Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

  "I have a lot of dead people in my family now. They inhabited the stories my father regaled us( my sister and I) with as we went about not minding our own business. Stories of uncles and aunts far and near, stories of childhood squabbles and village life, stories of growing up, marriage, and becoming distant, stories of give and take, property disputes, and stories of gold jewelry and silk sarees during nieces’ weddings. Then many of them died, and I let them die in my thoughts too. But, you won’t find him here. Imagine a 12-inch pizza, a Neapolitan crust with your favorite toppings ( you could choose jalapenos, basil, olives, or bell pepper)  divided into eight slices, four sides loaded with fresh mozzarella, hot, and lip-smacking. For me, he represented the four slices: the richest, the creamiest, and umami.  The day he died, I made love to my husband, the newlywed groom. Frightened by his death, though I knew it was coming any time, I found solace on a beige-colored darbha

                           It’s a busy morning, the kind where you stuff your mouth with french toast, dark golden, more burnt than cooked, leaving a smoky flavor, or that is what I say to you- it’s a kimchi grilled cheese sandwich, baby, just enjoy. You smile at me before gulping the coffee in one long swallow. Before you dash to the door, you make sure to leave some smokiness on my lips and inside my mouth too.  I blush, my heart spends most waking moments marinating in your thoughts and sleeping moments caramelized after our soft, tender lovemaking, the kind where the skin starts to melt and turn gooey like mozzarella enveloped in sweet brioche. We are in love, I am certain. That day we make a baby in the tiny galaxy of my womb.  It’s a busy afternoon, and we both are at work. We are both poring over our screens in our respective cubicles and then a ping on our friends' group chat- somebody has sent a love quote with three red hearts and a couple of Ws after an A. It reads -'

गुरुचरणाम्बुज निर्भर भक्तः, संसारादचिराद्भव मुक्तः। सेन्द्रियमानस नियमादेवं,द्रक्ष्यसि निज हृदयस्थं देवम् ॥ O devotee of the lotus feet of the teacher! May you become liberated soon from the samsara through the discipline of the sense organs and the mind. You will come to experience the Lord that dwells in your own heart. गुरुचरणाम्बुज निर्भर भक्तः, संसारादचिराद्भव मुक्तः। सेन्द्रियमानस नियमादेवं,द्रक्ष्यसि निज हृदयस्थं देवम् ॥ O devotee of the lotus feet of the teacher! May you become liberated soon from the samsara through the discipline of the sense organs and the mind. You will come to experience the Lord that dwells in your own heart.   Veda sang, gently caressing the wrinkled forehead of the divine soul that lay on a low bed at Lumina Hospice & Palliative Care in Corvallis, Oregon. The sunlight, sparkling radiant gold, illuminated the blue as the red and burgundy leaves clung to the skeleton branches of the pacific dogwood and vine maple.  November being a few days away,

  “And how do I know that?” “You will always know it, Naina. I am your conscience. You can never stop me. If your actions bring peace, you know what you are fighting for is worth the cause; if not, you know you are betting on the wrong horse.” The noise in her head grew louder like the whirlwind beats of a dhol. Naina stood in a stupor, her eyes transfixed on the Mangal sutra hanging from her mother’s slender neck. She stood coyly next to the man with whom she shared 38 years of life. Clad in a red banarasi sari, red vermillion along the part of her hair shining bright against her bronze skin, she looked most imperfect standing diminutively next to Naina’s father – fair-skinned, tall with an Englishman’s look in a single-breasted plaid suit. To read the full story, click on  The Unbecoming . Women's Web with Anuja Chauhan(who has worked in advertising for over seventeen years and is credited with many popular campaigns. She is the author of five bestselling novels (The Zoya Factor