Queen of Hearts

By Vandana Ranjan

This is an inspiring story. It shows how one can triumph in life through relentless efforts. The author, youngest child in the family is stricken by a devastating illness; still continues the quest of her life unfazed. She migrates to America alone, against her doctor's strong objection, to pursue further studies.
This book written in simple words, in an easy conversational style provides a roadmap to live jubilantly while facing crisis in life. It vividly depicts the charming storyteller’s passion for life, love, laughter and fun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369405246

Vandana Ranjan

Vandana Ranjan grew up in India. She came to United States in 1994 to pursue further studies in information retrieval system. Vandana is an award winning, action-oriented professional who worked in advertising, pharmaceuticals, finance and real estate in research and analytics, before joining real estate brokerage. Vandana holds New York University’s prestigious Professional Certificate in Real Estate Finance and Investment. She is a successful businesswoman with multiple business streams in real estate, bookkeeping and is also instrumental in helping developmentally challenged people.

Book preview

Meeting a Stranger

on the Subway

I can’t be sure; it was either a Saturday or Sunday. I had achieved a milestone in my career, it was time to celebrate. I decided to visit my friends in Queens to celebrate the job offer at Telephone Reference in the Brooklyn Public Library. For the first time in America, I was decked up from top to bottom in Indian attire. I was wearing a marble print pink silk sari and even had a bindi round red dot on my forehead. I picked a bouquet of pink roses for my friends and boarded the Queens bound F train. It was very crowded; people were packed like sardines. I noticed a tall handsome guy wearing a fedora hat standing close to the doorway, holding the pole. I had a brainwave, a thought flashed through my mind that this guy will come and sit next to me. At one stop the entire carriage became empty, almost everyone left. I saw the gentleman took one step forward, and then stepped back, almost as if he had second thoughts and hesitated for a moment. Then he walked over confidently and sat beside me. I could feel and sense his loneliness and said to myself, if only I could brighten up his day and make him happy for seven to eight stops on the subway that we are together.

My chatterbox-self only desired to brighten his bleak, lonely day with a ray of sunshine by chatting with him. I am sure; you must be wondering what made me talk to a total stranger without any qualms or restraint. Knowing well Little Red Riding Hood’s fate, why didn’t I pay heed to time immemorial warning of never talk to a stranger? And what was the outcome of that conversation? Let me take you back in time to the very beginning…

My Family

My Paternal Grandfather

My forefathers were the chief administrator of Dhara Nagari. The position was more prestigious than the current mayor of New York City. They were highly placed and well respected in the society. By the time my father was born, our family had lost the luster of the glorious past and was barely surviving. My grandfather held a clerical position in the court system. He had a large family of nine children to feed. I heard that he was a good hunter. He was fond of smoking hookah and fine drinks. He would go hunting for quail, deer, and ducks, and come home quite late at night with game then my grandma will cook and everyone will partake of the delicious treats.

There is a popular story of a Vaishnava guy getting married. The bride’s family wants to ascertain that he is purely vegetarian. When asked, the matchmaker reassures girl’s father that this guy doesn’t eat even onion or garlic, and then he mumbles only once in a while. Girl’s father is taken aback and says, oh really! And the matchmaker admits, only when he eats meat. Girl’s father is very shocked to hear this and questions, oh so he eats meat? This time the matchmaker is forced to admit, oh that’s only when he drinks. Guess, that’s a good description of my grandfather’s lifestyle. :)

My Paternal Grandmother

My grandma would wait for him to arrive before starting preparation for cooking the day’s kill, because it was bad omen to prepare in advance. It could cast bad spell and grandpa might return empty handed. When she told us how she would keep waiting for grandpa to come home with the game, shivering on a cold wintry night, our eyes would enlarge like saucers with shock. I felt horrified that my grandma was tortured by this cruel, unmerciful man whom I had never seen. I thought my grandpa was totally heartless and utterly selfish to have made my grandma suffer so much. I wasn’t born in that age and found the customs barbaric of those ancient times. Imagine, she did everything from scratch, grinding spices, chopping onions etc. after grandpa came home then they had dinner pretty late at night. In the early 1900s it would have easily taken her more than an hour to prepare the meal on coal or wood fire in an open vessel. Forget about microwave, this was pre pressure cooker age; it took a long time to cook meat in an open vessel.

My grandma was very dear to me and she loved me dearly too. I was the apple of her eye and she would not let anyone scold me in spite of all my mischief and mistakes. I knew I could always find refuge in her loving arms. She was very courageous and had great presence of mind. She would tell us stories from her past. At one time the city where they lived was being plundered by dacoits, a band of armed robbers. Once when my grandpa was away on a business trip, my grandma and my uncle woke up in the middle of night with loud noise of stomping footsteps above on the roof. A band of dacoits (armed robbers) were making an attempt to rob the neighborhood. In no time, my grandma prepared my grandpa’s hookah and started smoking for appearance sake to make believe that grandpa was home. My grandma was not a smoker, but took resort to it to save her home and children. Her trick worked, hearing the sound of hookah smoke, the dacoits quickly ran away.

My Father

My father was a self-made man. I guess, he was enamored by the glorious past of the family and wished to regain it. By the time my father finished eighth grade, my grandfather had retired and he wanted my father to take clerical job to support the family. My father had high aspirations; he had other plans; so he botched the test to make sure that he would get rejected. After that he packed his bags and moved to a bigger city for further studies. My father felt that since he defied his father’s wishes, he had no right to ask for his support any further.

My father became self-reliant from ninth grade onwards. He even took his younger brother in his fold and pursued his goal to get a white collared job. My father lived with his oldest sister’s family, so he didn’t have to worry about food and lodging, but he had to fend for the rest on his own. His brother in-law was a teacher, a very kind man who helped my father in finding temporary teaching jobs to begin with. My father did all kinds of odd jobs to support his and his brother’s studies. After finishing his studies he competed in the state civil services exam and got selected. He didn’t have sufficient money to pay the fee for the national civil services exam, so he had to stay satisfied with the state level job.

My father had admirable work ethics. He was a man of character, known for his honesty and forthrightness. He was an officer and deputy commissioner in sales tax department of Uttar Pradesh State. It was his responsibility to resolve the sales tax issues of business owners. The business owners would file their petition for sales tax charges levied against their business. My father would preside over the case proceedings then make his decision regarding each case. The case proceedings took place after lunch time in the afternoon. Each day he reviewed and had hearings for several cases.

The very next morning, he would dictate the decision for each of them to his stenographer. He treated work like worship and pursued it in a methodical manner. It was almost like assembly line operation, each step was carefully followed by the next one immediately after, without any lag time. He believed in finishing the day’s work that day itself, nothing left pending. That’s how he lived until his last breath. His routine was set and he followed it religiously without fail.

My father was a jack of all trades. He was a good artist. He dabbled in landscapes and excelled in portrait painting from photographs. He would sketch horizontal and vertical lines on the art paper, thereby converting the whole paper into boxes, then he would draw the same lines on the photograph. After that he would sketch the portrait in pencil on his canvas. Once he was satisfied with his sketch then he applied colors and brought it to life. The whole process was so fascinating; I would watch him doing it, fully mesmerized. He painted a life size portrait of my grandfather and Dr. Sampurnanand, my cousin’s grandfather. Dr. Sampurnanand hailed from Varanasi. He was a renowned Sanskrit scholar, teacher, freedom fighter and politician.

My father could also hold a tune well. I remember in winters, due to extreme cold weather, my father’s morning walk was confined to verandah (patio). I can still envision him, walking to and fro, early morning, across our mile long verandah in Faizabad,