and I was scared. You just walked in asked me to leave and cleaned up
with the same silence I have begun to hate so much. I wanted you to say
something, anything for that matter. I learnt another thing, it was not the
red powder but something else.

It took me another fifteen years to understand to what it was. That you had
just started to "live" with your husband, my father, after twenty years of
your married life. Twenty years of separation and ill treatment at your in
laws place had made you numb. It aint easy to be giving birth to one girl
after another, and yet another. You were fighting chronic depression and a
host of other diseases related to stress, emotional trauma and malnutrition.
To me you were just a hypochondriac or plain lazy, responsible for passing
to me my maddening migraine in the name of heredity.

I gave up my efforts to attract your attention and somewhere down the line
accepted the fact that you were my mother and Poonam, my eldest sister.
Though it did not change anything, but it certainly made my repulsion and
hatred for you more strong. What kind of a mother is she? Never calls me pet
names, never cuddles me, does not even cook fancy things for me. What a
contrast she was to other mothers I knew. I envied my friends. I ignored
you. I did not need your attention or approval, I resolved. I would be
embarassed if my friends came home. You would be in a crumpled saree, hair
in disarray, going about your work. A far cry from my friends' mothers who
would be impecabbly dressed, with lipstick, manicured hands and offer us
fizzy drinks and muffins!

You would never serve anything. All you had to offer was your sweetmeat,
which i secretly liked, but could not bring myself to say so. How could I
serve it?
I hated you for not being fluent in English. You could not come to my PTAs.
How many times did I join my dad in poking fun at your sad english. We would
laugh at your daily pooja and weekly vrats, even your home remedies were
scorned. I hated your penny pinching. Now my dad was also inside my circle.
It took another twenty years for me to realize how you managed a family of
five on a small govt. salary my dad earned. I failed to see only you could
have seen me through my expensive schooling which was almost 50% of what dad
earned. Only you could have put Gangajal in my dying pet’s mouth and only
you could have accommodated the faceless laborer couple in our backyard when
they lost everything to fire.

I had found a companion in dad who I guess was also embarassed by you. But
you still did not react. You snatched my friend, my dad also one day. The
grinding stone fell on your feet and you could not get up. I stood there
amused, laughing my head off. My dad snapped at me. That day I was convinced
you were a witch who had won over my dad.

Sometimes, I saw the glimpses of the mother in you. How you dreid my tears
and taught me division when I had scored a measly 3 on 20 in Maths. I was in
class third. I never failed a single test after that. Still it was not
enough for me to forgive you.
I was thirteen and more irritated by you now when you considered my
menstrual cramps as food poisoning and offered me the obnoxious Pudin Hara.
I don't know why I conviniently forgot that you did the laundry when I had
stained my bed for the first time, without even grumbling. Or how you rushed
out to get me a pack of STs, when I had ran out of them and was writhing in
pain. “That’s not the brand I use,” is all I had said. Too embarrassed to
let you help me. To me you were no one. I would swing in and out of the
house without bothering to inform you. Threw food and tantrums much more
than a normal teenager. But you never reacted.
How I hated you for not taking a stand, so many times. To my adolescent mind
conditioning, patriarchy and subjugation were alien words. You always cried
in silence.

How much venom I had when you had refused me to go to Delhi and study on my
own. Who were you to tell me? You had no place in my life. Soon my teenaged
arrogance and shallowness, gave way to logic and I began to comprehend who
you were and why. But again you were never first on my priority. First
friends, then boyfriends, then job. They kept playing musical chair with my
priorities. My circle of life grew and shrunk but it never accomodated you.
You never figured. I was busy now. You calmly accepted your daughter's bad
marriage, her death. You even made way for another widowed daughter and
calmly went ahead to raise their two children each. You found it difficult
to differentiate between my friends and boyfriends. But never asked. You
calmly accepted my choice of my life partner with enthusiasm and never spoke
a word about him after I stopped mentioning him.
I did not hate you now but I never stopped to give you what you deserved.
Not even when I returned home drunk one night and you were up waiting to
have food with me. Not even then when you found a cigarette in my bed.
Never, ever.

Now you have once again become the pale ghost and frail copy of what you
were when I was a little child. Weak, limp, hairless and stone like. You
have closed your circle and I dont find myself inside it.

Please speak to me. I know chemo drains you. I know you are in pain but ma,
please spare a look. I travel miles to see you. But you look through me. I
cant come back now, ma.

How could you do this to me. Why did you have to turn yourself in a
blackwhite picture? Oh I hate that garish maala on that picture. Ma, please
say something, anything...
Failed to edit it to 300 words... catharsis is a long process i guess.

My Dear - 35


Dear, naah Hateful S,

I HATE YOU!! I hate you more than I have or ever will hate anyone in my life. You not only broke my heart, you wrenched it out of my body and stamped it over and over again under your foot. You were the nicest, kindest, most hard-working person I knew and probably still are, you never raised your voice or hand on me, but you still managed to hurt me more than cruel words or an abusive partner could have.

You said you couldn't bear to see me cry so you stopped calling or emailing. If only you knew that it only made me cry more. But thanks to you, I know that I will never cry like that again, the worst of my life is over, nothing can ever hurt me like you did, I can never ever feel that low again. I haven't shed a tear since that day.

I am now married to a wonderful guy who loves me and takes care of me and I love him too. My days are filled with routine, happiness and contentment. I have a great job and lots of friends. And I Hate You because the mention of your name still wrenches my heart and erases all thought but you from my mind and I can't help but hate you for all that you did and didn't do. I wish you had been rude or abusive or unfaithful, so I could find a reason why we didn't end up together. I wish I had the strength of character to live alone for the rest of my life with only memories of you. Time and Distance heals? BAAH, it has only made it worse...It's been 5 years and 5000 miles and I STILL HATE YOU!!!


My Dear - 34

To you

My Dear,

We've definitely got someplace in life together, considering we're contemplating marriage and all. All couples, all over the world have their share of disagreements and I daresay we have more than a generous share of ours. But, we still move on hand-in-hand, together.

In moments of volcanic anger, you've asked me what keeps us together...more than once.

My reply is this - it's love. Our love isn't about roses and outings and gifts. We love enough to know each other's shortcomings and try and fill in those gaps, so that as a whole, we're an almost perfect being, in spite of being imperfect individuals.

I know things get tough. But please be patient in such times. Nothing is worth letting go of what we have. I hope you feel the same.

Love...actually :)

My Dear - 33

To Me

Dear Thirty Year Old Me,

Are you happy?
Where do you live?
What do you do for a living?
Are you in love?
Have you had your heart broken?
Did you ever finish War and Peace?
Did you get your book published?
Have you started your company? Your school? How does that feel?
Have you travelled the world?
Are you still unique?
Do you lead a stereotypical life?
Are you jaded?
Do you still talk to your little sister everyday? Do you still share that magical telepathic relationship with her?
Do you still talk to Mummy and Daddy everyday?
How is Caesar?
Are you still friends with Laasya?
Did you meet the perfect person?
Do you like your body now?
How does your hair look?
Do you still have acne?
Have you managed to be attracted to somebody sensible?
Do you like your toes?
Are you fluent in German?
Can you speak Russian?
Did you learn to play the piano? Tap dance?
Can you swim better now?
Do you still like eating rice?
Do you still laugh out loud every time you read 'Rosy is my Relative'?
Do you still think Fitzwilliam Darcy is perfect?
Has there been a better movie than The Hours?
Are you in touch with all the friends you could not imagine life without at 22? Where are they now, and what do they do?
Have you lived in a house with stairs in it?
Do you have a pottery room?
Did you figure out why you're here?
Are you saving the planet?
Can you cook?

lots of love,
Twenty Two year old Me

My Dear - 32

To Appu

Dear Appu,

Was it worth it?
You lied with the stories you cooked,
You mocked, you cheated.
My friendlessness disgusted you,
You never failed to mention how alone I was,
Where were yours when you felt betrayed?
"I love you! I love you!" you would scream, when needing a night of passion,
While I made love to you, you lusted for another man,
My genuine love for you was my only concession.
One day, you lost respect, you stopped talking,
All I asked was to know why, a reason, any reason.
I drowned in my work,
You'd go around telling everyone how I was a jerk.
I would cry, be left alone, only to see your wrath at my tears,
You had no compassion, no empathy, just like the rest of our peers.
You moved down looking for love,
You tried, you made more cry, you wasted your prime years.
The first three months, we should've stayed away babe,
You have no idea, what good friends we would've made.

Yours always,

My Dear - 31

To Akka

Dear Akka (a recalcitrant blogger),

This is my nth comment on your blog. You have still not published any of the n-1 comments. You are making me more 'inquisitive' by the day, by not publishing anybody's comments, let alone mine. It is not even the non-publishing that matters, it is the absence of any reply (your indifference) that breaks my heart. I live by others' comments, appreciations, criticisms and feedback. I am choking for breath, will you ever reply?

The Visitor

My Dear - 30

To S

Dear S,

I have asked myself this question for three years and played this in my head a million times but I still cannot understand why you did what you did to me. Now my heart is filled with so much hatred that I cannot even love my husband. Today I still wonder what it would have been like had you not broken my heart. I still dream on the life we would have had.

Today I sit here with the biggest compromise of my life; my marriage and I wonder why one of us had to compromise, whereas you live the life you always wanted. I wonder are you a better person than me because that’s what I have been made to believe that good things happen to good people or is my belief wrong? I am jealous of you, I wish I had your life but then I left it all for you… so that you and I could be together and today I have lost everything.

But you know all this, you’ve known for a long time you’ve just not bothered to do anything about it , but that’s ok. I just wanted to tell you that I am fine, We all learn through our mistakes and I have learnt too, I have learnt to be selfish as only selfish people survive, I have learnt that promises do not account for much in life, I have learnt that sacrifices are works of foolish people and the most important lesson never love someone so much that they can hurt you.

So at the end of this all I would like to say thank you. Thank you for hurting me so much that I will never be hurt again.

Yours truly,


My Dear - 29

To the one adjacent

Dear Person in the adjacent cube,

The first day you walked in to the office, I expected you to be younger. At lunch you said you were single and my curiosity rose. You slowly took over the controls. Your quality to attract people won you many friends around the office. People would come and talk to you, and it was not just business. It made me jealous. We talked only business. I wanted to be one of those people whom you talked to so freely. I used to think of topics and current issues to talk in your presence. But they would never come out, never could take the many opportunities that came my way. But somehow I had cultivated the knack of getting my foot in my mouth whenever you were around. I would curse myself and so many times swore not to talk of things am not sure of, but I havent changed a bit.
I do not understand how you manage to get the best out of people. You always say the right things, as if u know what we are thinking. I began trusting you, so much that you were the first person whom I confided to when the case happened. I remember how you had consoled me when everything was over and I was shattered over the outcome. How can I ever forget! Being a male you knew what was hurting me.
You have a special place in my heart but I know it will always be closed. I couldnt open it to you, ever. How I wish circumstances were different, but how different. You are so near but yet so far. Sometimes I wonder is it natural to fall for your manager??

Yours truly,
Person in the adjacent cube.

My Dear - 28

To Girl

My Dear Girl.

This is my first response to you.

I have seen you from the days you were a little girl to this day.
The same innocence, the same kindness, the same little girl deep inside.
Though you have grown to be a beautiful lady today, you are the same little girl for whom I have cared and cried for.

Nevermind those around you couldn't see the real you, nevermind the one who you loved and whom you thought loved you; only to betray, nevermind those faithless friends of yours, nevermind the group who awaits to knife you with their words. For me, you are still the same little girl with care and kindness.

Your tears have reached me, don't ask me how. I hoped and hoped for my rays touch you. To remove your pain from your tender little heart. For you still are the same little girl, with care and kindness.

One day, you will see and cherish the beautiful things and people around you and only that. You might even forget me, once that happens. It doesn't matter to me even if you do. As you will always remain as the same little girl; with care and kindness in her heart.

The Moon

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

My Dear - 27

To Stranger

Dear Stranger,

It’s been a year since we met or spoke. Gosh if someone would have told me I won't talk to you or see you for a whole year I would've laughed it off, the thought itself was unimaginable back then. I know you left for your reasons but you didn't have the decency to inform me, I would have never questioned you. What hurts the most is that you vanished into thin air; yeah I get to hear about you from common people but how about picking up the phone one day and just saying Hello! If you only knew what a mess the past year has been for me, wanted to share so much with you, wanted to hear so much from you. They say time is the biggest healer unfortunately not in my situation. I miss you and think about you every single day. The day we first met to the last, all those hours we spent endlessly chatting over the phone making plans and when we would meet it would turn out to be a 24 hour date. The weekend getaways, the fighting and making up, us not saying a word but still understand what’s going through each other’s mind. The time we spent together is so fresh in my memory, we were inseparable at one point in life and today we live in separate countries. Just come back to where you belong and you belong with me not swallowed in the sea.

Waiting for you

My Dear - 26

To Ammani

My dear Ammani,

Hats off to you for the idea! I read all the letters. I laughed at a couple, tried to act as if a lot of those letters did not bring tears to my eyes. Wondered about atleast 15 people to whom I wanted to write to. I wrote a couple of letters, thinking at the end, it would make me feel better. But you know what, it didn't. It made me feel worse. Especially because both those letters were intended for people who I meet and am in touch with regularly. It made me feel bad that I did not have the guts to tell those people directly, and maybe it is just me, but it made me feel very very sad to put those thoughts down and send it to a public site.

I guess some things will remain too personal to share.

Yours Truly
Mad Mad :-)

Monday, August 07, 2006

My Dear - 25

To Instructress

My Dear Slimming World Instructress

I didn’t want to miss this chance to tell you what I felt undergoing those “slimming classes”. What a motivation you were, 20 inches in waist and always wearing a size 6 top and a cropped trousers or gym pants, you made sure that we could see your figure well and clearly, didn’t you.

Motivation it was, because when we struggled to count the calories, instead burned by the envy that you caused showing off your 20 inches waist like that. Why do you always put on that smirk when we are weighed in the meeting? Because you secretly believed that we could never lose those extra tyres around our tummy?

Let me tell you a secret. That week when we were humiliated when you wittingly read out our weigh ins …we secretly popped in two malteasers in our mouth. Oh and you must know, I had my aunt send me home made cashew burfi. It was so delicious that I had two 2 inch square pieces at one go. Fantastic! You wouldn’t know those tastes would you, not on your nicotine stained mouth.

Have you ever tasted cashew burfi? Or parathas with Indian ghee? Or badam halwa? Oh how about badusha…melt in the mouth king of sweets - badusha with a glistening coating of sugar crystals? What is your tongue worth if you haven’t tasted these goodies? You’d probably drool over a double chocolate chip cookie sundae and pull deeply into your fag to ward off your cravings. Yeah I know I’ve seen your weakness, on days when the nicotine patch is not there on your arm, you’ve probably had your money’s worth of fags.

I’ll have the last word…having two tyres of fat and being able to relish on the goodness of cashew burfi and sugar coated badusha is far better than your 20 inch waist and tar stained teeth.

I’m so glad I quit your class.



My Dear 24

To Destiny

My Dear Destiny,

Try as you might,
With All your might,
I will make it light,
For I've seen the light.

Your disobedient,

My Dear - 23

To Writer

Dear Mr. Writer,

We know you are good at using words and all, but please, for God's sake (and yes, we know you don't believe in him) stop going on and on about your literary skills. We beg you, beseech you, plead on our knees. Just stop scratching your words on our faces.

Yours frustratedly,

Essar notepads

P.S. Brouhaha is not spelt broohah

Saturday, August 05, 2006

My Dear - 22

To Cell

Dear Cell,
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying.
Stop multiplying....


My Dear - 21

To Ammani

Dear Ammani,
I've toyed with writing you this letter for a while now. I've spoken out "the letter" during my shower, I've run through it atleast a hundred times in my head. I know exactly the things I wish I could say to them, because I've been keeping it all in for so long. And when I read that you were asking for entries, I thought to myself that atlast I could find some way of spilling it all out. Just a few minutes ago, I mustered up the courage to write it out. But in a silly way, I'm now scared that writing everything out in words will seal its fate. And I have to keep trying. Not just for me, but for both him and me. And so instead i'm now sending you letter #2.

with love,

My Dear - 20

To Deepti

Dearest Deepti,

Where are you, my dearest friend? We were the greatest of friends, to the envy, of your elder sister and her friends and our other friends. A boy and a girl in one of the purest relationships. Our worlds were thankfully innocent then. The world became a wonderful place to live in. You made it even more wonderful for me. We were there for each other, no matter what. You sided with me even when it meant getting bullied by your elder sister of 7 evil years. How we both used to hate her? We used to have dinner twice a day. Once, at your house and then, again, at my house or vice-versa; so that we could still be together.

Now, I don’t even know where you are and how you are doing. I haven’t met you at all after that tearful day, 18 years ago, when we had promised each other to always be in touch, no matter what. You must be the same age as mine. Now, you must be a beautiful woman (well, you will always be beautiful, no matter what). You, like me, would be experiencing the greatest experience known as life, in all its shades. You would have other wonderful friends too. You, like me, would be wondering about your dearest friend, me. For all I know, you might be married and might be the mother of a son. Who knows, that son of yours might have a “girlfriend”, and their friendship might serve as a constant reminder of ours to you.

Beautifully converge only to diverge. Sigh!!! one of the biggest ironies in life.

Well, I hope we meet someday. My best wishes and love to you. I would always pray for your well-being and happiness. May all your dreams come true.

Regards and Love,

Friday, August 04, 2006

My Dear - 19

To Boss


I am happy that you announced the awards over the team meeting. I am happy that atleast 1/3d of the team was worthy of your attention and received the awards. I am happy that 2 of immediate colleagues have received the award.

However, I am unhappy about many selections. I have more than just a shred of doubt over some selections. I have absolutely no doubt about the sinister way in which you are choosing to disregard contributions from deserving colleagues. I have complete confidence in your ability to go low by choosing to reward non-performers.

And by the way...

- Did you know that it was me who initiated the Knowledge Growth practice in our team and not Antony?
- Did you know that it was me who prepared and submitted 2 Intellectual Capitals that got approved in the organizations KM group and it was not Siva?
- Did you know that I have the second highest number of project releases this year and Manoj had atleast 4 less than mine?
- Did you know that I have saved atleast 3 PMs from dangerous escalations saved their faces in the past one quarter?
... and so many more that I can keep on listing to a blank wall!

If you knew, atleast 4 of those awards would have been on my name.

Your Reportee

My Dear - 18

To TV Serial Director

Dear director,

I have been watching all your TV serials and wanted to mail you. Now that I had your mail id thought of conveying few things which were in my mind.

Could you please let me know why you preferred to show this story more focussed on a young lady’s suffering? I am sick with the way you are showing your title. On what basis do you prepare the slots and shots. Your suspenses are monotonous that my five year old daughter too has started telling the next step. I could not understand why your stories always has a drunkard, a Widow sister, and a cruel mother-in-law. Are you very depressed in your life? Why are you not practical and realistic? Do you think that our ladies always like sentimental. Your heroine says that it is immoral to have two wives. Why couldn’t you think the same for your personal life? There had been lots of gossips that you are a womaniser. You were portraying through the heroine’s dad that alcoholism helps no one. Don’t you realise it for yourself? My friend who works in a five star hotel says that you visit their bar often, and have to be lifted most of the weekends. Your serial always has children missing their father. Don’t you realise that you hardly visit home to spend time with your children.

Please do not be a stranger. Preach what you practise. Try to portray few positive characters.

Also keep visiting your house regularly. Your family is missing you.

I do not mind the latest gossip of an affair with your heroine.

Yours truly,


(If you remember your original and legal wife)

My Dear - 17

To friend

My dear friend,

Do you remember the day we met nine years ago? We thought we'd make great friends despite our contrasting interests and we did. I taught you to ride a bike, to analyze share markets and to solve crosswords. Whenever I solved a puzzled faster than you, you'd say - "I so want to be you." I never forgot how you beat me in a game of chess one day and jumped like a victor of war. You taught me how to choose classy outfits, introduced me to contact lens and didn't give up until I replaced my 'Bata' unisex sandal with a pair of trendy footwear. Whenever I struggled with the color harmony of my dress, you'd tell me what a pathetic learner I was.

My aim was to become an Economist, while you had no such lofty ambitions. You wanted to marry early, stay at home and take care of your kids. 'Oh, loser' I had murmured in my head condescendingly, when I heard you say that. Honestly, I couldn't think a whit of being you!

A couple of days ago, out of curiosity, I ran a google search on your name and found the result taking me to the website of London school of Business. I found your name and picture in the list of candidates who have successfully completed MBA. In the picture, you looked fresh and young, full of energy and zeal. You too must be curious to know what I do, but I am sure google wouldn't return any result if you searched. I fell in love, married at 20 and I am a housewife now, serving endless meals, taking care of old in-laws, a cute year-old son and a loving husband. I have exactly the kind of wardrobe you suggested I must have, I visit a beauty salon every fortnight and I wear footwear with a 3-inch heel. But, you know what? Today, my heart is filled with a yen to be you. I am overwhelmed with pain and agony, when I realize that today's 'you' is none other than yesterday's 'I'.

Take care,
An old friend.

My Dear - 16

To Manager

Dear Manager of McDonald,

This letter is to notify of you my resignation as of September 1st. It has been my utmost pleasure working for f#@%ers like you. I have found the experience I was initially looking for in a low life, power-hungry, corrupted fast food restaurant. I've learned to despise your lowly customer service and disgusting environment. I actually sometimes wonder if the beef you are serving is more disgusting than your work 'ethics'. However, I am greatly thankful and immenesly satisfied taht I spent more than an year in this dump---err--- restaurant because it taught me to never stoop this low again. As of September 1st, I would to resign my wonderful positon as a customer service specialist. But one thing for sure, I still have no clue what you mean by being a specialist because I know the job you expect me to do hardly requires any speciality. Once again, thank you for providing me with this invaluable experience. One more thing, you can be sure that I would not return to work here again and I am willing to promise this on the Big Mac you made four hours ago!!!



My Dear - 15

To Boss

Dear Ignoramus of a Boss Person

Wearing you ignorance and political incorrectness on your sleeve 24/7 is not a grand idea; especially when the cumulative IQ of your diverse workforce exceeds yours exponentially. Don’t you realize that every time you ask the friendly Indian lady about woman’s rights in India and follow it up with a little discourse on Afghanistan( courtesy CNN), you cause us to erupt into howls- internally? Stop, our bellies can’t take it any more.

What is it about the soft mannered gay gentleman in the next building that riles you so much? Are you afraid he might make a pass at you? Here, here, let me put you out of your wretched misery. Darling, your fat, balding farmhand charms might work on your wife who has borne you five + children, but I believe that fella is looking for a little more. So the next time around, during lunch time could we please cut out the “gay-luv-uh” jokes?

Speaking with an accent is perfectly acceptable. Now I know it’s difficult to get that piece of information through your thick cranium into your pea sized brain. So let’s try this once again. Speaking with an accent is FINE, especially if you possess a cute French one. By the way, did you know that chicks dig cute foreign accents? You could ask your teenage daughter the next time you guys are discussing family matters like her reckless sleeping around and your wife’s binging tendencies. And another thing, spare us the gory details later on. No, we are not prudes, infact we love dissecting your personality and exchanging gossip as much as the next person. But its time we gave it up. You are beginning to affect our productivity and we really want to move on, away from you and your stupid, insensitive jokes.


The Snooty One

My Dear - 14

To best friend

To my best friend,

A few weeks ago when you told me that you were in an unhappy marriage and didn't love you husband - my heart broke. It was at that I realised the inadequecy of email, chat and cheap telephone rates - things that I am usually so grateful for. what was the point? You were thousands of miles away and I couldn't hug you. Take you in my arms and tell you it would be ok.

In fact, I couldn't even tell you what I really felt. That your husband was an asshole and that your motherinlaw needed a good kick up her ass. That it was time your parents stopped worrying what other people thought. That you didn't need this shit. You are wonderful. You deserve someone who loves and adores you. Who wakes up every morning realising how lucky he is to be married to you. Leave him I wanted to say. Go back to your parents take up a job.

I wanted to call him up and abuse him. Call up his mother and ask her what gave her the right to say the things she did. Tell her that her son was not proof of her being some divine/superiour soul that God had chosen to have a boy. It was just chromosomes. Nothing else. You and your boy are not special I wanted to yell.

I wanted to tell you what I would have done in your situation. Fight. Yell. Throw things.

Instead I listened. Made soothing noises. Mildly suggested you take a holiday in your Mother's place for a few months. He'll see how wrong he's been. He'll come back and say he's sorry. He'll change.

There were questions things I was too scared to ask and say. Does he hit you? Why are you thinking of having children with this person? I love you. I'm sorry.

My Dear - 13

To Athai

To my dear athai (aunt)…..
A general saying that nephews resemble their mama (uncle) nieces resemble their athais (aunts)………not only in physical appearance but also in character.
When I was a new born baby I resembled my father later my bubby athai says my Patti (grand ma). But now my resemblance is more or less similar to that of my mother.
I keep my mother busy for 24 hrs in taking care of me and I have started giving sounds like ‘aah’ ‘ooh’ if nobody is beside me. I think the first word which Iam going to say is athai……. Iam trying for it…. As soon as I utter the word I will give you a call.
Do you know athai …….. On the naming ceremony I waited for your call to hear my name from you … But I was disappointed.
But do not bother all those who utter my name cannot become my athai. It is always you and only you…..
I hear the voice of bubby athai over the phone whenever she speaks to my mother.Iam eager to hear your voice too...
I received the gift sent by you .I really like it. You saw me as a small baby in the photos but by the time you come to India I will be a toddler and will be ready to play with JIKKU anna (brother).
Iam awaiting your arrival and also eager to meet JIKKU anna (brother).
With this letter of mine-
I honor my athai who wrote about me in JIKKU two months before.
By now you would have recognized me …….
Yes, Iam none other than the two month old niece of AMMANI athai and chinna AMMANI athai!!!!!

with love

My Dear - 12

To Sweetheart


I don't know how to say that I love you, without both you and me getting uncomfortable and not knowing what to do next. Me - I'd like to hug you and kiss you, but there are some invisible barriers that I do not know how to break. And perhaps you'd like to do the same, except you'd like me to do it first... because there are invisible barriers for you too.

When you used to mail me, signing yourself as "love, p", I thought you really did. And I did too...
Anyway, after some time we stopped signing our mails that way. Then we stopped sending mails altogether. Then we stopped meeting. Then you fell in love with another guy. That didn't work. You married yet another guy. That isn't working out either.

It's not your fault, sweetheart. We were both kids, and I let you go because I thought you'd be happier that way. It kills me that you're unhappy now, but it also kills me that there's nothing I can do about it.

I don't know what I should have done or what you should have done. All I know is that everybeat of my heart is yours, and I will never let you be unhappy again, if I could have it my way. This I swear.

If my life means anything at all, there will never be a day that you feel you're any lesser than anyone else on earth.

But.. I have a favour to ask of you - could you sign your mails "love, p" again? Even if you don't mean it?


My Dear - 11

To brother

Backboneless Brother.

"Anna" now sounds too familiar an address for someone who's grown so distant.

Our mother is fine, though you don't care about that. I hope you're taking care of your wife and kid.

Sometimes when I think of you, though that doesn't happen often... sometimes when I think of you I wonder where it went wrong for you.

We didn't grow up together, so I don't really know you or what you went through. Was it that you needed amma when you went to college? Did you need someone to lean on but could find only the old, unreliable shoulders of grandma - whom everyone hates anyway? We didn't have a dad - so you couldn't have missed that - but was it that you had to take on responsibilities before you were ready for it?

Or was it nothing to do with your youth - is it just the way you're wired?

What about post college, when you struggled to find a job? Did that hit your self esteem? Did it trouble you that your younger brother was more successful? Is that why Pati once told me "don't do too well in the exams"? Did it trouble you that I didn't respect you, the way they do in the movies? I want to tell you this - I would have, if you'd only held yourself up. You didn't have to be brilliant or a stud. You forced me to "respect" you but you never earned it.

But what most troubles me is the way you treated amma. She's gone through a lot, and she's still going through a lot, but maybe she has got used to it. She struggled to get you a good girl to get married to and suffered more than you know during your marriage. And while you gallivanted around with your wife amma kept waiting for your phone calls, wondering if you were doing fine. Was it wrong of her to ask you and your wife some basic questions? Did you have to obey your wife when she told you to stop talking to your own mother? Did your wife's tears matter much more than your mother's?

Why couldn't you call her for your daughter's birth!? She was in the same city then! What could she tell others - that she had become a grandma but she was yet to see her grandchild?

She still loves you, amma, in case you were wondering. She has started going to church - which is crazy considering we're brahmins - but I don't tell her anything because she has to do what gives her peace. She always smiles, she always talks cheerfully, but God knows what hell she goes through when she thinks of you. She still tells me your wife is a good person. I say yes, ma, we don't know what pressures they're going through. And she nods because she believes me, our naive mother, and that it is no one's fault but fate that has led to your not talking to her anymore. She even went the rounds of quite a few astrologers with your horoscope, wanting to find out if you would talk to her again. And she prays more now.

I don't know if I have the right to judge, but it seems to me like you must be ashamed of yourself.

I don't hate you, but I definitely don't love you. You're too distant for any emotion. The most emotion I have is a sense of regret, and a little shame, when others talk of their own brothers, and how strong a bond they have. I just think that you will grow up someday.

Trust me, if we meet I won't talk of any of this. If we meet I will smile at your wife, play with your kid, act like we're the best of friends, and you'll feel that all is fine with the world, and all your decisions were right, and you treated us exactly the way you should have.

All the best. Hope your daughter grows up well.

My Dear - 10

To you


I dunno how you'll take it, coz even I don't know why I'm writing this.
But trust me this not to upset you, or moreover not to upset myself or
anyone else.

Its been more than 6 years we talked to each other, I always beloved we
were in love in all those prior 700 hundred days, and I still remember how
bitterly you cried when we left for UK.

I understand those must be tough initial days for you to survive alone in an
alien cold country. But still sometimes I wonder, after four months what
made you change that too drastically, and marry someone else. And here I was
waiting for you, trying out feng shui and what else for your happiness.
Perhaps that worked ;-)

No worries, now I'm happy, and I know you too are happy (damn,common friends
they never spare a chance to drop names..wicked pleasure u know!)

Well, you shouldn't have cried that, coz that's the last image of your's
I've. And I regret that.

I know its boring, so I'm.

Take good care of yourself!


My Dear - 9

To Sir

Dear Sir,

Do you know what it means to have a person refer to you as 'Sir'? Do you know that we need to feel the respect in order to give it to you? I suppose you have not heard of the self-esteem, since you squash it with gay abandon. Or, it could be a reflection of your own lack of it. I don't know.
But this much is for certain. You may think that you have power to swing my days from bad to terrible. It is true, but not for long. I have seen too many twerps in my lifetime to let your whims rules my mood. You call me bad? I'll show you that I am not only good at what I do - but also excel at it.
A decade later:I can't decide whether to feel sorry for you, hate you or thank you for what you did to me. It is because of your belittling me, that I put those very talents to use, and rose to my current coveted position. And now, you laugh nervously and proclaim I was the best!
I shall thank you - Thank you sir!

With regards,

My Dear - 8

Dear God,

Hope you get this letter as I am not sure about your existence and don’t know your address. I used to visit you in the temples and sing bhajans at school when I was growing up. Then there was a period when I thought you didn’t exist and stopped them. But now, I am not sure whether you exist or not. So many people believe in you (although in different names and forms) and that makes me wonder. When I see people of different denominations fight over a piece of land in your name, I think that you would not let people die, if you were around. But then people die and you don’t do anything about it and so I think that you are not there. Then there are things like the beautiful sunrise, perfect snow flake and colorful flowers that make me think that somebody has created these with a good plan. And so I wonder.

If you are there, I have a few requests for you. Stop innocent people from being killed through acts of violence, kids getting killed because of their parent’s actions and dogs getting killed because of a totalitarian regime. Tell people that you are only one and all human beings are really created equal regardless of how they look, speak or act. Make good people live longer and don’t let anybody suffer through old age on their own. And finally, make ice-cream and cheesecake good for us.

If I get a reply from you, I will know that I was wrong all this time. But if I don’t get a reply, I will continue wondering this way, till I see any or all of the above requests taken care of.


Wondering Agnostic

My Dear - 7

To Girl

Dear Girl,

I know you read ammani's blog. So I wont write anything about you here. Dont worry


Thursday, August 03, 2006

My Dear - 6

To Blue Book

What a pain you have become, my little blue book! A mill stone around my bleeding neck. You are not welcome anywhere, my blue companion. I am treated with suspicion when they see me carrying you around. Send sniffer dogs behind my back. And pry open my suitcase for dangerous wepons. How I wish I could throw you away and get another one!

But it wasn't always like this, I remember. I applied for you, my little book, months before I turned 18 and the day you arrived by post, it felt momentous. I was the first in the family to have one and I went around the house showing you off. As if I had earned you somehow. Some weeks later, you had your first little stamp and soon we were on a plane to a distant land.

You and I have been through some interesting times together. Do you remember the time, when I lost you in a far away place? And spent all morning crying my eyes out because, suddenly, I was nobody. A non-entity. And then you sprung up out of the blue. Someone had found you discarded in a rubbish pile. The money from my wallet was gone but you had been left behind. Even the burglar had little use for you.

And this morning, thanks to you, I was reminded once again where I stand in the hierarchy. How tempted I was to trade you in for a spanking new burgundy coloured booklet with an embossed crown on top. Then I could flash my new book everywhere and be granted entry almost instantly. I would be privileged. And be considered important.

But I hesitate. You are more than just a collection of stamped pages to me. You are my passport. To a place I call home.



My Dear - 5

To Priest

Dear Hindu Temple Priest,

I forgot to inform you that I am a divorcee. I dont know if you believe in divorcee remarriages, but you conducted my marriage very elegantly. I adored you the entire two hours. Your enthusiasm and your high spiritedness were infectious. I dont think I really was hiding it from you. I simply forgot to think about informing you and wonder about its implications as I am doing now. It hit me only in the end of the ceremony, when you turned around to the american audience and informed them "In Hindu culture, marriage is only once." Until then I completely was in awe with your beautiful english translation of every ritual and every verse that was being used there. I was so astounded, I forgot to giggle. But the rest of the crew who knew my status (not all) were given what they were waiting for, a shock treatment or a deride of the bride. Their reception of it became so obvious when none of them mentioned the irony for the next 24 hours they spent with us. You know dear priest, none of the americans knew I was a divorcee, you werent aware that none of them were a divorcee. But the most surprising thing is that I dont seem to hate you as much as many of the other audiences did. Your sense of humour was misunderstood quite a bit. I havent yet told her that you apologized when she stepped out to pour the arathi. I dont think you really care that the persons who acted as my mother and father were known to me only through my brother in law a month ago. In the photo were I am looking at the Arundhati star, my eyes have dilated and I look like a devil reflecting the conflicting reality. But you know dear priest, I was completely charmed by your happiness and enthusiasm over my marriage. We had to do it at the temple only because my father in law who let his son marry a divorcee, thought tying a mangal-sutra inside the temple was foremost important and he wouldnt negotiate on that. Did I also mention my periods had started that day! Why bother you with such unnecessary details? I didnt plan on that either, it so happens that my chart fluctuates quite a bit. My first marriage which happened in the presence of about 1000 relatives, quite elaborately draining the entire provident fund of my father's retirement, went flawless, except for a few ego-clashes of strange relatives. In this marriage not one of the persons who attended knew me for more than a month, except the groom. I dont know what you think about the "Kushboo episode." But I would like to inform you that I and the groom were sleeping the same cheap walmart purchased queen bed, which Mrs.Josephine thinks is too small for two of us, for about 6 months before we got married! You dont know what revolution you were creating. After all I am in love with my husband. Isnt that revolutionary?


bride a year ago.

My Dear - 4

To Beauty Parlour Aunty

My dear 'Beauty Parlour' Aunty,

Thanks for all the fish. And Thanks, but no thanks for all the titbits -The extremely creative
ways in which you have been giving me your impression of my beauty regime. Listen woman, I have better things to do than polish my face into shiny perfection or count every whitehead that
rears its ugly head on my nose. I have beautiful hair and the fact that I dont Mehendi every 4
weeks does not mean I have nothing going for me. Your suppressed but obvious disdain at the
hair on my upper lip; or the way you try 'not to' show your disapproval at my lack of
sophistication is despicable. Your kind advice to not let the sun and wind get anywhere close
to my face has been noted, thank you so much. There is nothing wrong with my nails though, I
just dont spend 4 hours a day filing them between every few lines of code that I write. No, I
dont want my hair coloured and I dont see why I should feel gauch about it. I just want you to
shape my eyebrows and wax my arms. You can give me simple beauty tips, if you please, butyour
opinion of what all I need to do to 'get my damaged assets back on line' is preferred canned. I
work hard all week and I dont need to know how sloppy I am because I use eye liner and not kohl
pencil. I dont even care, for God's sake. How often do I comment on your fat ass? It's bad for
the health too, u know? And have you though of whether the ammonia fumes from the bleach you
keep using has affected your brains? I think they have. You are very polite always, of course.
And I pay you for making me feel unfashionable and miserable after every visit.I look fine,
really, and I dont want you to thread the hair on the back of my cheek. It doesnt even show,
but to your ever watchful eye. The tiny hair on my fingers would not have bothered me but for
your branding of it. My elbows are not dry and I religiously apply moisturizer after a bath. I
am not that great with sunscreen, but a little bit of sun is good for everyone. I do not want
the pale lizard skin that you have acquired from sitting in the AC all day. Oh, and I always
realize how you 'quote' other people in order to make 'suggestions'. And that's exactly why I
always crinkle up my nose and talk about 'other' beauty parlours that dont use disposable
waxing strips or change the combs they use after every haircut. Oh, and just so you know, I
bring my own comb for the haircut quoting it as a personal preference, but that's just to make
you realise what I think about your sense of hygiene. Hah.


My Dear - 3

To Amma

My dear Amma

How are you? It has been 2 years since we spoke to each other and 4.5 years since I had last visited home.. strangely.. i dont miss you at all or appa or rajanna or senthanna or pappyka.. deep down I have always been ready for this.. it all started when, in a fit of anger.. all of 8 years old I said i wanted to run away from home and you said.." you should have.. ..why did you come back?".. or " I named you "... " because at that time she was our neighbour and i thought appa had a fancy for her.. i hate you as much as i hate your name.." or when i came back after 3 years in the hostel for the first time and both senthenna and rajanna wldnt bother to take their eyes of the TV to wish me a simple "hi".. or when i thought you were upset because akka did not like your choice of invitation for her "seemantham" and hence helpfully offered " dont worry amma.. is shall have that for! mine.." and you said.." dont you think i would do all this for you.. it is only for the first child .." - you know what?That is when i decided that for my marriage i will not invite you.. you would be the one who would be left out when the choice came to me.. and that is exactly what i did.. went ahead and married the man of my choice with just 2 of my close friends.. i was 13 when i decided that you would not be invited for my wedding.. to imagine that you have all been shocked when i finally did it at 23!.. or may be it was dear old akka.. who was painfully made aware by all and sundry that she is less beautiful and less intelligent than i was.. and that made her stoke your hate for me.. poor thing... atleast she made an effort to love me and failed.. and appa.. anyway you fed anger and hatred against appa in all of us.. even when we cowered when he lashed at the 2 of us in one of his innumberable mad fits.. you would put your arms around akka ! and say.." dont worry , let us both leave somewhere far a! way..&qu ot; and one day you did.. leaving me behind.. and i came crying and running to catch up with you.. you came backtoo..too bothered to even look behind where i was trailing you on the way back home..
For a good 23 years of my 26 years.. i spent wondering.. what was so wrong with me that my own mother hated me so much.. i look so much like you that there is no question of my being anybody else's.. even now there is no possible reason that i can think of.. my name would be too ridiculous a reason.. it has taken my wonderful hubby ,my best friend and a great but unfortunate friendship to tell me that i am worth being loved.. that sometimes people hate others for no reason at all.. that in fact, i am quiet likeable.. what hell i went through for those 23 years.. hating myself.. an educated, smart woman without a semblence of confidence.. a wimp who drank phenoyl at the age of 14.. (remember you saw me drink phenoyl and still waited till i went to school and the teacher bought me back vomiting and dizzy.. and you still didnt take me to the hospital.,.) ..

Of late a friend of mine said.." may be your mother pinned all her hopes on you.." - which one did i fail? i topped my class regularly, won more prizes than the rest of the family put together, am the only one to complete 2 competitive degrees with no donations whatsoever, am far ahead of any of the others in my corporate career.. all the parents wanted a daughter like me.. and they said so to you amma.. what was your problem with me.. I have moved away from you.. so that your ghost does not haunt the peaceful life that i enjoy now.. but sometimes.. i cant help but wonder.. Was it me.. or Was it something else..



My Dear - 2

To Snowhite

My Dear Snowhite,

It has been long since I have spoken to you in a loving manner but I shall do so today. I have said many things to you, and done many more, by which I accorded a high place in your heart, yet how I fell from it? It was all a matter of circumstance –

Circumstance, my dear, is a tricky thing, that even the best of men can turn to be the worst by it, and the worst of them to be the best – a king to a pauper, a child to a man, and a man to his fours – and I should know, dear, I should know – as I’ve known it all my days. Though upon your return I saw no act of atonement, nor the seeking of forgiveness, here I say - I forgive you as truly as you are borne in my thoughts daily – for how can you ask for forgiveness for something you’ve never thought you’ve wronged in the first place?

Yes – I understand that it was circumstance. Some may say that circumstance is no excuse – not at all, my dear, not at all. But they who do not assent to circumstances are very high people – not by fortune or rank but by nature and goodness – and high things are as high things aught to be: rare. And we can’t all be high and rare, can we now, my dear?

You are a good person – a good person, or you’d have never gained my love, attention, and care. Yet as time passes by, as I age, I am starting to understand that, not all good people can be good to all, and therefore, I forgive you - as I always have, as I always will.

With Love,

A mere beggar

My Dear-1

Letter to D

D. I am sorry it had to be done this way. It must have been overwhelming to hear the frustrations of a five year marriage, in one night, over the phone, nine thousand miles away. I have always wanted to tell you how difficult it is for me: to hear you lie all the time, to nod in mock agreement, when you deny having feelings for S. And how draining it is for me to console you after one of your emotional outbursts, when it's me that's hurting. I hate: how you never call me at work, and make me feel guilty by saying you did not want to 'disturb' me, when I ask. Believe me, sometimes, I want to be disturbed. How it's always me, that has to make up, regardless of whose fault it is. It really drives me nuts, your indifference. How it is always about your parents and brother and nothing else matters, not even me. How when it comes to them, money is no object. And how when it came to money, it's always ours if it's mine and only yours if it's yours. How you do not want to take responsibility for anything, everything that's wrong, including your health is mine or someones fault, but never yours. How we cannot have kids. How you always want to do the fun stuff, like browse the shops, but do not want to do the serious stuff, like wait in line at the cashier's. How little you've invested in this relationship, emotionally or otherwise, but demand so much from it. Family and friends tell me I was foolish, that I should have seen this. But how do I tell them, that this is the only way I know to love, giving it everything, installments are for mortgages. G.