Asmita Javdekar

Engineer turned Entrepreneur turned into a full time Homebody. Writing is my way of partying with all the crazy emotions in the world.
My parties have no themes or dress codes and you are always welcome to join in:)
  • Maid of Honour.
    Asmita Javdekar | 20-Feb-2019
    Divya was turning 17.This was her first year away from her family.Back home, birthdays meant a fragrant string of jasmine flowers, snugly perched over her tightly oiled bun of thick black hair.She would visit the local deity to seek blessings and her mother would prepare rice and jaggery kheer; a staple at all family celebrations.Besides this, her birthday was like any other day of her life.This year however, there was a vibe of uncertainty.Divya was in Banglore, a big city.She was not with her own family.Clearly, the local deity or the kheer was not even in the picture.In fact, no body around her was even aware of her birthday.She had gotten used to sweeping away these emotional nudges.She woke up, had her bath, prepared dabba for the kids of the household, made tea for the family, pulled out the eggs, bread, cereals, peanut butter for everybody’s breakfast and went to wake the kids up for school.Never before was their bedroom door locked!She gently knocked on it and called out to the older kid, Risha.
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 22-Feb-2019
    After being neck deep in completing her presentation for 32hours without a wink, Riddhi decided to head straight to Nook; a nearby Restobar. She definitely needed a stiff one, before hitting the sack.Meandering through the packed restaurant to her usual bar stool, her eye caught a couple of familiar faces.It was a mother- daughter duo from her building, probably waiting for the man of the house to join them for dinner.As soon as Riddhi waved across to them, the young mother distracted her little daughter to look away in another direction.Riddhi was fully aware that within the conservative walls of her building compound, her care a damn lifestyle and reckless ways were frowned upon.Not being rattled at all, she ordered her Taslisker double on the rocks and munched away on the accompanying soya chips and almonds. Deciding to forgo dinner, she called for an Uber and moved into the open patio for a quick smoke.Vandana and her very sleepy six year old were looking for a rickshaw to get back home. Riddhi offered th
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 01-Mar-2019
    Manju’s entry into the world was perniciously timed with her mothers exit. Post the tumultuous delivery of daughter number 3; Manju’s father and his family had stormed out of the village Mission hospital, leaving behind the few minutes old, scrawny Manju to be welcomed with nothing but a frail and wailing grandmother.    Manju’s grandmother worked hard to make ends meet with the additional burden bestowed upon her by God.Manju grew up to be a quiet and responsible child.Although her granny took good care of her,Manju felt a sense disgust about her self.She often wished to feel beautiful, but neither her appearance nor her circumstances, gave her any reason.The only time Manju’s heart would flutter was when she watched their next door neighbour, Laxmi akka at the village chowk eating Pani puris!Something about her face would change with every burst of the crunchy puri in her mouth.Even the mogra strings in AKKA’s glistening,oil braided hair looked more beautiful while sh
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 05-Mar-2019
    New Beginnings in Mid LifeWe all became friends by fluke.While I was doing my masters in the US, on my first trip back home, I had inadvertently picked up a Black and Tan Samsonite bag from the luggage belt at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport.I never bother checking the name on baggage tag and in my defence that bag looked like mine.Unfortunately, only on opening it, did the goof up dawn on me.On reaching for my phone, I bumped into twelve missed calls from an unknown number.When I returned the call, a frantic female voice squeaked in.“You have my Samsonite travel case. I mean, I really hope you have it.Do you have it?”I was cheap enough to say, “Sorry, wrong number” in an earnest voice and cracked up, sensing the nervous wreck on the other side.That was my first brush with my steadfast, crazy girl friend Manali or Man for all of us.Man was a tall, strong girl with an aquiline nose, bunny rabbit incisors and a stylish pixie cut.When she arrived home to exchange the luggage
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  • The Laburnum and the Gulmohar Tree
    Asmita Javdekar | 10-Mar-2019
    The Laburnum and the Gulmohar Tree grew next to each other.One lucky day, they both dropped a seed each into the warm, moist soil below.A plant began to sprout.In a few years, it bore its first few flowers.One beaming yellow, one crimson orange.Soon, the bright sisters became the pride and joy of their family.Time rolled by and they chose their own path to travel on.When they fell in love and started their own families.The little flowers blossoming from them, bore semblance but they now grew on separate trees. They were called cousins.Over years of pollination and germination, cousins turned from second to third to Unknown.Yet, one day in the early months of Summer, two trees,One Laburnum growing along the bustling main road of Pune.And,One Gulmohar, now called Royal Poinciana, growing in a quiet suburb of Brisbane, blossomed.Never before had anyone seen, clusters of Beaming yellow and Crimson orange flowers swaying in unison.Wise, old Nature had wisdom to share.The core strength of a rela
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 11-Mar-2019
    The greys in his hair stood for his experience.The wrinkles on her face reflected her mature grace.They wondered where years seeped through them.In their entwined hands however, lay love.blissfully unaware.forever young.
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 14-Mar-2019
    He was an insomniac.She was a sleepy head.He smiled, watching her while she slept.She smiled back, dreaming about him.
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 22-Mar-2019
    Her Abbujaan had a concussion and Fatima could not bear the thought of not being by his side as he inched closer to his end.She had not seen her father for the last 10 years,not even when she lost Nouman,her husband in an unfortunate road accident.For the last 8 years,Fatima had single handedly raised Ahmed in the once foreign land which she now called home;Birmingham.Gayathri had always been just a house away for Fatima.Fatima made a quick dash and filled her in on the situation.The only thing Gayathri asked Fatima to pack in Ahmed's bag was his asthma inhaler,the rest as she said would be taken care of.A tight hug later,Fatima was gone.Ahmed who was all of 9 was more than happy to spend the next few days at his best friend;Raghu’s home,the cherry on the cake being Gayathi Aunty's crispy dosas for breakfast every morning.Ahmed and Raghu were waiting with bated breath for the weekend.They were going to watch a live cricket match for the first time in their lives at Edgbaston and that too,India Vs Pakist
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 22-Mar-2019
    Vasu worked as a nanny at the Mirchandani household.Her husband Dheeraj started off as a handyman of the house and over time had risen to the post of the most trusted driver of Mr.Akash Mirchandani,founder and MD of the biggest auto manufacturing company in the city.Akash was married to Ria for 8 years and they had a happy,energy bunny,Om who was all of 6.Ria was a fitness enthusiast and a celebrated socialite.          On the morning of December 21st,Dheeraj came on duty in his crisp white uniform,polished black shoes,his oiled hair neatly combed with a side parting.He requested the housekeeper to see Ria.Ria stepped into the Sun Porch,dressed in her gym clothes,ready to hit the Pilates studio.She greeted Dheeraj with a Good Morning."Good morning Madam,ek request thi.Aaj Vasu aur muzhe jaldi chutti mil sakti hai?6 baje tak nikal sake, to bhi chalega.Aaj thoda special din hai."Ria chuckled,"Kya special hai?""Aaj hamari shadi ko 2 saal hue Madam.Aur ek baat puchni thi,kya aaj office me
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 22-Mar-2019
    Nine year old Arjun was an avid reader.One look at his book shelf and you had Marvel the avengers, kid Krish, He-Man, Super hero Max, Hercules and many such flamboyantly dressed, brawny action  icons staring at you, head-on.        Arjun lived in an apartment complex in an upcoming suburb, with his mother Anjali and their pet mongrel, Spidey. Two years back, after her painful separation from Vikas, Anjali was granted sole custody of Arjun.For anyone who knew her, she was this live, breathing, pulsating energy on the move.Anjali was the life of any place she went to, she often had people in spilts with her wit and humour and she guffawed through most challenges in her life.        She was a brilliant multitasker and handled her deadlines at work, her household responsibilities, her pet and parental duties with the spirit of a fierce tigress.However, an underlying fear that silently gnawed within her was whether she did enough for Arjun. She did not seek va
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 22-Mar-2019
    In our twenties, Fights would last for a few days.Hand written letters and Sorry scribbled on the mirror with lipstick would reinstate Peace. Thirties changed the content of Fights.Peace made way through brushing of our feet under the cotton sheet, in the middle of the night.Fights in Forties were resolved with every bite full of spicy rice she fed me with her hands. Fifties introduced Fights with Wings.They were fought on the battle ground and flew out of the house on a whim.In our Sixties, a cup of tea could restore happiness even in between a fight.Somewhere through the Seventies, we forgot what we were fighting about and gave up.How I missed Fights in our Eighties!Now, I fought mostly with God.She smiled from her photo on the wall.I made peace and went back to playing Patience.
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 26-Mar-2019
    Stress by it self is a huge topic to deal with so I have decided to break it into fragments.For every fragment of Stress,I will carve a short story based on my perception and analysis.Here goes the first one:)Once upon a time there was a beautiful scarlet rose bush.When the first dazzling bud appeared on the shrub, the gardener became overjoyed.He spread the word across the county and invited people to see the beauty in her  blossomed glory.      Deviating from his experience, the innocent bud was taking longer than expected to bloom.The gardener checked on her every hour.There was no progress.He added extra nutrition, yet no progress.Fed up, he decided to carefully peel the delicate petals to propel the process.The tiny scarlet bud could not cope with this stress.Unrealistic expectations is a type of external stress which can burden the bearer. This can very well be intrinsic,in a scenario of you Vs YOU.When I studied engineering, Stress applied to a material was defined as force per
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 01-Apr-2019
    Miraya had just turned thirteen and Mohit, nine.They were like any other pair of siblings, at that age.Goofing around, quarrelling, pulling each other’s legs. Basically, annoying the life out of each other.A straight forward dialogue exchange was nearly extinct, in their relationship.With both parents being celebrated surgeons in the city, the children had tasted independence at a young age and had grown accustomed to solving problems, by themselves.      It was a Wednesday and Miraya was irritable since morning.She decided to drag her self to school as she had a Physics test.Her stomach was cramping, her head was throbbing and her energy sapping with every passing minute.For a reason unknown to her, she wanted to just bawl.The school nurse asked her to have some water and use the toilet.To her horror, right inside the stinky school loo, she met with her first period, head on!!Although she had heard stories from friends and had attended the “Puberty and Hygiene” workshop, noth
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  • Two cups of Tea
    Asmita Javdekar | 03-Apr-2019
    I was about to put my footwear in the locker at my morning Yoga class when my attention went to a pair of senior citizens, struggling with something on the road.I could sense discomfort on the old lady’s face.The man accompanying her, stooped to check on her shoes but this was making them lose their balance. I rushed to lend some support, sat them down and realised that the cause of discomfort was a tiny splinter of wood in her shoe.Once that was taken care of, the man wished to walk the lady to the nearby temple, which was about 200m ahead.He told me this was their routine.I accompanied them to the temple. They both had Name Tags on.The man appeared to have a speech and hearing problem and the lady had Alzheimer’s.She told me that the man with her, was her brother and he had forgotten to give her tea.She almost had tears in her eyes when she told me that she was starving since morning.The man tried to pacify her, but in vain.He insisted that he was her son and had made tea for her every morning,
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  • GOD
    GOD
    Asmita Javdekar | 12-Apr-2019
    Whenever I pass a place of worship, reflexively, my right hand swerves to touch the bridge of my nose, followed by a gentle tap, somewhere on the circumference of my heart, concluding with a light kiss on the periphery of the index finger.2014 was the first time when Chinu, Dinesh and I, walked a part of the Pandharpur Wari( An annual pilgrimage on foot)To witness this ocean of devotion was a surreal experience.Amidst the tinkling cymbals, clanging Dhols, “mauli mauli” chants, we saw a paraplegic man riding on a makeshift wooden cart. He was using his hands to push himself ahead through the procession.Chinu rushed to him and volunteered to pull his cart. Curiously, she asked him how far he was seeking to go. He said, “All the way.” A whopping 21 day journey, covering over 225km on foot, in his case by hands.How can it be even humanly possible?With a bright smile on his face, he said“I have been going for years now. Mauli (God) takes care of my journey.”Chinu helped him cove
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  • Adi Shakti
    Asmita Javdekar | 13-Apr-2019
    What were the chances that just a day after watching Delhi Crime on Netflix and having been deeply impacted by the role of a young IPS officer, Neeti Singh, I bump into these three young police constables.What caught my attention was the uniformity of their demeanour. All three were fit with a calming disposition and a confident gait.Shraddha Gaikwad, Priyanka Pawar and Seema Musale are all less than thirty, married with children. One of them is a mother to infant twins. They work from 9am to 9pm.Women are inherent protectors. They also have a way with words and don’t need to escalate a situation to physical force as often as men.Having said this, when a situation demands, they can unleash their internal super human power.“We all have it. It’s important to know when to let is rest and when to make it thunder.”
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  • Asmita Javdekar | 15-Apr-2019
    Poems
    » Long
    Sthayee: A tribute to Mother Nature.When I first came home, She was in full blossom, swaying with joy by my bedroom window.Right there. स्थायी.I began walking, I began talking.Her colours faded and changed.She always kept an eye on me.Right there. स्थायी.I began growing.She was my companion.I swung on her branches, tossed around her seeds.She caressed my innocence.Right there. स्थायी.My hormones began pirouetting,Her trunk witnessed my art.She gave her quiet encouragement.Right there.स्थायीI met my partner.My worldtranscended to ours.She was unchanged.Right there. स्थायी.I grew inquisitive for answersmy search for my Why deepened.She was unmoved.Right there. स्थायी.When the dusk of my life descended,I wobbled to her side.The moment I hugged her, I felt her heart beat within mine.I don’t know how life seeped through meNow my gravestone lay by her side.She dropped a flower on me.Even in Death,She was there.Right there. स्थायी.In that moment it dawned on meHer secret merged into mine.I was defined by Chang
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  • International Children’s Book Day
    Asmita Javdekar | 15-Apr-2019
    When Salonie asked me to write something for the International Children’s Book Day on Kalamwali (www.kalamwali.com) as their featured author of the month, instinctively I knew, to whom this write up would be dedicated to.To my introduction to the world of stories, to the creator of my imaginary wonderland, to the woman who nourished my curiosity and harnessed my emotions, Maa Aji (my grandma)My earliest childhood memory of having all my senses woven into intense focus was when our bedtime story telling session with Maa Aji unfolded.Maa Aji possessed the power to bring her characters to life.Be it the humongous Ghatotkacha with an unsatiable appetite or mischievous Krishna who revealed the entire universe in his gaping mouth to his mother, Yashodha. Her soulful recital of Shravan Baal never failed to trigger sobs, amongst us, children.Our unanimous favourite genre, however was “Bootachya gosthi"(Ghost stories)My cousins and I would huddle together, fight for the coveted place beside Maa A
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  • Life is beautiful
    Asmita Javdekar | 24-Apr-2019
    Aai (my mother) hails from Sankeshwar, a small village in Karnataka.She travelled by an airplane for the first time in her life in 2004, when my sister delivered her first baby.CJ grew up in South Korea and moved to America in search of better opportunities for a lively hood.Aai and CJ share an inexplicable friendship.They do not spend too much time together, nor do they speak that often but every year when Aai visits my sister, the first person she packs a gift for is CJ.Recently, when CJ’s husband met with an accident, Aai packed her a lunch box with home cooked Indian food, lest she have to spend time on cooking, after a long day at work.CJ in turn, brings Aai the choicest of fruits and Korean chutneys as she knows Aai loves them.Once we learn the subtle art of sharing by opening our hearts out, we are able to transcend the imaginary boundaries and unshackle the barriers of Geography, culture, language and skin colour.Right there, dwells the power of the Human connect.With such simple, soul to soul c
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  • We are far from shallow
    Asmita Javdekar | 10-May-2019
    Through my headphones, straight into my heart, Lady Gaga explodes, “In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow In the shallow, shallow We're far from the shallow now” Her voice resonates across my emotions, leaving them carelessly strewn. I see a haggard dog with a worn out collar, sniffing through a pile of trash. Perhaps abandoned, perhaps escaped. My mind tugs by it’s untold story. I keep walking and just around the corner of the road, I see this elderly gentleman!! Ashok Kadam feeds the strays in his neighbourhood everyday. He has names for each one of them and refers to them as his children. When I turn back, I see abandoned love. But something assures me that if it keeps going, it’s walking straight into the land of love and light. “We’re far from the shallow now.” Plays on loop. I believe it and keep walking. 
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  • "Sukhi raha, Beta"
    Asmita Javdekar | 17-May-2019
    I chanced upon him at a subway station in New York. It had been a few years since I had heard anyone speak with that nasal stalwart Puneri twang which I so detested while growing up in our very typical "Koknastha Brahmin" household. However, on that very cold January morning, in a country which still felt somewhat foreign, the Marathi falling on my ears was like wisps of sunshine warming the cockles of nostalgia.My tapping on his shoulder was almost involuntary."Namaskar!Me Vidya Joglekar, Kasba Peth, Pune" "Namaste, Me Shrirang Datey, Sadashiv Peth" he replied with the most magnanimous smile and kind eyes I had ever seen. We met almost every day after that, sometimes for coffee, sometimes over lazy lunches but most of the time for long walks at the Central Park. All we ever did was speak. In a way, it was therapeutic. I emptied all those emotions so deeply buried within me. I wept, he offered me his shoulder.I vented out all my frustrations and helplessness and he gave me a patient hearing.He was a man of
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  • Indifference
    Asmita Javdekar | 17-May-2019
    Farida grew up on the foundation of differences.Her brother Javed was mollycoddled while her fate was resigned to strict instructions.He got to go to school while she was forced to help with the household.He could play outdoors with his friends while she had to sit huddled with the women in the central courtyard of their house.She could not raise a voice, nor her eyes.Once, in the darkness of a dreaded night, Farida got groped.Javed’s lascivious face in the flickering light was something she just could not cope.Her pain, her anger, her suppression, her humiliation all snowballed into deliverance.Every stab into Javed’s heart was met by her grave indifference.
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  • Kadak Laxmi
    Asmita Javdekar | 18-May-2019
     Kadak Laxmi The reason a lot of kids in my generation grew up decently behaved is thanks to the “Kadak Laxmi” phenomenon. The fear for this community was embedded into us since childhood.Kadak Laxmi as we referred to them were often queer, with heavy vermilion, turmeric and kajal smeared across their faces. They would lash themselves with thick whips made up of woven coir.The resonance which erupted from the belligerent face off between the whip and air, still evokes a certain degree of nervousness witness me.Today, I walked into my childhood fear, head on.This Kadak Laxmi gave me an insight into how this tradition is passed down over generations. Being nomads, he wandered with his family seeking alms and watching them perform their gruelling routine. For him, this was normal and this profession, a natural progression. When I questioned him about his family, his eyes softened. He had two children, studying at school.They disapproved of this profession and were deeply embarrassed of the
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