You Are Beautiful O! Woman

By Shekher Srivastava

Since time immemorial, the woman has stood the testimony of time. As a mother, as a wife and as a daughter, she has untiringly continued to fulfil her role as defined by God. She has always been man's beautiful companion and the quite sentinel of his aspirations and ambitions. She has nurtured hope, walking hand-in-hand in every downturn, lending him unwavering support and encouragement, applauding every milestone, big or small. In return, she has never yearned for any appreciation or praise. However, being human, she would be happy to be acknowledged and appreciated, even if they are two kind words. This book is an attempt to write an ode to all women acknowledging them for who they are, why they are and what they are. Towards giving her the pedestal she deserves, the book describes and explains "Wumanity" as the basis of love and life as the basis that has forever fostered a benevolent, humane and socially responsible society. It recognizes that there was a purpose why God created the woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leaf Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019

Shekher Srivastava

Shekher Srivastava is a postgraduate in Science and Management. Professionally he is a business strategist and has worked across industry segments as diverse as automobiles, financial services and international assignments.He is a keen observer of human behaviour that led him to uncover the discerning pattern that makes every woman who she is.Shekher is a spontaneous writer who has been writing poems and articles as a hobby. One of his poems The Spirit of a Woman written in March 2009 on Women’s Day, which won many accolades, ultimately became the perspective for the book. This is his first book.

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You Are Beautiful,

O Woman!

7 Virtues of a Woman

Shekher Srivastava

Copyright © 2016 Shekher Srivastava

All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, storied in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without written permission from the copyright holder.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery© Thinkstock

Second Edition, March 2016

ISBN: 978-81-931861-0-7

Published and Distributed by

Creative Content Media

605, Classic Exotica,

Kondhwa Khurd, Pune 411048,

Maharashtra, India.

Promoted by

Leaf Press

http://www.leafpress.in

In collaboration with BookRature

A literary agent based in Pune.

http://bookrature.com

For sales enquires, contact

Mob: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Website: http://www.leafpress.in

To my late father

Shri Nirmal Chandra Srivastava

who was my guide and my inspiration.

My creative and writing skills are his gift.

Acknowledgments

My Mother

Madhuri Srivastava

She has always been my role model.

Her determination and strong will have no parallel.

An iron lady, she is my architect, my pride.

My Wife

Vanita (Sweety)

She has been my beautiful companion.

She encouraged me to write on this subject.

A laughing pot, she is full of life and cheer.

She is the inspiration and portrait of my thoughts in this book.

My Son and my Friend Anan

He is a very thoughtful and practical boy.

He was the first one to read the manuscript.

He kept the secret about the book for seven months till it was finished.

Special thanks to

Our friends Vimi, Jivan and Lakshmi.

for their useful suggestions and very detailed feedback.

Loving thanks to

My brother-in-law Anil and my wonderful sister Anjali

my brother Shalabh and my sister-in-law Kavita,

for their encouragement and support.

Prologue

Since time immemorial, the woman has stood the testimony of time. As a mother, as a wife and as a daughter, she has untiringly continued to fulfil her role as defined by God. She has always been man’s beautiful companion and the quite sentinel of his aspirations and ambitions. She has nurtured hope, walking hand-in-hand in every downturn, lending him unwavering support and encouragement, applauding every milestone, big or small.

In return, she has never yearned for any appreciation or praise. However, being human, she would be happy to be acknowledged and appreciated, even if they are two kind words.

This book is an attempt to write an ode to all women acknowledging them for who they are, why they are and what they are. Towards giving her the pedestal she deserves, the book describes and explains Wumanity as the basis of love and life as the basis that has forever fostered a benevolent, humane and socially responsible society. It recognizes that there was a purpose why God created the woman.

Why He did so is presented in the backdrop of an interesting conversation between God and the main protagonist Arvind, the chosen one. She gets a thumbs-up for her stellar role from God himself when He decides to showcase her as his most beautiful creation ever in a humanly unimaginable Inter Universe Creators Conference. What transpires between Arvind and Him over seven interesting sessions actually uncovers her seven timeless virtues as the pearls of her inner beauty—her Wumanity.

Arvind realizes that the inner beauty of a woman is the Wumanity that dawns as the serenity of life in every home.

He realizes that without her amazing virtues man would probably never have seen progression. He firmly believes she is the force that binds and the love that inspires!

This realization awakens within him the love for the bubbly and vivacious girl Jayanti, his classmate, whom he had not met since leaving school. He is convinced she is the right girl for him and fervently wishes to marry her.

Set in the framework of soft love between Arvind and Jayanti, it is an attempt to capture the woman, an embodiment of seven beautiful virtues as God’s most artful creation ever.

This work is the outcome of insightful reflections from observations of humanity, life and living over the years across cultures and concludes that the woman everywhere is a constant who has remained unchanged. That deep realization led to the drafting of her seven virtues and compiling the same in words that will always remain inadequate in appreciation of her role towards humanity. Thus, no scientific or psychological basis has been used for the thoughts. The context in the book is therefore generic as generally observed across humanity. It is not specific to any religion, sect or society.

Reference to man in the book is contextual and can imply man himself or humanity (both man and woman). However, specific references in the book are dovetailed into Indian ethos and culture (for example, arranged marriages, the Gayatri mantra etc.). There is no aspect, context or content referenced to any other work or person, living or dead. Any semblance, similarity, or implication is only coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1: Jayanti

Chapter 2: The Chosen One

Chapter 3: Vice and Virtue

Chapter 4: Creators’ Jewel

Chapter 5: I – The Dew of Love

Chapter 6: B - The Chime of Time

Chapter 7: G - A Beautiful Companion

Chapter 8: O - A Designer Par Excellence!

Chapter 9: R - The Velvet Spa

Chapter 10: V – The Sparkle of Life

Chapter 11: Y – The Guardian of Time

Chapter 12: The Golden Anthem

Chapter 13: The Love Calling

Chapter 14: My Candle Blus

Chapter 1: Jayanti

It was January 20. I still remember looking out of the hospital window. It was a bright and unusually calm day. Jayanti, my wife, went into labour at 7:00 a.m. In about half an hour or so, we admitted her to the City Centre Hospital, one of the upscale hospitals in the town. Today would define a new journey for me, I told myself and prayed to God that everything goes fine and normal—especially the baby—who was to arrive.

It was noon and the wait was just getting longer. She was alone in the labour room that day, as there was no other case for delivery. I was waiting outside the room, excited with the expectation of the good news anytime and at the cost of annoying the nurse, I asked her the same question every time she passed by me to and from the labour room. How is Jayanti and how much more time? I could hardly restrain myself, and in nervousness I would look at the watch every now and then, and whenever I thought half an hour or more would have elapsed, time seemed to stand still. Even five minutes seemed like ages to me. I got up and looked around the adjacent maternity ward and saw two babies in incubators; one was born with a congenital heart disease. I could not look anymore and prayed for the early recovery and well-being of the little angel, I decided to get my mind off the worry and tensions and looked out of the window and relaxed.

I was looking at the garden from the third floor whereJayanti was and I could see that the flowers were more vibrant than I had ever noticed. They were the same flowers I saw during our visits to the hospital but they were looking so different today, so pure in colour. Maybe my ebullient state of mind made me observe them more deeply. The aroma of the roses filled the air. I could smell it right up here. The lilies and the gladiolas were swaying in the wind as if singing a welcome song heralding the arrival of a new life and the dahlias were so majestic in full bloom, standing in guard of honour, as if ready to give a twenty-one gun salute at the baby’s first cry.

I had all the time to look at the handiwork of the master craftsman—yes, none other than God—and was mentally appreciating how beautiful life is. There is so much to marvel about, so many intricate creations to absorb. At that instant, my head went up and I closed my eyes in reverence to Him. I said to myself, So tastefully, you have created the world, chastity in every stroke, and today you are going to plant a tulip in our garden of love. Thank you God for the blessing. Please let this day be the dawn of the most fantastic moment of my life. Nature, shower honey and lay a red carpet of rose petals when our new bud blooms. Bless her as your most artful creation ever. (Oh! Unknowingly, I let out my wish to have a baby girl.)

As I opened my eyes, I saw specks of cloud—my prophetic clouds—in the early afternoon, which I was sure were not there before. Ever since I was a child, I had a strange belief that clouds are messengers of God. That belief has only grown with time, as I could somehow read messages from their patterns. Maybe, over time, they became a way to de-stress myself. Thankfully, Jayanti never thought of that belief as insane and she believed in the goodness of it because it made me happy. She believed that by gazing at the slowly moving pattern of clouds, I could engage myself with my conscience and find solace in the clarity that would emerge whenever I was tense or the mind cluttered. Whatever it was, now again they were here, and I could see in their patterns an assurance that all will soon be fine. I opened my folded palms, and lo and behold, to my surprise, I found a rose petal. A good omen, I thought, and with the garden in the foreground in full bloom, I felt the red carpet was already laid by providence.

I saw the nurse coming out of the labour room and I heard the earlier soft moans of Jayanti become louder. The nurse went past me, not answering my queries, but almost instantly, I saw her gynaecologist hastening inside.

My feelings suddenly switched from euphoria to an anguished concern. The sound of Jayanti’s growing moans was making me feel concerned and helpless at the same time. God, why did you not make childbirth painless? After all, you are the master creator. You could have easily programmed the human body that way. It was more a thought than a question, as I knew that He has a purpose behind this pain too, as He never does anything without a reason.

Realization has a strange way of dawning and it sometimes does in strange circumstances. The sound of her moans drew a wedge in my mind and planted in it the pertinent question of why birth is not painless. I felt, at that moment, that I was a coward in comparison to Jayanti. It was the first time that I realized how brave she was. Like an armoured battle tank resisting the enemy’s onslaught, here she was, bravely fighting the excruciating pain alone. I was wondering what internal strength she has that was making her to bear it. I am sure that I, the more masculine of the species, wouldn’t want to experience such an excruciating pain. I was overcome with emotions thinking about her, but I felt a new high feeling being proud of Jayanti, a twenty-eight-year-old girl grittily fighting and winning.

Wondering at her amazing capacity in forbearance, I thought, its probably because, of the bond that only she and the little one share, in the same way as God connects to us, unspoken through an unknown bond.

Thinking of all the women who have borne this pain and those who will come to bear it, I thought, the feeling of beget-ting life is yours and only yours, O woman! You are the privileged one chosen by the creator on Earth. If time is one dimension of continuity, you are the other!

Yes, you are, O woman. Take pride!

He gave you clay and tasked you to mould

He gave you an empty canvas and colours to fill

He imagined man and you gave him form

He created Ma but you christened Pa

O woman! Salutation to who you are!

While the wait was agonizing, my thoughts were fixated completely on Jayanti. Our first meeting was flashing back in my mind.

I remember a slightly plump girl in my class when I was in the tenth grade. She was an army officer’s daughter and she got transferred to my school that very year.

I saw her for the first time in the school assembly; probably three months after the classes began. It was by mere chance that I was in the exact next row. She was strikingly charming, I must say. It was just a glance. She did not catch my eye, as she was looking straight ahead toward the principal, Sir Dias. After the assembly, we went to our respective classrooms. I was like any other teenage boy, passing through the tender adolescent age, and did not attach any meaning to the moment I looked at her.

She was a good girl—well groomed, a bit shy, poised and homely. These were my first impressions. Being an army officer’s daughter, she spent life in various places, and she had

perhaps seen life more than any of us had but she carried no air of being a daughter of a well-decorated Major General.

School life continued with the pressure of the important tenth grade. We hardly met or spoke in school, as we were in different sections, but we used to exchange an occasional hello and short well-meaning sentences in the common chemistry lab almost toward the end of the first term. Our chemistry teacher left the school a month before the end of the first semester because of her husband’s transfer, and the new teacher’s appointment was still in progress, so my section was combined with Jayanti’s.

However, there was some inexplicable appeal to her. Maybe it’s her pencil-thin lips or the sparkle in her eyes set on her round face, complementing each other, or maybe it’s the occasional French-cut hairstyle she would sport that added that twinkle and charm to her personality, making boys blink at least once. On the whole, she was quite attractive.

I used to love sitting on the last seat of the bus and be the last student to come in to school. However, after our few hellos in the chemistry lab, just to be adjacent to her during the morning school assembly, I used to bully the smaller boys sitting on the first seat of the bus and sit there. I would quickly jump off the bus and run toward the assembly. If her bus reached the school before mine, I would look for her in the assembly and try to get as close to her in the next row, if not always exactly beside her.

Though some of my bus mates eventually understood the reason for my seat change and they would tease me, it was, however, worth a hello with her in the assembly. Thanks to the chemistry teacher who left—I met Jayanti. Meeting her in the assembly every morning became my life’s objective those days at school. She would sometimes catch my glance and smile. I guess girls at that age are more mature than boys to ignore the little glances and take them positively as a compliment.

The sun in all its intensity couldn’t wilt the rose

The moisture in its petals preserves its pink and red

Ignoring is a virtue that hydrates your strong character

O woman! Salutation to who you are!

We both were students of St. Ignatius Convent. Mobile phones were not permitted in our school and the parents were strict against socializing with girls outside the school. School was the only place where I could socialize.

Our meetings in the chemistry lab happened every fortnight. In our missionary co-ed school, discipline was very strict. At that preteen age, we were supposed to focus on our studies. The missionary nuns and brothers were always patrolling during recess or while we were moving to the labs or sports grounds. They ensured we moved with horse blinkers. Hence, the lab was the only open place where we could exchange pleasantries, as our places were almost opposite each other’s.

I remember that once I was down with fever. There was no way I could attend school. As luck would have it, it was the lab day. My parents would not listen to my pleas regarding how important it was for me to attend the chemistry lab. On the contrary, I was in bed for at least a week.

While I was regretful about having missed seeing her that week, I was rewarded adequately with a get well note she sent me through my neighbour who was in my class. It was an out-of-the-blue surprise but a mood-elevating one. I have preserved that note till today because the simplicity of the words and her calligraphy-like handwriting were, the first reflection of her inner personality and intellect to me. She wrote,

Dear H2

Get well

O

I stared at the note with a smile every now and then, and at that boyish age, I was flying above the clouds, singing a tune to myself. I did not know where the words that were filling my mind were coming from as I was thinking about her.

She’s so simple and so nice

Sweet and softly polite

She’s so fizzy and full of life

One smile and everyone’s alive

Oh, I wonder if she can ever be mine.

I wanna hold her hand in mine

Walk with her every mile

I wanna spend a day with her in Eden

Staring at her sparkling shy eyes.

She’s so simple and so nice

Sweet and softly polite

She’s so fizzy and full of life

One smile and everyone’s alive

Oh, I wonder if she can ever be mine.

I wanna spread a carpet of red roses

Sing aloud salutations from my heart

I wanna twine the rays of the sun

And slip on a friendship band for time.

She’s so beautiful and divine

In pastels or party brights

She’s so pretty and petite

Graceful and elegantly poised.

She’s so simple and so nice

Sweet and softly polite

She’s so fizzy and full of life

One smile and everyone’s alive

Oh, I wonder if she can ever be mine.

Arvind, dinner is ready. Those loud words from my mother shook me out of my short sojourn with Jayanti in fairyland and annoyed me to no end. But my mother did not know that I was in a beautiful dream and I am sure she would not have called me had she known I was dreaming about my beautiful passion. Mothers are so caring after all.

I changed into my dinnertime-regimented dress code and raced down. Shorts were not allowed by my father since prayers were offered before every meal. I was the last to arrive at the dinner table. All of them were present there waiting for me to join. Dad did not like it when anyone was late for dinner. He always said that respect for someone’s time is the best way to acknowledge the importance of the other person and show humility. It was Friday and a festive time too. Dad made it a practice to celebrate festivals of all religions at home. It’s a great occasion for the family to be together. Dad believed in humanity as the only religion. He believed that spirituality is the culmination of deeds and thus he believed in the benevolence and teachings of all religions.

I could see the frowns all around the table, especially from Dad. I quickly sat down, and no sooner had I seated myself than we all started with the usual prayer penned by one of my great-grandfathers, a tradition kept alive for generations.

Good God, thank you for your generosity and love this day

Thank you for your blessings, kindness and infinite care

Always keep me close to your heart as your blessed and chosen one

And when I am asleep, remain in my dreams and watch over me.

Forever hold my hand and guide me on the right path to life

Help me remain humble on my feet and humane in my heart

Help me remember the less fortunate, struggling and deprived

Help me bring happiness and a smile to at least one life every day

Good God, thank you for your blessings and for granting happiness this day!

I was half-singing, half-mumbling because the prayer was getting mixed with the song I was humming while I was imagining Jayanti. I was restless to go back to my room and pen the song lest I forgot it. But it would still be at least