~Writers Blend~

Knowing You

2010-09-14T20:49:00.001+05:30

Suddenly, all I can think about are all the things I don't know about him. All the things I never had the chance to learn. I don't know if his feet are ticklish or how long his toes are. I don't know what nightmares he had as a child. I don't know which stars are his favorites, what shapes he sees in the clouds. I have no clue what he writes in his journal or if he writes at all. I don't know what he is truly afraid of or what memories he holds closest.
I don't know how he holds his pen or if he shakes his leg when he is waiting on something. I don't know how his breath smells like . I don't know how his hair feels like or if his hands remain hot or cold. I do not know. And I don't have enough time now, never enough time. I want to be in the moment with him, feel his body against mine and think of nothing else, but my mind explodes with grief for all that I am missing. All that I will miss. All that we have wasted.

Perhaps you can afford to wait. Perhaps for you there's a tomorrow. Perhaps you have many many tomorrow's to come that you can let the todays slide and have so much time that you can waste. But for some of us there's only today. And the truth is, you never really know.

(¯`•._.•[Writing For Life]•._.•´¯)

Coquettish Angels

2008-11-25T16:02:00.000+05:30

November. The leit motif of the month is children.

I must confess that I am somewhat envious of anyone who was born after 1984. By the time they had gathered themselves and by the time they could make sense of what was happening around them, the intellectual infrastructure was up and running.

The internet, which has revolutionized the way people LIVE today, had become popular – by the time these kids reached 15.
Google which has empowered one and all, indiscriminately, by providing access to a world of information at the click of a button and has made it so easy for people to get smart, was operational - by the time these kids reached 17.
Cable television. Cable TV had just been born when I was 13 or 14. Anu kapoor’s Anthakshari was gaining popularity. Reality shows were yet unheard of.
But in just a few years, there were multiple news channels, more sophisticated, smarter and sharper than ever before.
The talk shows, the debates like the Big Fight on NDTV, the Discovery and Nat geo were only few of the many stimulants packaged and available already to the 85 borns by the time they reached 16.

It does not matter anymore whether a child today is born with a silver spoon or not. The intellectual infrastructure is incomparable to any other blessing a child has received before.

But,……………But the child of today isn’t quite a child.

Even as I begin, I don’t know if this is pointless ranting, if this is the same old recurring, nagging complaint by the older generation about the ways of the new generation; but the fact remains that there is a huge gap, somewhat blatant, somewhat flagrant and it is but inevitable for the more observant of us to discuss this gap and make those unavoidable comparisons.

Children of today are tending to reach adulthood far earlier than they are meant to. Whether this is fortunate or otherwise, is debatable.

For one thing, they are way too smart and independent. They can operate with ease a number of gadgets like the remote control, the television, the computer, the music system…etc.
The pleasure of teaching the child, all those things it is curious to know, from the very beginning, is no longer savoured by the elder whose privilege it has been to condescend to guide a blinking innocent.

The pleasure of being that all-knowing-big-brother is taken away by a smart kid who already knows more than you.

That shy, apprehensive kid, afraid of unknown people and needing handholding is extinct today.
It renders you, the elder, somewhat useless or redundant.
In some cases, their boldness and confidence receive so much encouragement and praise from proud parents that they become somewhat impertinent. I find this rather irritating.

The very fact that they don’t need you anymore makes them less deserving of your sympathy if not less deserving of your love.
I personally preferred it when they needed me, when they evoked my concern, my protective instinct, when they asked too many questions and knew too little, when they needed to hold my finger firmly in their tiny fist to explore the wide wild world. The assurance, that whether or not somebody else in this world needs me, a child definitely needs me is now taken away from me.

I also observe, somewhat poignantly, that the child of today has lost a certain innocence. Parents are responsible to a large extent. Most of them do not see the fine line that separates smartness from impertinence, exposure from over exposure, ignorance from innocence and independence from detachment.

A colleague, a mother of a 7 year old who had left her kid behind in India as she traveled to the US and stayed there for a few months was telling us all with pride that the child did not miss her or wince about her absence even rarely, that he was taking care of himself very well, that he called her up only to remind her of all the fancy toys he wanted her to bring him and that he did not want her to return to India if she failed to bring him those toys!

Such detachment! I would have been deeply pained if I learnt that my child did not cry for me even once! And the mother found it very convenient as she was spared of a big headache and could move on with her career.

Have you been watching all the reality shows on television? I am talking about those in which children sing and dance.
I can’t stop shaking my head in utter disbelief at the endless pretences, shameless lies and rigged up, staged disputes that are made part of the shows just to help the program get better TRP ratings!
To hell with the director of the show, to hell with the judges and to greater hell with the celebrities whose livelihood solely depends on such lies and pretences and whose most important means of getting visibility is farce.
What about the children? Does anybody spare a thought for them? Lying, pretending,……Is this what we want to teach them? Is this the kind of exposure we want to give them during their formative years? Alright, they have talent and they deserve a platform to exhibit them. But why does nobody, not the government, not even the parents of the children protest against such loathsome practices as staged brawls? Why such effortless acceptance of hypocrisy and deception?

And the dance competitions. Ah! What a gory scene! Have you ever watched this show called Boogie Woogie? A machine of sorts that has an incredible capacity for making every participant – boy, girl, child, man, woman – don a whore like disposition.

I have had the good fortune of watching a few episodes where the competition was exclusively for children. All of them must have been below fourteen years of age. The girls were wearing plunging necklines (already!), performing gyrating hip movements (already), jiggling their breasts (even before they were fully developed!) and giving suggestive looks and winks to the judges even before understanding fully, the meaning of those looks (I hope so…the matter would be worse if they already understood the meaning of those gestures!) amidst cheers from the audience, judges AND parents!

Some of the children were just six years old. Cheeks sucked in, mouth protruding. Coquettish expressions on angelic faces! The younger the daughter, the prouder the parents! I haven’t seen anything as disgusting as this. How can any mother bear to see her daughter trying to look or behave like Bipasha Basu and Mallika Sherawat, leave alone feeling happy about it?

And when a fourteen year old girl consented to have sex with the son of a Goa chief minister, the parents kicked up a big fuss about the guy raping a minor and all that.
What the hell was the fourteen year old doing, consenting to have sex when she should be playing with Barbie dolls?
What kind of upbringing has the mother given her? And why is she accusing the boy instead of whip lashing her daughter for sleeping around?

As I said, the fine line is blurred… the fine line that separates smartness from impertinence, exposure from over exposure, ignorance from innocence and independence from detachment.

Let us keep them away from the race. Let them be innocent. Let them depend on us a little. Let them walk to adulthood at a leisurely pace. Let us not push them towards adulthood. They are not fancy show pieces at display for neighbours to admire. Let them be dumb. It’s alright. Let them know, when it is time for them to know.

Let them be the children of Tagore’s world…the children Tagore’s dreams were made of…

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand
And they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats
And smilingly float them on the vast deep.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
While children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets…

The greatest gift you can give your child is childhood. A prolonged one.

When my friend Pramod, a creative man in the advertisement field, was asked by his friend to suggest a suitable name and tag line for a kindergarten he was opening, Pramod rightly said…

INFANTASY
Because First Steps Last.

To the Dryad

2008-07-02T20:16:00.001+05:30

The chirping of merry birds
the melancholy song of brook
the lovers half asleep in the bush
the sunlight giving their cheeks an auroral look

lying there on a soft-bedded grass
with their forms intertwined
isolated from the world
united in their souls and mind

then, there are men
as handsome as Adonis
soothed by Dryad’s lullaby, they
rest in the arms of Morpheus

And when the earth bathes in silvery luster
of the moon that lights the raven sky
with wind’s moan and cricket’s song,
whispers of Cupid and Psyche’s sigh

she hears all this while she wanders
companionless in the oak land
but as happiness blossoms in her heart
the buds bloom and dense greenery clothes the woodland

when hope dies, her leaves dry up
gradually, in the brook, they fall
until nothing remains except for the silence
the echoes of which tell her sad tale to all

Root Cause Analysis

2008-06-27T16:44:00.009+05:30

It’s a story about those days, not so long ago, when reading was not a hobby but an activity that I would engage in only occasionally. Poetry, painting and drawing had become hobbies of the past. Come weekend and there was plenty of time but nothing to do.
I would pick up my mobile, scroll through the list of contacts and call up friends one after the other. Movie, lunch, dinner? Sometimes, a friend would agree and we would have fun. Other times, I would hear from all of them that they had already made other plans or that they wished to rest at home or that they were bankrupt or …..
So I would sit on my bed all day in a godforsaken PG (paying guest accommodation) and get bored.
One day, unable to stand this boredom any longer, I decided to go shopping all alone.

I went to Commercial street. I bought a white skirt with pink floral prints on it. I ate American corn from one of the makeshift shops. I entered “Westside” thinking I would only window shop. After three hours I came out of the shop with 4 Salwar Kameez suits and a stole in my shopping bag. I bought 3 pairs of earrings from a street hawker. Although I was not hungry, I entered Woody’s and had cauliflower fritters and some “Pesarattu”.

I bought a pair a beige coloured angle boots which would go well with a long skirt. It was 7 PM. I had spent a good 7 hours shopping. I decided to return. I came back to my PG (can’t say “I came home”) and flaunted my purchase to my roommates who exclaimed that the skirt and the suits were so beautiful. I looked forward to that day when I would try them all. I had spent 5000 rupees but what the heck, it was a great weekend.

This was the first of a succession of weekends that saw one after the other, the numerous malls of Bangalore, Brigade road, MG road, some more commercial street, more shopping, more eating and more spending.

It’s been a year now.
The white skirt with pink floral prints has not been tried once for there has been no occasion to wear it. The angle boots are still in the box for I haven’t found a skirt to go with it. I wore the stole only once and I don’t have a matching dress for the earrings that I bought. The cauliflower fritters and “Pesarattu” that I ate in Woody’s were soaked in fat and I really shouldn’t have had them.
In hindsight, the 5000 rupee worth pleasure that the weekend shopping had brought with it lasted only until the next weekend.

How mistaken I was in believing that shopping and spending would help me defeat the feeling of loneliness that engulfed me during those weekends!

Recently, as I watched a famous talk show, I learnt that people buy a lot of things out of compulsion without realising that they are doing it to beat the loneliness in their lives. It is their way of filling up the lacuna or vacuum in their monotonous, uneventful life. Spending time in malls and buying materials keeps them occupied, gives them pleasure (though temporary) and they deceive themselves into believing that their life is very “happening”. It’s a psychology “thing” that has actually been documented.

We forget that material possessions cannot satiate an individual beyond a certain limit. Shopping to kill loneliness is like drinking sea water to quench thirst.

*******************************************************************
My grandparents in Mysore lived in an antique mansion that sprawls over a piece of land that is 100 by 120 feet in area. She was blessed with 9 children. The other occupants of the house were a brother of my grand mom, 2 children of her sister, my oldest cousins who went to college there and my great-grandmothers.

During the earlier days, the members of the family had to run the household using traditional means and methods. But as days passed by, modern home appliances made their way into the house one by one. The kitchen became equipped with a mixer, a grinder, a heater, a gas stove and a refrigerator. A television set was installed in an empty corner of the hall. All members had agreed upon a list of common programmes and they would assemble in the hall before the TV to watch the same.

Although too many children lived in the house, not too many clothes needed to be bought. As the oldest outgrew his clothes he bequeathed them to a younger one; the younger one bequeathed his clothes to his younger one and so on until finally the youngest one inherited all the clothes in the family as he grew up. And when the youngest brother outgrew his clothes, he bequeathed them to the eldest brother’s son. :-)

One day, a two wheeler and a four wheeler were driven into the courtyard. The vehicles were used to escort the aged and middle aged men and women of the family to places and in case of emergencies.

25 years have passed.

The antique house stands where it stood. Some members continue to live there and some have moved out. There has been proliferation of people as well as property. I am not in close contact with all the descendants but only a few of them.

I will talk about four families who live close by. Two of them are brothers and two others first cousins of the brothers.
In the age of nuclear families, needless to say, they live in four separate mansions. Unlike olden days, even the women in these households go to work. There are just 2 children in each family. Some are recently employed and some go to college. As a reason, for most part of the day the houses remain empty.
But I am told that there are enough occupants even in the empty houses. Although they are small families, each member has a separate bedroom and there are guest rooms too. Each room has a television so that the members may feel free to watch any channel they please unlike those olden days when there used to be conflicting interests and a common list of programmes had to be prepared.
Although people these days have a poor appetite, there are two refrigerators. One for the kitchen and one in the hallway upstairs to store water, chocolates and aerated drinks so that the children don’t have to run down the stairs into the kitchen all the time.

There are two fancy cars and two bikes in each house. All are independent.

While it is good to see such proliferation of wealth and abundance of materials all around, it is saddening to see that in today’s world, the virtue of sharing seems lackluster before the artificial shimmer of “personal space”.

This concept of personal space was unknown to India. It has come from the west. I don’t have anything against it and I enjoy it myself for some part of the day, but as I see it tending towards extremity, I can’t help smiling sardonically at its implications.

People seem to be building walls around themselves. They have acquired layers of protection to shield themselves against their own fraternity. One has to exercise caution even while talking to friends for you may ask a question casually (or even out of concern) and the other person may narrow their eyes and ask “Why do you want to know?”
Husband and wife no longer proudly claim to know each and every thing about one another. There is space between the two of them also!!

The amassing of materials – be it a private two wheeler or a private wardrobe of clothes and accessories, a private car (one for every member of the family), a private room, a personal TV set – is a manifestation on the surface while the actual cause beneath is a mindless chase for privacy and the absence of willingness to share.

********************************************************************
Supermarkets and shopping malls.

Cookies, sweet corn, handbags, soft toys, clothes, accessories, cosmetics, footwear, jewellery, furniture, electronics, entertainment, automobiles, real estate and lots of people.

A superfluity of materials. A feast to the eyes. It feels so good to just be in a mall.

But beware. Beware of the crafty salesman behind those counters … You are the guinea pig of his experiments. Even as you enter his shop just to do some window shopping, he is trying all the tactics, tricks and trade secrets he has gained from the newly acquired MBA.

He is out to trap an unsuspecting shopper.
He is constantly thinking about how to get a fat slice of a customer’s wallet.
He is scheming to entice a customer to spend his hard earned money to buy his product whether or not the customer needs it so that he may become richer.

He is a parasite.. feeding on your weaknesses. Feeding on your loneliness, on your aloofness.

If there is a lacuna in your life, he benefits because you will shop more to fill that lacuna.
The lesser you want to share, the more he benefits because that way, you end up buying more.

All of them in the malls thrive on your weakness, on your problems.

But it’s not the salesman’s prosperity I am jealous of, as I write this.
It’s not the “emptiness in peoples’ lives” alone that saddens me nor is it the “diminishing of the virtue of sharing”.

I write this article today, because we are faced with a cause that is above all other causes. A cause that I will call an emergency as it is screaming for attention.

It is the cause of environment. Even as we engage in rhetoric and shout slogans of “Save environment” and “Stop deforestation”, we fail to realise that it is we who are responsible for the state of our environment today, in more indirect ways, than direct.

Why did I talk about weekend shopping and why did I tell you about my grandmother’s family?

To prove a point that our innocent consumption of goods that is caused by factors rooted deep in aspects of psychology and sociology is having implications that actually affect our environment and we are not even aware of this possibility.

Let’s do some quick analysis.
1.All goods available in the market and shopping malls can be classified broadly as those made of either natural substances like wood, cotton, jute, fibre etc. or man made, synthesized substances (there are many).

2.For every natural product that is made, some amount of nature is being depleted. And for every synthesized product that is made, again, an amount of nature is being depleted because the raw material comes from nature, even though it may be as little as a mug of water.

3.The processing requires energy.

4.The processing results in solid, liquid or gaseous wastage to be released to the environment.

5.In the factories that perform the synthesis, man power is being harnessed resulting in an increase in human activity and thus, the environment is warming up .

That was the story of production. Now the story of consumption.

6.A mall has to be built where the goods will be showcased. This mall sprawls over an acre of land which was made level, either by closing a lake or by felling trees that occupied it before.

7.The entire mall is air-conditioned. Needless to say, this consumes copious amounts of energy and releases more chlorofluorocarbons into the atmosphere.

8.The consumer drives to this mall and more often than not, the vehicle is a large four wheeler. You already know it releases carbon monoxide. It also increases traffic, necessitating the widening of the road for which hundred year old trees lining the road will have to be cut down.

No matter what you consume, a cup of corn, an ice cream, a piece of garment, a handbag, fuel for a vehicle, soft toy, furniture, a home appliance, electricity… be mindful of the fact that it affects the environment one way or the other.

Even a large mansion that you own occupies a large piece of land and can be thought to have encroached into what ought to have been a rice field or a mango groove. Why desire several mansions then?

One may issue or follow a hundred specific rules to protect the environment. I will say just one thing that will summarise all of them. Cut down on consumerism. DO NOT BUY. (Unnecessarily).
It is the only holistic approach to save our environment.

But that sounds a little negative. Isn’t it? If you have read my previous posts (I am not against war, I am for peace) where I talk about the law of attraction, you will think I am contradicting myself here.

So rephrasing it to give it a positive tone, I would say, “Lead a life of simplicity”. Consume only as much as you need. Cultivate good hobbies to spend your time fruitfully, so there will be no room for lacunae in your lives.

Before signing off, I will leave you with these thoughts.

Two things are important in life.
How we live &
What we leave.

For future generations are not simply survivors but also inheritors.

World Environment Day 2008

2008-06-05T21:06:00.003+05:30

Today is World Environment Day (WED). The World Environment Day slogan for 2008 is

Kick the Habit! Towards a Low Carbon Economy.

So here are a few ways you can immediately implement to go carbon-neutral -

REPLACE your light bulbs with CFLs
WASH CLOTHES at 30 degrees centigrade and no higher if your washing machine has a temperature setting.
WALK OR CYCLE. Use public transport or carpool.
SWITCH OFF electronic gadgets, don’t leave them on standby. So turn that computer off while retiring.

Here are a few implementable ways from the The 80 Ways To Celebrate WED 2008:

Adopt a ‘green’ way of life
Art made of recycled materials
Bicycle parades/races
Buy a fuel-efficient car
Carpools
Dedicate your blog to World Environment Day on 5 June (We are dedicating the whole month to it...so full points to the writers on Writers Blend!)
Join an environmental group
Keep your neighbourhood clean
Kick the CO2 habit!
Never litter
Offset your emissions
Organic farming/cooking
Plant a tree
Plastic bags: avoid them!
Rainwater harvesting
Reduce, re-use, recycle
Rehabilitate natural habitats
Replace your light-bulbs with energy saving ones
Save paper
Sort rubbish
Switch off stand-by TV and computer
Use sustainable modes of transportation (walking, jogging, cycling, skating, carpool)
Vehicle emission monitoring
Waste less!
Xpect environmental responsibility

Do visit the World Environment Day 2008 Page to see how else you can contribute. The planet needs us. More than that, I am sure you will agree, we need this planet.

So save it!

Happy World Environment Day!

Mother

2008-06-04T22:38:00.006+05:30

Long ago,
Before the first human was born,
Before the first tree began reaching for the sky,
Her life began.
She breathes.
And grows.
Her blood rushes through her veins.
She can speak her mind
And she can feel pain.
She can feed us when we're hungry.
She can heal us when we're sick.
She has the power to give us energy
And the power to make us smile.
She is not a thing.
She is the Earth.
And there is a reason we call her Mother.
Everyday 19 more of the earth's species disappear.
Forever.
But there is hope.
With your help, whales have begun to return,
The bald eagle is off the edangered list
And one million acres of rainforest were protected forever.
We only have one planet.
We only get one chance.
Our Mother needs our help.
Do something.
Anything.

If you thought the text was inspiring, watch the video. I guarantee you, you will be moved.

We only have one planet, we only get one chance. Spread the awareness.

I Love The Ride!

2008-05-21T14:55:00.002+05:30

Jacaranda trees in bloom, a shy lavender canopy…

Two children in slightly tattered clothes running by the side of the road, carefree and fearless- embodiment of a feeling of pure joy…

A broad stretch of tarmac upon which the wheels glide (Well, mostly) and a feeling of floating on…

A Wildcraft showroom with a multifarious window display and a reminder of my wild side, a passing flash of all my dreams for the road…

A view of the placid waters of a lake, ducks, geese and grebes swimming calmly oblivious to the rush on the busy road, a sudden sense of calm and a smile…

A Gulmohar tree in a boisterous orange bloom, unable to contain itself, pouring its joy out to a multitude that is too busy and too rushed to notice…a grin…how can it be so happy?!

Majestic Brahminy Kites decorating the skyline with their splendour, a graceful swoop and then a soar, a circle with wings outstretched, sheer beauty and another smile…

A peek at the many pots-and-plant sellers by the roadside, the soothing green…another glance at the gallimaufry of the earthen-ware seller up the road, the colours, the feeling of elation and wonder, of relaxation even amidst the rush…the irony…

A tree-lined road and the sunlight filtering through…the expanse of green and a mud path lit up by the warmly bright sun…a lone dog capering down that road…a wish to join it and caper along…

A milestone on the road…wait...its an idol…and the vehicles are carefully veering around it and continuing on their way…an unclaimed deity pitched on a busy road with no temple to shelter the protector; then again maybe not that uncared for, it has flowers at its feet…a strong urge to take its picture, the photographer in me disappointed by the hurry…and a thought – there are times when people avoid God too…

Songs in my ears…the beat and the melody…oblivion from all the honking and screeching around…my heart jiving along…all my favourite songs…a feeling of pure ecstasy!

With such sights and sounds, I could never hate going to work. The road that stays the same yet changes everyday like a movie that you’ve seen before but presents a different perspective the next time you see it…the music that fits every frame…even amidst all the pollution, noise and the sour faces that I have to drive through on my way to work everyday…I Love The Ride!

One night @ an IT Company

2008-05-18T17:45:00.002+05:30

''At the stroke of the midnight hour, when half of the world was in slumbers, i noticed a well lit bay with a few software engineers slogging it out to clear the release date well in time....“, these are but day to day occurances in an IT Services company in India. Its night 12.50 AM, and I am still staring dumbly at this dumb computer screen wondering when would the ordeal end and I would go home and hit the sack, to be back in the morning and burn another day....

Its the not the work thats killing me but the time it takes to put in the stuff I churned out into the testing machine, in essence its a two minute job but following the right processes its already 14 hours since I started working on this transition but have no idea when the Tech support people would do my work.

Of course being at the bottom of hierarchy means that my work no matter how important it is, is still down in priority...I wonder whats the purpose of my working so late, when the end consumer would never even know and neither would he bother as to who created all the tools he/she is using for her/his business...it seems so inconsequential. Its like being an unknown force working for those who would never know you....Thats life, and thats work for me, I do it everyday for a living....

The Office

2008-05-15T00:48:00.010+05:30

9:30 AM. A 'normal' day at work. In one corner of the office, it's Man vs. Machine.

Samir: Oh NO! Not again! Why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam?!! I, I swear to God, one of these days, I, I, I just kick this piece of shit out of the window!!!

Michael looks up.

Michael: You and me both, man. The thing is lucky I'm not armed.

Samir grabs the paper out, tearing off the bottom part of it.

Samir: Damn! P-i-e-c-e of shit!!!

Nina, the local admin, saunters in carrying a stack of papers.

Nina: Sam...ire...Na...Na...Naga...

Samir gets it.

Nina: Uh-huh!

Samir: Please <gives a disgruntled look>

He sits in his and Michael's cubicle.

Nina: Michael.... - <Michael reaches for it> Bolton?

Michael: That's me.

Nina: WOW! Is that your real name?

Michael: Yeah.

Nina: So are you related to the singer guy?

Michael: No. No. it's just a coincidence.

Samir: How come no one in this country can pronounce my name right? It's Na-gee-een-ah-jah. Nagaenajar.

Michael: At least your name isn't Michael Bolton.

Samir: C'mon Michael, there's nothing wrong with that name.

Michael: There was nothing wrong with it! Until I was about nine years old and that no-talent assclown became famous and started winning Grammys.

Samir: Well, why don't just go by Mike, instead of Michael?

Michael: <'loud' whisper> WHY THE F*** SHOULD I CHANGE IT? HE'S THE ONE WHO SUCKS!!!

Peter comes up to their cubicle.

Peter: Hey Guys!

Michael: Yo! what's up man?

Peter: Let's get some coffee?

Samir: It's a little early...

Peter: I gotta get out of here. I think I'm gonna lose it.

Nina: Uh oh. <giggles> Sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays!

Peter: Boy. I tell ya, one of these days... One of these days it's gonna be like...

He mimics a machine gun. Brian, a colleague from the Testing Team, does it too. In Peter's face.

Brian: <walks by> Oh. Sounds like a case of the Mondays!

Peter: <glancing around> That knucklehead's gonna have me work on Saturday too. I, I can tell already. I'm doing it because, because, uh, I'm a big pussy. Which is why I work here to begin with <shakes his head in despair>

Michael: Uh, I work here and I don't consider myself a pussy, ok?

Samir: Yup, I concur. Me no pussy either.

Michael: I'm gonna find out the hard way that I'm not a pussy if they don't start treating us techies better.

Samir: That's right.

Michael: They don't understand! I could come up with a program that could rip this place off big time…BIG BIG time.

Peter: Yeah.

Tom, another employee, runs towards Samir, Peter and Michael.

Tom: Hey! Hey, guys! Samir!!

Samir: Is that Tom Smykowski?

Peter: What's he doing?

Michael: Oh, probably working on another heart attack!

Tom: Have you guys seen this?

He hands them a piece of paper.

Michael: What? It's the staff meeting. So what, dude?

Tom: We're all screwed, that's what! They're gonna downsize this company.

Samir: Oh, what are you talking about Tom? How do you know that?

Tom: They're bringing in a consultant - that's how I know. That's what this staff meeting is all about! That's what happened at the other company a few months back. You have an interview with a consultant and they bring in efficiency experts. You're interviewing for your own job, man!!!

Michael: Tom, every week you say you're losing your job and you're still here...

Tom: <dejected look> I'm going to be the first one they're gonna lay off. Just the thought of having to go to the State Unemployment Office and having to stand in line with those scumbags!!!

The group gathers in Michael and Samir's cubicle, after a while. They sit there, worrying.

Michael: Shit. Shit!

Tom: You know there are people in this world who don't have to put up with all this shit? Like that guy that invented the pet rock. You see, that's what you have to do. You have to use your mind and come up with some really great idea like that and you never have to work again!

MIchael: I don't think the pet rock was really such a good idea.

Tom: Dude, the guy made a million dollars! Y'know… I had an idea like that once.

Peter: Really? What was it, Tom?

Tom: Well, all right. It was a Jump-to-Conclusions-mat. You see, it would be this mat that you would put on the floor and it would have different conclusions written on it that you could…jump to.

Michael: That is the worse idea I've ever heard in my life, Tom!

Samir: Yes, yes, it's horrible…this idea….

Tom: Ah, look. I, I gotta get outta here. I'll see you guys later, if I still have a job.

He goes to his cubicle.

Peter: I remember, our high school guidance counselor used to ask us what we would do if we had a million dollars and didn't have to work. And invariably, whatever we would say, that was supposed to be our careers. If you wanted to build cars, then you're supposed to be an auto mechanic.

Samir: So what did you say?

Peter: I didn't have an answer. I guess that's why I'm working here as a techie.

Michael: No, you're working here because that question is bullshit to begin with <the printer makes a whirring noise and stops working>. If that quiz worked, there would be no janitors, because no one would clean shit up if they had a million dollars.

Samir: Well, I would invest half of it in...ummm ??? Mutual Funds. And donate the rest to some charity.

Michael: Samir, the point of the exercise is that you could figure out what you want to do. And then…<reads the printer's display> "PC load letter"?!! What the F*** does that mean?!!!

He knocks off the paper tray.

Peter: <addressing Michael> Chill dude, so what would you do if you had a million dollars?

Michael sits down.

Michael: I'll tell you what I'll do, man--Two chicks at the same time!

Peter & Samir snicker off.

Peter: That's it? If you had a million dollars, that's what you'd do...two chicks at the same time, huh?

Michael: Damn straight, man. I've always wanted to do that. I figure if I were a millionaire, I could hook that up. Chicks dig guys with money.

Samir: Well not all chicks...

Michael: Well, the type that double up on a guy like me do.

Peter: Good point!

Michael: NOW, WHAT WOULD YOU DO???

Peter: Besides two chicks at the same time?

Michael: Oh yeah.

Peter: Nothing.

Michael: Nothing, huh?

Peter: I would relax, I would sit on my ass all day, I would do nothing.

Michael: You don't need a million dollars to do nothing, man. Take a look at my cousin. He's broke and he don't do shit.

Peter: Hmmm...<glances at his watch> Shucks! Its 11 already...damn! need to finish that last bit of coding and make those reports.

Samir: <staring at his flooded mail box> Phew whew!

Michael: Adios Amigo.

Peter: Aight guys...catch u at lunch...bye.

The printer starts working again.

Just Another Day

2008-05-14T20:22:00.006+05:30

"Drrrriiinnnggg!!!" (Oooops sorry,its-) "Beep beep ! Beep beep ! Beep beee..!" Shut UP !!!-and you thunk the alarm to silence.Good Morning !
The morning light reminds you of the bright sun,dew laden leaves,chirping birds and finally the face that you will never forget your whole life-your BOSS !
You drag yourself to the edge of your bed with the blanket still clinging on to you.You then suddenly remember that you work in a office and they know your address!You throw the blanket and leave the only accessory de` luxury that you possess-your Kurl-On pillow. Your eyes fail you,so you rub the sleep off them so that you could find your way to the room where you could flush out the shit that somehow got into and around you the last day.You look into the mirror and a strange face gives you an even stranger looking frown.You ignore that stupid face and bend over the porcelain bowl to wash off the reminiscent of your dreams.After exercising your bowels and exorcising over your wicked thoughts that you have for your job you cover yourself with lather.Hands mechanically turn the shower,you shiver and hope that someday U.S. will develop a gadget that will purge you like a dish washer.
You then slide yourself into your "costumes" that would make you look more like a dignified slave.Nose lifts and lips twist into a scowl as you smell your hardwork fume from beneath your armpit like ether.Sweat.Solution-30 seconds deodorant bath.
Breakfast ! The word sounds so good.You dream of toast,omelet-sunny side up,juice,fruit salad and a glass of Bournvita ;-) while your fingers work their way through a packet of Parle G that you literally slurp down your throat after dipping it deep in a cuppa cutting chai from Babu bhai ki dukan.
BUS STOP.
You drag your feet to the bus stop and then hope that your feet drag you to your office at the right time.SCREEECH ! The monstrous steely cart on wheels stops and you read the bus number at least three times to make sure that it will wheel you to your place of slavery.The moment you step into the bus,you remember the hardships of your dhobi and feel pity-you find a dozen bodies rub against yours and you take the best of your measures to avoid unwanted contacts and intimacy with your anatomy(I can't go in detail,please).Somehow you manage to fit yourself in the crowded bus and your body acquires the state of perfect stability-you cannot move an inch.Then like a hapless onlooker you watch your silk shirt turn into a crumbled paper.All that deodorant you had sprayed just vanishes in thin air and the stink of sweat and belch fill your nose;you start guessing what the person standing to the right had in breakfast or was it the dinner?So much for the AXE effect !
The bus inches through the road which look like a large drainage with metallic debris floating through it.A lot of "Excuse me!" s are spit on your face (as people want you to move your body out of their way)at every stop and you patiently wait for your turn to spit the same on someone.The conductor pierces your ears with the "Tickisss!" cry and you hope if you could free at least one your hands stuck somewhere between the backpack of some uncleji and belly of some bhaiyya ji who in their ignorance keep crushing your hand between themselves.Somehow you manage to take your hand out of that seemingly unescapable trap and pay the conductor the change coins that you save everyday just for that.

Finally,your stop comes.But before you say "Excuse me !" the person standing in front you excuses himself off the bus.Then you get off the bus and rush to that person coz you have seen his tag/IDcard(it slowly takes the place of your a birthmark!)and it has your company's name on it.And when you finally face the person,the familiar face that shatters your early morning dreams gets reflected in your eyes.
"Arre Tapas !You too.My car broke down .Chal ! I have some work for you."
You curse your fate and mutter-"Yes Sir !"

Is Work Worshipped?

2008-05-09T16:13:00.002+05:30

Work is ………worship???

Wife and Mother: I work in office, return home exhausted, cook food for everyone, serve with a smiling face, encourage and support my husband for his work, help my children with their homework, teach them good lessons of life and make their future bright in the best possible way I can, its worship to me when I get a few smiles in return, some words of appreciation encouragement and love.

Husband and Father: I work hard and long hours at office; I keep my wife and children happy, take them out even when I need rest, fulfill all their desires and wishes, its worship to me if they say appreciate me for working hard and respect me for what I give them instead of thinking what I can’t.

Children: To me work is studying too hard, helping mom in her daily chores and pressing my father’s head when he needs it, its worship to me when my parents don’t yell at me if I fail to be a topper, they don’t compare me with others, love me for what I am rather than what they want me to be.

Grandparents: We live alone and are old. Work to us is cooking food everyday together, helping each other with daily chores and looking after our grandchildren with dying energy but lively hearts, its worship to us when we hear a few words of love, we get the respect which we earned and unforced and true concern from our children.

God: My Beloved children, work won’t seem work but pure worship, if your heart is filled with love for each other.

Work is …….worship???

War & Peace - A Perspective

2008-04-30T14:02:00.005+05:30

War against you, Peace for me!

We all agree that War is bullshit. It is something that can only cause more harm, more pain, and more destruction. We have spent aeons writing about peace. Yet, the world as it stands today is on the verge of many battles, many conflicts. The road to peace has been littered with the wastage of wars.
So, what can one do to put a final full stop to this phenomenon?
By writing such blogs and reading / appreciating poems of peace, are we even denting the prospects of another battle?
Is a Mother Teresa or Gandhi or Martin Luther an answer to all wars?
How many of those noble souls do we expect to walk by, to sacrifice all they’ve got to stop us from living the life of misery? After all, isn’t it my life, our life? Isn’t this too important to grant control to some ‘greater’ soul, however great he/she may be? What do I lack to become someone so noble, so peaceful?
Why can’t the world consist of more Gandhi’s than terrorists?
Do I write one more article here, vent out my frustration and thoughts on an electronic piece of paper, and then switch tabs to address the latest production issue? Is that all it consists of – this meek effort, this literal drop of an argument for peace in the ocean of tension and conflict all around us?
With such questions and many more lurking in the corner of my mind, I was reading a book. Buddha.
They say, when you have a query – open the page of a good book, any random page, and start reading. You shall find your answer there.
Maybe it’s the theory of being positive, the theory that what you are looking out for will be brought forth to you – if you strive with earnestness.
Chapter 19, the last chapter gave me a lot of answers. At least, openings to those answers, which I sought to decipher above.
The first and foremost – and probably the most powerful thought is – We all are ‘Buddha’. The Enlightened One.
But before I go there, let me elucidate why I think we need to believe in the above, and how ‘war’ and ‘Buddha’ are connected.
Consider this – Is War the only malady prevailing upon us? No – if one looks deeply, every war has a supposed ‘cause’. Someone stole my land – I shall wage a war over him. Someone insulted me – I shall wage a war over him. And so on and so forth. Anger results in war. And this anger is again an after-effect of something bigger.
Analyze any statement for which humans have waged a war – and one will find that something precious has been stolen from someone. The old saying cites wine, women and wealth symbolically. So, war is actually an after-effect. It is a symptom of a bigger disease, which in turn has a deep-rooted cause.
Buddha calls this disease ‘Suffering’, and he cites the root cause as ‘Attachment’.
Our ‘attachment’ to things/to people causes misery or dukka when that thing/person is no longer with us. However, if we analyze closely, and understand the roots of our philosophy – it clearly states that we are living in a state of illusion. Various cultures have given this illusion a different name, but probably the Hindu texts came the closest when they defined ‘Maya’.
Do we blindly believe in this philosophy? No! Test it out for yourself.
Ask questions. Seek answers.
Some really tough ones I’ve come across are – Are our parents not someone who we should be attached to? Do I not mourn the departure of a close friend? Shouldn’t one supposed to cry if he/she has lost his/her love?
The answer to all of the above – going by the philosophy of ‘Maya’ is No. The world is an illusion. All these supposed ‘attachments’ are the root cause of our misery. We lose one thing – and we grieve. So, the key is not to be attached to ‘anything’ – including ‘ourselves’. This includes our body, our materialistic identity. And one can do this, only if one starts identifying oneself apart from his/her ‘thoughts’. The mind, they say is a brilliant slave, but a cruel master. For a moment, your thoughts do not desert you. And this relationship is so close, that we become alter egos – we start identifying ourselves with our thoughts. And in the due course of time, we lose ourselves, and start believing our thoughts define us! I know this can be strange to read or comprehend at first, but a closer examination will reveal the purity of the argument.
So, in essence, to end all wars – the first step is to wage a war against your own thoughts – to question what you’ve been ‘taught’, to look beyond and find the truth; which in reality is just within you!
You are Buddha. The moment you shed your inhibitions, attain a clear vision – of peace, of joy; you shall be enlightened.
And a day shall dawn, when a thousand Buddha’s shall walk the face of earth, sowing the seeds of a spiritual revolution. That day, my friends – We shall write about peace, not war.

- A NoMAD

[Read Buddha (Deepak Chopra) and A New Earth (Eckhart Tolle) for deeper insights]

I Am Not Against War. I Am For......

2008-04-29T14:11:00.003+05:30

“When you want something in life very genuinely, the whole universe conspires to help you achieve it.”
That was Paulo Coelho in Alchemist.

One of the modern theories gaining popularity of late is the law of attraction. (I do not know if it really is modern. For all you know, it could be one of those reinventions of the wheel.)

The following is the law of attraction in a nutshell.

Our thoughts decide what we are. We are today, whatever we are because of the thoughts we had yesterday. Our thoughts of today determine what we will be tomorrow.

Everyone in this universe can get what they want. All they have to do is want it earnestly. And it will eventually come to them.
That said, one should always think positive.
Think about what you want and be sure that you will get it. And it will come to you.
Think about the situation you want to be in; not as if it were future state but think about it as if it were happening at present. Close your eyes. Savour it. Do this exercise for a few minutes every few days and live all your dreams. They will eventually turn to reality.

If you want to become the CEO of a company, conduct yourself in all situations the way a CEO would conduct himself. If you want to go to Switzerland, put up pictures of Switzerland and the Alps on the walls of your room, look at them and imagine you are already there, enjoying the beauty of the place.

“So what’s the catch?” asked Nagaraj, one of my friends. “If it were as simple as that then everyone in this world should have what they want. Why are there so many unhappy, dissatisfied people in this world?”

There are several reasons. Most of the people do not know what they really want. Try asking 10 people (chosen randomly) what they want from life at that present and you will know.
They will either give you generic answers like “I want happiness, peace of mind” or complain about their problems and miseries. They will not be able to tell you what exactly they want because they don’t know what they want.

Most of them will actually tell you what they don’t want.

A few months ago during my stay in California, I was disturbed because of the cold, distant and political behaviour of some unsavoury characters that had come with me from India. A friend who noticed my unhappy state asked me, “Why are you unhappy? What do you want from this assignment and from your stay in the US in general?

I said, “I don’t want these people to behave the way they do”.
“I don’t want this roomie to bang the door each time she walks in and out of the house.”
“I don’t want these managers to do micromanagement and policing”
“I want these non vegetarians to stop being so insensitive about the sentiments of vegetarians”.

He said” These are things you DO NOT want. WHAT DO YOU WANT??”

After much contemplation I said,
”I want to acquire some domain knowledge from this project”
“I want to travel extensively”
“I want to make friends”

He said, “You will get it”.

That I believe is the key. The moment you know specifically what you want, you will get it (supposedly).

Another catch is this. Most of the people who know what they want are not happy when they get it. How many of us are grateful today for getting what we wanted from life yesterday? How many of us even remember what we wanted yesterday?

Today, I am a software professional. I have enough money. I have the best of food, clothes and accessories. I am independent. I have a mobile phone. I have a 30 GB iPod and a lovely collection of music among other things.
But how often do I think that these are the very stuff my dreams used to be made of once upon a time? How often do I jump in the air and shout “Yeah, my dreams have come true! My wishes have been granted!”? Not very often. Most of us take for granted what we have today.

To say more about the law, I am told it works. How? Vibrations attract like vibrations. Happiness attracts more happiness just as sorrow attracts more sorrow. If you are cheerful and believe that what you want is coming to you very soon, then it will come to you.

If you doubt, it will take a long time to come.
If you hope, then it will come to you, but slowly.
And if you know it will come, then, it will come in no time.

If you crib and complain all the time about your miseries, you will only bring more misery into your life.

While practicing this however, one must concentrate only on the final result, not on the strategy. Think about what you want, not about how it should materialize. The universe will take care of the how.

On our way home from office, my friend asked, “What do you want now?”
I said, “I want people to stop driving one man cars in Bangalore”.
“Why? What do you want to achieve by that?”
“Because of so many vehicles, roads and flyovers are being constructed. To make room for construction, more and more trees are being cut down. I don’t want trees to be cut down”
“So what you WANT is a GREEN BANGALORE!”
“YES”.
The point is, focus on the end result not on intermediate strategy.

And remember, two negatives don’t make a positive.
I stumbled upon this cartoon in which one guy says “I am anti-war, anti-drugs, anti-pollution, anti-commercialism, anti-deforestation”. The other guy says “Hmmm… Quite positive!”

When Mother Teresa was asked to join the anti war rally, she responded by saying “I will not join the anti war rally. But if there is a peace rally, I will surely join it”!

Don’t strive against what you don’t want.
Strive for what you want.
There is a difference. Your mind should not dwell even for a moment on the negative. It should be filled with positive thoughts only.

Whether or not you believe in the law of attraction, it acts upon you all the time. It is like gravity. Even if you don’t believe in gravity, it will still act upon you.

Skepticism raises it’s hood every now and then. But for now, I will try to believe in this law.
And then, all it takes to practice it is incorrigible optimism which is a good thing indeed!
-------------------------------------------------------------
By now you know what I want to say. Don’t you?
According to the law of attraction, we bring upon ourselves, all the thoughts that our minds dwell upon. By writing about war, thinking about war, talking about war and fighting against war we will only succeed in having more war; simply because, in all these actions it is war that we are preoccupied with and not peace.
That’s why, I am not against war. I am for peace.

And why do we always think about war between nations?
There is more war in the lives of us civilians than the soldiers across the borders. Everyday is a struggle. We fight our parents, fight with a manager and fight the busy traffic - mouthing profanities at careful and careless drivers alike.
Instead of trying to find peace in a solution, we become better fighters day by day. We devise newer strategies to defeat the purpose of a perceived enemy. Competition is the buzzword of today, not cooperation.

Anxiety, unrest, frustration, vehemence, intolerance are more venomous than explosives. They corrode an entire generation, rendering the minds infertile.

The struggle that you see outside is a struggle inside. The war that you see outside is a war within. Try not to see war, try to find peace.
Think about peace, live peacefully and be at peace with yourself.

Where does it hurt?

2008-04-28T11:25:00.004+05:30

He : I have to go again.
She: You were away a whole year.
He : Will be gone for a year again.
She: You know I tried. You do, right?
He : Yes. If that makes you happy.
She: It doesn't.I may never forgive myself.
He : I would rather take a 100 bullets than hurt like this.
She: Don't ever say that again. I am not worth it!
He : Don't insult me by saying that.
She: I am sorry.
He : The Army's all I got. We are a selfless lot they say.Somethings not right
though.Maybe because I killed Fathers, sons, husbands, lovers.... We sin for our
fellowmen , hope they keep aside a part of their prayers for us.
He : hah...I hate it when I wallow in self pity.Just that I don't want to fool
myself anymore .Every time I convince myself that the war, the
army,my country all of it... its bigger than all of us.Now,I have 5 more days to
do that.What the heck...who wants to be convinced ...I will just go.

Brothers In Arms

2008-04-27T10:09:00.004+05:30

[Based on the recent controversial tiff between Harbhajan and Sreesanth, which, has been blown out of proportion. Few lines on it, enjoy:]

Sree got a smack
For his antics, from Harbhajan
Who likes inviting trouble , he is in the knack
But no sweat
Everything is sorted out
Brothers in arms
They hug and kiss in dressing room
On the field, venom is what they spout
They made the TRPs soar
Now everyone is gushing, wanting more
Cricket has drama & tears
Move over daily soaps
You now have something to fear
IPL is finally here.

The Bottom Line

2008-04-08T21:22:00.004+05:30

It is universally known and accepted that you can't just kill a human. It is sin to.
But you can defend yourself. Self above other.
So we put ourselves in uniforms and simultaneously point guns at each other - self defense! Humans just love loopholes.

We claim to fight for justice and truth. But who are we kidding? My dears, in war, truth is the first casualty. There can be no winning a war.

Sure, anger and violence are inherent to human nature.
But what good is it to be human if you cannot even curb your impulses for the betterment of yourself and the world?

Nothing is impossible. Tendencies are malleable. War is evitable. It just takes a lot of love. Love is tolerance. And tolerance can replace war.

Fogive me if I sound too idealistic, but ultimately it is true:
All we need is love.

Let The War Begin

2008-04-04T05:15:00.003+05:30

The war continues. And we are all fighting in it. But against whom are we fighting? We are fighting against Medusa. Her face changes every time. Hunger, poverty, corruption, debauched politics, casteism, misbelieves. She grows another head as soon as we curb one of her ugly heads. But she is not undefeatable! And its time for a change. We need to fight her together. Cause often we forget that united we stand divided we fall. So let’s not awaken patriotism within us on the national holiday. Lets be a patriot on each and every day. Cause we are the soldiers of our country. The fate of our country lies in our hands. Those millions of unsung heroes of this land. So, let’s make a difference. Let’s fight for a cause. Let's fight for India.

A Sacrifice

2008-04-02T22:22:00.010+05:30

The sky bore a purple haze.The dust forming a silt,a clot of blood and anonymity.The silence of the evening slowly descending with an apprehension ,it was not so silent that afternoon.
He looked at the sky,his back resting on the ground crawling with the dead and the half dead.
The evening sun gazed at the world beneath that looked even more red than its countenance,there was more fire on the battlefield than there was in its chest.
With shaking hands,he took the wallet out from his pocket;opened the flap.But closed his eyes;for the first time his unbroken courage surrendered .He couldn't look into those eyes that spoke to him every time he looked into them.

"God,I never wanted to, but you made me...I have no prayers.Give her the strength.She is all yours now..."

"Sorry for the promise,that I couldn't keep,
sorry for the nights,I know I won't let you sleep,
just don't look back,I will be there always,
but you will find some scars,biting my face,

I don't want to go,but He wants me to,
don't blame me dear,He has sinned too,
He tore the pages of my innocent prayers,
But don't you lose hope,He always cares,

This life was short and I lost it all,
I never gave up but it was the fate's call,
the truth has spoken,nothing there to confide,
but promise before I leave...we will meet on the other side."

A soldier never craves for sacrifice or a medal.We feel proud when we say that he sacrificed his life.But do we really know what really sacrificed?Is he the only one who sacrificed?Is he the only one?

Only A Soldier

2008-04-02T17:19:00.004+05:30

He goes at the dawn
he comes back at the last hint of dusk
He fights to save you
he fights to save me
Brave at heart,raring to go

He is the son of motherland
Who puts his nation first
And himself second

He knows what is to be done
He thrives under dangers

He is the man of many hearts
Who faces his faith without a frown

At last
He didn't come in the dawn
he did not come at dusk
He fought , he fought
He fought for us
Made us winners
Lost his life
died with a smile
Because
He was only a soldier

~This poem is dedicated to all the soldiers who lay their lives protecting us~

Red

2008-04-01T21:14:00.001+05:30

Green, land
Owners
Buried, ridden
People, common people.
En masse
Fighting against Them
And They are colored, with Red
Taken
Guns, shells and cartridges.
Protests, false fragile forgotten protests
While we sleep with our
Window curtains raised

Crimson robes everywhere,
Monks
Bleeding in their color
Turning Red
The whole place
Tanks
Roads blocked
Big achievements
And we still sleep with our
Window curtain raised.

History repeats itself,
They are colored!

The Last Battle

2008-04-01T08:02:00.001+05:30

The grey sky wears a pallid haze
A faint eastern glow soaked in rain
I walk ahead, forlorn and so lost
A broken soul, an empty mind trenched in pain

'Twas the night, that hour of din
Blinded by hatred, fighting with blind compassion
Vanquishing my foes, spewing bullets in daze
I remember, those dying eyes and lolling heads so ashen

Death hangs in the air now, it moans and sings
Ravens and kites pecking at human entrails,
The echo of gunfires has subsided, the war's now won
Yet lost, a scared battlefield, as somewhere a mother wails

For the nation's glory, I butchered many a soul
Now, engulfed in ignominy, the soldier in me wanes
I mourn the death of a brother, I mourn the death of a son,
In the folds of silence, I now pray for peace, for love that remains.

Matter Of Heart.....

2008-03-31T23:43:00.001+05:30

“A woman’s heart is full of secrets”, quips old Rose, in the movie Titanic. How I believe in this secret unfolded silently in the movie. Isn’t it true? Ask yourself women? I have always wondered how we all are capable of locking down our hearts with so many hidden feelings.

Our unsaid thoughts, our untouched cravings, and our undisclosed likings…….where do they lie? In our heart, the safest place in this world! Yes we have understanding and loving parents, yes we have darling and caring husband, yes we have lovely and innocent children, yes we have the sweetest grandchildren…..but yes we have desires untold too.

The secrets are too tiny and insignificant…but yes there are, and there are many. Some are everyday secrets, some rare once and some once in a lifetime kind of secrets! Only women will know what I am saying! These secrets are not harmful facts, selfish desires or scary temptations but they are sheer little sacrifices, strong wishes hidden because they maybe trifling for others or upsetting dissatisfaction.

A woman’s heart only cares for others, every single day that she barely lives for herself! Be it modern working careerist women or housewives…there is a same devoted heart deep down inside. So here is a greeting to the heart of a woman which is so vulnerable to others sadness and so strong to her own!

Beauty or Utility? Home or Office?

2008-03-31T18:19:00.009+05:30

If I ask the question “What is more important in life? Beauty or Utility?”, 99 out of 100 will say Utility, without even thinking. This is almost as if beauty were a negative attribute.

After much thinking about a possible explanation, this is what I understand.

The adjective “beautiful” has been wrongly used to describe so many ugly creations of man, that the mention of “beauty” sometimes brings negative connotations to the mind.

Naked models dressed provocatively, walking a ramp, to offer cheap titillation to lecherous men (and women) for the sake of money, are often described as “beautiful”.

The fair complexion has been “beautified” by those who wish to sell fairness creams.
The cosmetic industry and beauty saloons are selling beauty.
Several “ugly examples of beautification for commercial purposes “can be given but the point I want to make is this.
The ulterior motive behind “beautifying” certain things is so well known to all of us that beauty is seen not as a virtue anymore but as something that is very shallow. The meaning of beauty has been reduced to something that merely pleases the senses and has no greater significance in the affairs of the world.

This can be clearly seen in certain anecdotes that you hear so often.
“Beauty is skin deep. Beauty lies in the eyes of a beholder.” That is what they have been telling us for ages. They sound so irrefutable!
In essence, the true meaning of beauty is forgotten or completely lost.

In the same way, utility or utilitarianism has been glorified and venerated; not by a particular individual or a category this time, but by people in general. The reason is, utilitarianism is caused and fuelled by greed and all of us are greedy. So the glorification was necessary if only to serve as a justification of our greed, if not anything else. In course of time, utility has been associated with necessity, with purpose, usefulness, fruitfulness, worth and with value. The result is that an entire generation is convinced that beauty is mere ornamentation and utility is purposefulness.

It took me a single reading of Tagore’s essays to realize that there has been so much misunderstanding!!! I realized that utility stands for fragmentariness and beauty stands for wholesomeness.

The open spaces, the rains, the trees, the mountains, the people stand for beauty. Harmony, goodwill, peace, cooperation and love are the traits of beauty.
On the other hand, the cluttered offices, the air conditioners, the lorries with their exhausts, the vendors with their goods, the plastic covers stand for utility. Competition, greed, shrewdness, diplomacy, hostility are the traits of utilitarianism.

All things that are wholesome, complete and one in nature are beautiful. It is needless to say therefore that all things that exist in their natural state are wholesome and therefore beautiful.
Utility happens when you break the whole into fragments.

The evergreen forests stand for beauty. The furniture and timbre made from trees cut down stand for utility.
The breeze from the open spaces stand for beauty. The artificial air conditioners stand for utility.
The waterfalls stand for beauty. The power station stands for utility.
Once again, utility happens when you break the whole into fragments.

One may ask the most expected question. Are the offices, the vendors and lorries not necessary for our survival?

Yes. As long as they are driven by need they may be inevitable.
But once they become driven by greed, they begin to destroy all beauty around them and create nothing but ugliness.

Think about this.
The trees in Bangalore are all being brought down because someone there believes that utility is more important than beauty. The lakes are being closed for gain of more lands for construction. Again because, someone thinks utility takes precedence over beauty.

In place of trees and lakes, offices are being built. More trees are cut to build apartments for the people who spend all their time in these offices. In order that the people working in these offices may spend their money to buy goods they really don’t need, some more trees are cut down to build shopping malls.

In summary, man’s preoccupation with utility has converted this entire world into a gigantic office to which the home has become a mere appendix.

What has all this to do with the subject of women?
The connection I am trying to establish is that...
Utility is a man’s preoccupation and beauty, a woman’s.

Nurturing a plant in the garden, cooking for a family, bringing up a baby, decorating a home are all a woman’s preoccupation….. in all of these one can see a woman’s unconscious preoccupation with beauty and wholesomeness.

The cars, the factories, the chimneys, the concrete jungles and their wooden furniture that stand for utility are the production of a man.
Whereas the home, the people in living in them, the love that’s binds them, the paintings decorating the walls, the flowers in the vases, the carefully tended gardens and their plants, the aroma in the kitchen that stand for beauty are the creation of a woman.

Having understood that the office represents fragmentariness and home represents wholesomeness, I am flattered to know, to realize that our society endowed women with the responsibility of home and men with the responsibility of office. The more important one entrusted in the custody of more able hands.

This is not to say that a woman’s place is at home although I am not very sure sometimes. But surely a woman’s priority should be the home over the office. Her job is more important, more difficult and she alone is capable of doing it. I am simply saying that the home is a woman’s prerogative.

In today’s world characterized by hostile competition, greed, consumption of materials, mistrustfulness and a struggle for survival, perhaps women’s participation in office is somewhat necessary if not indispensable. The above fact notwithstanding, women need to prioritize. They are often faced with the question Home or Office?

The torch bearers of feminism, the custodians of liberation, the advocators of equality, all short sighted, shallow thinking people, are sending out the wrong messages. If a man can do it, why not a woman?

It is very difficult to escape the influence of the rhetoric, but one must understand that men and women are inclined to different things by nature. There is inequality in nature which must be preserved.
If men and women were meant to equal one another and had a common purpose to fulfill, there would not have been two sexes in nature. Nature would have created just one sex and there would have been uniformity.

The very fact that the creator has created two different sexes should tell us that we have different reasons for coming into the world, that we have different interests to pursue and that we are unequal.

By aiming at equality, by attempting to do all those things that a man does, a woman only succeeds in relinquishing those special qualities and special rights that nature has bestowed upon her to create beauty and wholesomeness all around her. She is also shirking from the responsibilities that nature had endowed her with.

Every society, every home, every situation calls for some kind of sacrifice to be made for its sustenance, well being and progress.

To substantiate this, I will use Bangalore as an example. If the beauty of this city has to be restored, what should be done? People should stop driving one man cars and use public transport instead, thus preventing the necessity to construct more roads, thus preserving greenery.
People should walk as much as they can and not drive everywhere thus refraining from polluting the atmosphere. In other words, certain sacrifices will have to be made to sustain the environment of the city.
The conclusion is that, the virtue of sacrifice or abstinence preserves beauty and wholesomeness, whereas indulgence necessitates utilitarianism and results in fragments.

This was an example from the environment scene. But this holds true in every facet of life. Every home, every society asks for sacrifice (mostly in the form of abstinence from indulgence) for its well being, sustenance and progress.

From time immemorial women have found themselves expected to make this sacrifice while men indulge. (This too has evoked much rhetoric from our feminists). This may seem unfair at the first glance and but if you look carefully, you will understand it is a woman who has the more difficult task at hand of creating a home, of creating wholesomeness and it is a woman who has the self control to make the necessary sacrifices.

The biggest challenge that a woman is faced with today is not a man, not discrimination, not oppression.
The challenge is to understand that she has a greater purpose to fulfill in this world than a man and to discover her purpose.
It is to understand that the almighty meant the man and the woman to complement each other and not compete with each other.
It is to understand that her place in the family, in the society is that of someone who holds the reins to unbridled horses.
The challenge is to decide for herself who she is and what she wants even as the feminists try hard to tell her who she is and what she should want.

I would like to conclude by quoting George Bernard Shaw. “If women were as fastidious as men morally or physically, then, that would be the end of the human race”.

Feb 22, 2006

2008-03-29T08:53:00.002+05:30

2 Women, 2 Conversation

Watching Music and Lyrics… & Pop, goes my heart………………

As I stand in the queue to get some popcorn for N in the interval, I see this girl... Standing right next to me in the café queue…

Epic Proportions: I exclaim!

What?

I mean, those proportions could start off an epic… I… I didn’t mean they are ‘epic’… As in, no… yes, they are huge… but, that’s not what I probably meant in the first place… or, meant… but…

All you guyz are the same…

Come on…

What? Aren’t you?

Yes, v r!

Earlier in the day, called up D…

D (Panting) (waise, I luv the word… wonder watz its origin?!) :)

‘Oops… Guess I’ll call up later…’

‘Shut up! Am in the gym’

Oh! … Yeah, thought so…

Of course! U did…

Wazzup with u?

I’ll like to stick to what the elders say… One round in the bed is equivalent to six in the park! Ha Ha Ha... No gym whim for me.

(Nah, if you are looking for a 'start' and a logical 'end' to this piece, not quite like it. It's like those intellectual Malayalam movies. As soon as you just start understanding what's going on, in all that darkness... The End symbol flashes. When deeply pondered though, these movies have a lot to say, and eventually go on to win a lot of awards... True masterpieces that they are! ;) :) )

- A NoMAD

Cooks, Crooks... Or, Musicians

2008-03-29T08:27:00.008+05:30

I know the theme is 'Women'. And how awe-struck I am. Reading serious poems and abortion posts in this forum - I questioned which of their traits do I miss the most. The answer - Cooking. I miss my mom's great culinary skills, or my girlfriend cooking a simple daal-sabji for me. Today, as I was cooking all alone, I thought of sharing this great secret recipe as a tribute to all the women in my life, who've fed me for the past twenty odd years.

And of course, to bring some smile to the grim we've managed to create this month!

--

Cooks, Crooks... Or, Musicians.

As T.N Seshan learnt that I was from Pallakad (southern tip of the Western Ghats in Kerala), he asked me which one am i? I replied, am an MBA - you figure it out!

However, your genes leave you seldom. My great granddad had a restaurant in Rangoon, Burma (now Myanmar). When Burma and India officially split, a partition not talked about often, as the other infamous one - many families including mine had to leave our flourishing establishments in Rangoon and return to our native in and around Pallakad. Coimbatore, Erode, Gobichettypalayam in today's Tamil Nadu; and Pallakad, Guruvayur in Kerala.

Boundaries hardly matter. Your skills stay with you no matter where you head. So, as I spend my time posing as a consultant in the Silicon Valley, am secretly doing what my destiny has in store for me. I cook, and I sing. (The crook part of it is synonymous with the consultant part of it). Today I'm here to share with you The Secret, through a chosen recipe. A Secret which has been protected by Gods (remember, I'm from God's Own Country!?! ;) It has traveled through war and peace, through countries and continents; by air, sea or on elephant-backs. Today, ladies and gentlemen - Is a historic occasion. Not only because a secret is being revealed, but also because a rebel, a Buddha - is born. As you read ahead, traditions will be tattered, and conventions, broken. Free will, a soaring soul shall unleash the power of human choice - a choice which prostrates ancient wisdom, but not without a salman-khan twist.

Recipe of the Day: Corn, Tomato and Spinach curry

(A list of ingredients and quantities can be obtained by posting a comment to the author below. For now, the procedure follows).

Put some tel in a non-stick container with two ears. (Warning: Please note All the minutest details, any miss could lead to a potential disaster. Follow to the T)

Turn on the heat. (Oh ho... come on... don’t always think about 'that thing'. We're cooking here, as in a 'real meal'... As in... ufff... every statement has a loop & a hole it seems... Ohh... Cant help it, perverts!)

Put jeera, heeng (asafoetida, or whatever the angrez call it); red chili powder (of mizo mirchi fame, the kinds which Professor Pillai threatened to put in our arse if we acted naughty in school); haldi (harmless haldi, I like haldi - innocent haldi, not pungent, not sweet, not sour, not hot... helps you recover from cold when mixed with milk, or helps your roop to nikhrao if applied as vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream - twacha kee raksha kare antiseptic cream).

Mix well. Add onions, till brown. (The kind of brown which matches your skin color. Oh ho, No offence. Oh, Who said that that, who used that 'racist' term... Sa%*la.. Fuck#@.. Be@#$@#od, dare you not call me a 'racist'! Abusive, shameless! Using fowl remarks... #$@@#$ (The last word was 'badwaa rascal' - a common malayali swear word, not used anymore in English language)

Add beer (preferably cheap Heineken - Budweiser will make the dish more salty, Corona if you prefer a pungent taste. Trust me, Heineken is mild)

Tip: Take a few sips yourself, as the next part of the journey is darn tough.

Add a can of corn, a can of sliced tomatoes.

Parallely put palak (spinach) in a bowl. (Use of 'palak' was for the poetic effect, alliteration). Add some water, and put the palak (ha ha again, i like it! :) in a microwave for 1 min.

Add palak to the potent dish. (I know, potent was totally not-needed here, but - It starts with a 'P'! - remember, palak, potent - alliteration!)

Stir well, while adding some garam masala.

The art of cooking lies in being on the brim. Not too far, not too close. Not very confident, not too unsure. It's as nimble as a ballet, balancing a thousand stars around a sun in the platform not-as-vast as the universe! Chances of collision are huge, and a spoon of salt more could kill the entire effort. Especially, if you are on the verge of the third Heineken heading towards this last phase. Read on, carefully.

Add water with a bit of tomato puree. Mix well. For the truly brave souls, put some vodka (Absolut, and nothing else). Just a spoon is enough, to give that sparkling effect.

Mix more. (Alliteration with 'M')

Add some cheese. (This twist is not mentioned in the ancient scriptures, it is a direct result of an earlier experiment gone wrong with tortillas, which led us to a surplus of cheese, half micro waved, ready to be rescued)

Mix more. (Ah, I've done it again)

Any dish which is so 'liquid' in nature, needs some binder. Use 'sattu'. Add 1 spoon of sattu to half a glass of water, and pour the concoction to the dish. A healthy alternative to using besan, trust me!

Mix more. (I'm a genius, where's my Nobel!?!)

Put the knob of the burner to Mid-Low, and cover the non-stick container with two ears with its lid.

Let it cook itself for 2 minutes. (My ancient uncle said - The cook feeds himself. What he meant was - The food cooks itself. Burma being closer to China, South Indians of yore were poor in grammar once upon a time) Ah, no.. how dare you bring on the 'racist' comment again! You racist, you #$@@#$

('badwaa rascal').

Ok, now comes the final cut, the last stop. Adding salt. The trickiest part of the art, it’s filled with tension; a la tendulkar in his nervous nineties. You can score 99, but the last 1 run will put your name amongst the greats or the goats. Either you are heard, or you are a part of the herd. That's why, the most expert of cooks too will not give you a measure. Add salt to taste, is all they can say. Cheapsters. When I was a novice, training under the one who cannot be named (you don’t take the name of your ustaads, do you? Just put a hand to your ear, and you know the ustaad was a great soul.) Likewise, when my ustaad used to teach me how to cook, I would put my left hand to my right ear - and always bungle this one. Lifelong, his only comments were - More salt, less salt. Or - less salt, more salt. Never, no more salt, or no less salt. Over the years though, partially as a gift of the gods, as a legacy of the great genes - and partially through my own sweat - I've mastered this art. The secret, literally is to drop two, exactly two drops of sweat into the dish. It's watery-salty nature, lends a perfect blend, the aforementioned balance!

So, there you go. Serve the sabji/curry or whatever 'names' you need to give to the heavenly art - with hot rice. Or roti. Or tortilla-de-patatas. Or devour as soup (If you're too lazy like my room-mates to cook anything more).

The secret, or rather 'secrets' are out. All over the place, through this recipe. For more, please do drop in a 'fan' mail or a comment below.

May peace prevail. (Alliteration with 'P', I cannot believe I don’t have the FedEx # for my Nobel yet!)

- A NoMAD

Be my Woman

2008-03-28T23:58:00.000+05:30

Be my Mother woman,
Borne me in thy womb.
Hold me in thy tender
Bossom, help me pass
The troubled times.

Be my Sister woman,
Hold my tiny body
Above your head.Dance
With joy for the reason
That you have a brother.

Be my Wife woman,
Love me till the end
Of time.Bear me my
Progeny so that I can
Become a proud father.

Be my Forgiver woman,
Cause slay I would
In your foetus,given
Half the chance
For a scion of man.

Music....hmmm...;)

2008-03-28T11:14:00.000+05:30

Rewind with Music.Try this.Just the other day I was listening to the song ‘Making love out of nothing at all’ and I flew into my past…when I used to chat with Amit. We used to chat on the mobile for hours together. The whole bunch of those sweet and sour days mingled in my mind. It was like I was watching a movie in which I and him played the lead roles and the song was the director. That song did wonders. It actually rewound a particular time in my life which I can relate to strongly with that song because I used to listen to that song a lot around that time!When I listen to the songs of Dil Toh Pagal Hai…..they take me back to my 10th standard year…..they take me back to those times when we all so called 10th standard grown ups used to watch this movie again and again…..the songs were by heart known to all of us!!The fun we all had at that time was flashed back into my senses.When ever I listen to the songs of Mukesh……I go back to the time when I and my brother were young and we used to travel a lot with our parents in our Maruti 800. My dad used to play these songs which I did not enjoy much back then…Me and my brother hardly listened actually…we were busy giggling and teasing and having fun. But now when those songs are played anywhere they automatically take to me to that period of my life. Its so wonderful! I don’t even have to close my eyes or anything…..open eyed yet not looking ahead…I am enjoying peeping in that time of my life without any efforts….!!Does it happen with you folks?? The songs lyrics may not even be relevant to your life or any situation particularly…..just the feel and the tune and the mood of the song gives your emotions a lift! Its absolute FUN…..:)

Sad State of Bangla Rock

2008-03-22T05:41:00.001+05:30

Song - Hurricane
Year Released - November 1975
Singer - Bob Dylan
Genre - Folk Rock

A protest-song sung by Bob Dylan which was co-written by Jacques Levy, about the imprisonment of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter. Here Dylan makes his voice heard about the false trail and conviction of Rubin, describing it as an act of racism.

Song - ?
Year Released - Was to be released on 2007
Singer - ?
Genre - Bangla Rock

A man named Rizwanoor Rehman was murdered in 2007, there was lots of controversies related to his death. Till date numerous questions remains unanswered. But the saddest part is that the so-called Bangla Rock genre could not produce a singer who could create one Hurrican out of Rizwanoor.

Many of the post-modern Bengalis swear by the names of these so-called Bangla Rock bands as if they are the Gods of Rock. Here too a burning question remains unanswered. Why are these self-proclaimed Gods of Rock incapable of producing a song which would even remotely touch the passion of Hurricane? Are they too afraid to raise their voice?

If thats the case then why should we call it Bangla Rock? Cause Rock as we know is not just a genre of music. It's a way of life. But Bangla Rock, as its singers portray it, is a bunch of long haired punks trying to play a metal guitar producing something which dont have a remote resemblance with Rock but can be easily termed as utter cacophony.

Is this what Bangla Rock is all about? Is this what we have made out of Rock?

She is Eighteen.

2008-03-20T22:18:00.006+05:30

"...all crumbled she laid, on the holy bed,
shivers woke her up ,as her lips laid dead,
she found her angel walk, through the open door,
she saw the halo fade,as the nails marked the floor,

spatters of blood on the naked,bare sheet,
tears and confessions, I say,made it so complete,
the echoes of her screams,keeping her alive,
the puff of ecstasy she breathes-a placebo to survive?

the silence of her cries and few broken promises ,
the lingering smell of sanity in her hollow premises,
the so called rules to follow,the so called call of the society,
smothered complains,I say,the meaningless, so called dignity,

life?huh !
a razor blade and some pills,
some pictures and some stills,
a phone book and some friends,
sorry starts and the dead ends,

she is a girl,she is eighteen and turning,
she should play with the rain but she is already burning..."

My Flesh, My Blood

2008-03-20T01:39:00.002+05:30

Have you ever seen a ship drowning in the sea? When the violent sea tries to drown the ship, the ship protests. It pleads with the sea to give it another chance, just one more. The cries of the people aboard the ship drowned by the tempestuos fury of the lightning. Rain lashing out on the deck as the violent sea steers the ship in random directions. For an instant, it seems the angry sea is moved by the cries and has decided to let the ship live. But then the next moment, the surface of the sea swirls violently drawing the ship into it. The ship goes down silently, with everything it holds within, as if melting like ice into the mysterious icy depths and then it is lost forever. As it lies on the bed lifeless, what does the ship think about? What does it feel now that its saviour has destroyed it? The one for whom it existed is the reason it does not exist now. Does it ever forgive the sea? And does the sea ever forgive itself?

These are the thoughts that run past by mind as I am sitting in this isolated clinic looking at the vast blue sky through the small window. I have killed my child. Yes, my own child who had thought that the warm womb she was sleeping in was the safest place on earth. Her quivering lips which would have called me 'Ma' one day are now silent forever. Her tiny hands which would have held my hand and learnt to walk will now no longer move. Her tiny fluttering heart which beat in rythm with my heartbeat are now silent forever.

When the nurse came and asked me how I felt, what could I have told her? I didnt feel angry at myself for having given into that sonovabitch. I didnt feel weak having succumbed to the society. There was like an invisible barrier between me and my emotions. It was like emotions had left my body with my child. All I felt was a pain. A pain, as pure as moonlight, arising somewhere deep inside my abdomen. No painkiller could alleviate this pain. It was as if somebody was poking my wounds with a knife so that it hurt more and more. As if the remnants of the unborn child were cursing me from inside.The pain crawled through the spine into my head and was trying to burst it open. But I was not crying. Tears had dried long before.

As I went into the bathroom, the foetus was lying wrapped in a blood soaked white cloth on the floor. A tiny mass of flesh and blood, my flesh, my blood. Its tiny hands were suspended in air as if it wanted a hug from me. Would she ever forgive me? I would never forgive myself.

Night

2008-03-19T02:06:00.003+05:30

Night
Lights
Cars
Fast moving cars

Life
Cycle
Going down
Street lamp glaring with all might
Girls. Girls on a selling spree
Neons, busy.

Dogs from the other car looking at me
People busy to go
Ambitions, fulfillment.
People going far away
Where are they going?
Saw Anna, long time no see!
Why?
Busses,
Miscarriage.
Peace.
Where art thou?

Phone, talking endless gibberish
No point talking!
Sarees, mela of colours.
All of us,
Moving.

Her chronicle!

2008-03-17T14:17:00.002+05:30

At 5, she loved her mother.
At 7, they wished they had a son...

At 10, she loved her father.
At 12, they prayed to have a son...

At 15, she loved her best friend.
At 17, they thought they have had enough of her...

At 20, she loved him.
At 22, they said, ‘She’s gone! Ah! Finally, we’re done!’...

At 25, she loved his family.
At 27, there wasn’t a sign of her...

At 30, her father was queer, her mother looked wretched, her friend sought justice, he loved his new bride, his family was counting money...

All what remained of her was a broken, melted bangle, a charred piece of her sari maybe, a little ash and lots of dust in that barren, burnt, ruined house, struggling with loneliness.

What Women Want - A Poem

2008-03-14T16:06:00.003+05:30

Women are shallow
Women are vain
Women, men feel
Are often a pain.

Now if that’s true
What’re you to do?
I must ask then
What’s a woman to you?

A mother, a wife;
Or a sister beside
Here are some women
Men walk alongside.

We say we are equal,
We say we are strong
Truth of the matter is;
We are rarely wrong!

What do we want?
You ask us today,
Will you ask again tomorrow?
What happened to yesterday?

Are you ready to listen?
That list runs long
No expense necessary
But you must be strong.

We want love & respect
Not be spoken down to
Some understanding $ compassion
For the work that we do.

We play many roles
We try not to hurt,
We pretend to be strong
Whenever you are curt.

We say we are equal
We say we are strong
Truth of the matter is
We are sometimes wrong.

We want to be cherished
Thought of as wise
A compliment from you
Will be really nice.

Treat us sweet
Treat us kind
Treat us like Queens
We don’t mind!

Be nice to a lady
For how lovely she is
Her smile & her warmth
Is one you will miss.

Buy her some flowers
A trinket or two
A bar of chocolate
And she’s closer to you.

A call in the day
‘Hi! How do you do?’
A hug in the night
To say ‘I love you’

Hold our hand
Please, make us laugh
Listen to our woes
They will divide by half

Let me end my rambling
Let me stop this jaunt
I have answered the question
Of what women want!

I just watched.

2008-03-13T00:58:00.013+05:30

The newspaper laid limp in my hands as my eyes ran through the lines in a hurry.
The first page flashed a big ad from some fairness cream-"International Women's Day".
"Ya alright! You surely will be happy.",I smiled.
"Ting tong."
The doorbell rang like it had woken up from a deep slumber.
It was Sandhya.The little girl ,daughter of the maid.
"Bhaiyya ! Why is there so much crowd in that shop?".
I looked in the direction where her tiny fingers were pointing.It was a CCD(Cafe ` Coffee Day) and it was packed with girls,jeans and tops and skirts and polka dots and all the latest wardrobe hits.
They all wore coloured caps,and were shouting and hollering and hugging each other.There was no birthday cake.
"Celebrating Women's Day.",I replied.
"What's that?Is it like our Independence Day?",she asked.
"Yes.Its something like that.On Independence day people salute the national flag and today they salute the woman.",I pompously said.
"Will they salute my ma too?"
I laughed,"Yes."

"Then she should be happy.Why is so unhappy?Why does she cry every time she comes back home after work?
My daddy never salutes her.He beats her up instead and when he does that ma asks me to run away.So I run away to Malti's house.She bleeds in her feet ,her hands are no more soft now.She wakes up early and comes late.Father comes home late and leaves early too.Sometimes he stays away for 3 to 4 days.My mother cries then.I don't understand.I know that father will come back after few days.

I have been to so many places today morning.No one saluted me.I played with girls from the school and they showed me their new books.I read a few lines but even after reading twice they didn't cuddle me as ma used to do.I go to school no more coz we don't have money.Ma says that I should start washing my own clothes and dishes.She wants me to come with her and watch her work.
I dry the clothes and wipe the plates in every bhaiyya's house she works.I love doing that.I love staying with her.I have also learned to broom.
See? Now you should salute me."

I had no answer.

Women's Day !I watched them celebrate.They were shoulder to shoulder,hand in hand.I watched them stand proud and walk high.I watched them smell the air of freedom,I watched them love themselves.They sang and danced to the tunes they liked,they loved.I watched them speak whatever they wanted to,they pipped the boys in every race and I watch them alighting the stairs to heavenly success.

I also watched her cry,watched her hide her bruises and work hard,just for few morsels,watched her scrub the dirt with her tiny hands, eyes teared coz her baby cried somewhere under the sun as she lifted bricks on her head;I watched her thrown around like a piece of flesh,she being stabbed before even she smiled at her mother.I watched her beat her breasts in agony ,I watched her mark the walls with her thumbnails in pain and I watch her drown in blood and despair.

Just watched her.I was happy.I was sad.

2008-03-08T11:47:00.007+05:30

Feminist | Resurrection. Reverberation

I am the voice of a woman,
The vital race for existence of human.
Behind the success of every man,
Lies my presence as a talisman!

I am born as a daughter,
Mostly caressed, like the clay by a potter,
Sometimes the victim of a man slaughter,
Life of a woman is an opera of falters!

I adolesce into a wanted dame,
Become an arm candy for all his fame,
Words of wisdom sound all lame,
The time was now to put my horses to tame!

I groom into a caring wife,
Give up everything to acclimatise with his life,
Lived by orders at the edge of a knife,
The glamors of a fairytale is no more rife!

I pregnate into the life of a mother,
Lactate my newborn genes to grow further,
The fairytale endings are here to smother,
Flair of effeminism is now trivial to bother!

I now senesce my presence into an old age home,
After his death, life became a hysterical syndrome,
Story of my life is no more an epitome,
In as much, my'self' has lost all it's chrome!

I now lay on a bed of roses,
My soul sails over the sea of life's dozes.
I am the lady on a flying dutchman,
Hear me out, I am the voice of a woman!

Prejudiced

2008-03-08T11:18:00.011+05:30

"...the rivulet was singing a melancholy,the sky was spotless but for a flock of gulls striking a line on its easel,the trees being caressed by the wind as the leaves frolicked on their twigs.
She didn't care.She once cared though.
She looked at her reflection-her eyes filled with prejudice,asking a thousand questions .
"Why did I do that?He is my father and he spent his whole life making my dreams come true.Just a simple "Yes" and I would have made him happy."

"All that he wanted me to do is to marry Ravi.I can spend a life with a stranger.I will surely like him.Pa gave so many sacrifices and I just have to give one.I will do it.I will marry him."

And she stood up.Walking slowly ,she tried something that she never had done.She tried forcing the gratitudes over her dreams,she let her father's tears drown away her screams,she nailed his picture in front of her eyes to ease her bothering conscience.

Suddenly she stopped.A piece of glass had slit her toe.The pain had pushed her out of the delirium that was walking with her.

"Why ?Why should I do this to myself?",from no where a stream of voices barged on her.
"No.I have to say "yes"."
"No .I can't.How can I let him do that?I just can't."
"But he is my father.My FATHER !."

A battle she fought with her self.The blood streamed from her toe,tainting the wet stones ,the cold pebbles sent a chilling sting down her spine and the cut was the ingress.But she ignored it.

"Yes .He is my father.My father and as a father he should understand me.I have my dreams ,my desires,even I can "demand" something from life.I am not some piece of flesh to be thrown around.I breathe the same air he breathes so why can't I live the same way he lives?Don't have I right to live free?
He never stopped me from making the smallest of decisions then how can he not let me make such an important one?I know myself better than him,I know when I want to marry and I will tell him what I think."

And again, everything went blank.
"What was that?Where did that come from?How can I think like that about my father,about the man I admire the most?I am not a worthy daughter."

She looked up.The door gaped,the house seemed to bear a look of anger.
She slowly stepped into the house.With specs on his eyes,he sunk his face between the leaves of the newspaper.
Sidling along the sofa ,she stood in front of him.Like a child she bore the guilt on her face.The same way she used to say "Sorry" when dad had found out her lie.

"Pa...",she choked.Tears broke waves in her eyes but sh stopped them.
"I..."
"What?Arre Shilpa did you hear,these U.S. people have made it even more tougher to get a VISA !I wonder how will I get you in U.S.", he chuckled.
Her heart pounded like a drum.She was surprise but a sweet shock it was.
She muttered,"Pa.Ravi..."

"Arre I have talked with Sharma.Bol diya usse,meri beti badi ho gayi hai.Aaj kal meri baat sunti hi nahin.Aakhir beti kiski hai?", a laughter filled the room.

"I love you Pa."she was in his lap.
"I am proud of you my angel."

He was still the man she admired the most.

She was proud that she was his daughter.she was proud she was a daughter.

"The world respects her.She can no more be chained.She can no more be forced .She is understood.She will make them understand.Coz she knows ,she is everything.She is a woman."

The Ultimate Greed

2008-03-07T22:54:00.008+05:30

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her saree well draped,
The flow of fire, liquid.
Her delicate anklets tinkling,
The burning feet.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

The tongue of fire,
Her lush dark hair;
The jasmine fragrance fading;
The overpowering reek.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her lovely face, melting,
Her teary eyes, sparkling.
Her gasps for breath, heaving,
Her cries for relief.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Women, both of them,
The killer and the victim.
One plays with the candle,
The other is the wick.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her smile, smug, contorted
Her gaze, intense hatred.
Her eyes eager, hungry;
The ultimate greed.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

A voice against Dowry Deaths, on Women's day.

For Dad!

2008-03-06T19:18:00.003+05:30

You must be wondering why I am writing to you now? You must be wondering why I haven’t remembered you for more than a minute in all these years, why I haven’t dreamt of you, why I haven’t shed a single tear after you were gone…

The answer is simple-and it is ‘Mom’! When you passed away, though little I was but my ears heard everything they said. They said…what she will do…a mother of three small children! They said…how she will survive…with three small children! They said…how she will work; she has no job at this time! They said…what will happen to them...within poverty and its stinging bite! They said…who will provide for them…a poor lady and her three small children! They said…a young lady…it’s so tough to do without her man…and they said many more things and their banter, I heard for a long time.

Today I tell them…the poor lady survived and so did her three small children. They aren’t small anymore neither poor. No angel touched their lives, nor did God take a look down, it was the will of that lady alone and now they have been seeing happier times. She worked hard, she worked day and night, she worked without stopping for a breath, she worked when she was ill and when there were dreaded times. She looked after the three, she send them to school, she made sure to pack their lunches even when she hadn’t a morsel anymore. She would cry alone at times but saw to it that the three never had a tear in the eye, in all the hard and rough times, all alone she did strife. She stood like a wall between troubles and her three yet she never forgot to tell them how to lead a life that was guilt-free. She loved them unselfishly like a mother, she cared for them like friends, she stood by them like dad and she taught them life’s lesson with a dedication of a teacher.

I am sure you know all the answers …I am sure you understand all of it by now, I am sure you know why I haven’t missed you much all these years…I am sure you are proud of her…your beautiful wife and our adorable mom!!!

#dedicated to my mother, yours and everyone’s!!!

Now Your Woman...Now A Witch

2008-03-06T15:23:00.005+05:30

‘She’s the daughter, mother, sister, the wife…’ they say

And isn’t she an erring human, too, pray?

As long as she’s sweet she’s a princess beyond compare

When reality gets her good side she’s but an ugly bear

‘Beware of women’ they say

And what brings all the bitter hurt, the hateful dismay?

The invisibility of love, practicality, or a voice as high as yours?

‘Equality’ they talk of, and offer warnings & barbs for cures!

‘All heart and no brain’ they say

And what’s not right in their childlike way?

Wrong to feel when everyone thinks?

To gaze aimlessly when the world’s short on time for blinks?

‘They’re only fooling around’ they say

And what’s wrong with harmless play?

Without a care you glance and flirt around…

But their platonic conversations call for fury & surround sound.

‘Superwoman, superhealer’ they say

But fail at it once, and there, you betray!

No room for second chances, no forgiveness, no ma’am

Can’t live up to expectations? ‘You’re all sham!’

‘We salute women’ they say

Condolences & praises for a whole long day!

Notwithstanding that she feels lucky to be one

Because being a woman blessed her with your heart that she once won.

An Endearing Incident

2008-02-29T19:28:00.001+05:30

These days I’ve been traveling a lot, literally living out of my backpack on weekends, and as the McD ad goes ‘I’m lovin’ it’. In the process I meet a lot of people, strangers to begin with but after a trip or trek they no longer remain strangers. What amazes me is the camaraderie and the rapport you sometimes develop with people in so short a span whereas in some cases even a lifetime is not enough.

So, I headed towards Mahabs (Mahabalipuram aka Mamallapuram) stealing time out of my weekend trip to Chennai. Mahabs a port city during the reign of Pallavas and it is also believed that it served as a school for young sculptors. There must be some veracity in that belief; Huge reliefs, beautifully carved sculptures, monolithic rathas and majestic temples are strewn across the small town handsomely making a walk through the town on foot an absolute joy. But this post is not about Mahabs but about a very lovable incident that happened there.

A friend’s friend (whom I was meeting for the first time) stays in Mahabs and as he and his wife were going to Chennai they said they would drop me. Tired after a long day of sightseeing I was relieved to get a little rest at their home.

Their son Jay is an absolutely adorable kid, he has this playful spark in his charcoal eyes and a most delightful smile. We hit it off almost instantly.

We started reading an illustrative magazine together, he with the resolute curiosity so associated with kids discovered something new at every page and some of his enthusiasm rubbed into me too. As we finished the magazine, he was curious to know whether I was going to Chennai with his parents and when he came to know that I was, he immediately said “Don’t Go!”

Awwwww cho chweet.

I assured him that I’ll be back to see him some other time (which I actually plan to do some day.) but he didn’t look convinced.

I took out my camera to get his pictures but he wouldn’t stay still and insisted on taking my picture. I gingerly gave the camera to him and he did manage to click a picture of mine but with no head, but he was so pleased when we reviewed it together.

We amused yourself thus for quite sometime before it was time for me to go. His Mom and Dad were pampering Jay as they would be out the whole night and after getting a kiss from his Mom he looked smug.

It was time for me to say good-bye and as I patted him on his back “Love you.” he said as if it was the most natural thing to say; his Mom tut-tutted light-heartedly from behind. “Me too.” I replied, beaming at him.

Love is not so difficult to find after all. I keep telling my Mom that there is a celestial connection that makes me meet such lovely people. And incidents like this strengthen my belief even more.

Love Actually

2008-02-28T19:50:00.003+05:30

Is it too late to write about love?

28th Feb. Time to move on. As The Valentine Month comes to a chocking end, let us see what love has in store for us?

The laws of the universe (and Yash Chopra) dictate that there is one soulmate for everyone. Someone, somewhere is made for you.

And there starts the chaos. A simple look at the male:female sex ratio, and the magic gets lost in the logic!

Here to look at the interlock and de-code the ultimate Yash Chopra code (which coincidently made him a millionaire, not a bad myth haan!?!)

Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy.

Aha, wait! Not so simple. Start attaching live variables to this simple axiom, and you know the real magic behind the scenes...

Re-examined:

Boy A loves Girl A. Girl A loves Boy B. Boy B loves Girl C. Girl C loves Boy D. and so on and so forth.

Other variations to the axiom: The famous love triangle. When superimposed, these triangels integrate, with many common nodes, forming a complex pyramid-like structure. All of us burried souls in the dead-weight of such mind-boggling confusion.

Then why does a spider fall into its own web? Trapped, silly-looking... All set to die. Why does it kill itself, commit a romantic-suicide? Not once, not twice... But time and again, till the time it's so-called attractiveness quotient dies in the romance-market, or it's hormones give away and are unable to respond to the needs of the opposite sex?

No idea. It's something like bungee-jumping. You just love the thrill. The thought. The concept... The wonderful 'feeling' of falling-in-love. Though, you know that the ropes have severed in the past... Only to let you loose in the dark abyss of solitude and tears.

Nah. But there you are... Ready to jump again. Shahrukh features in his 400th romantic flick at the age of fourty... And you're all set to whistle the love song, set it as your caller tune.

From tujhe dekha to, to aankhon mein teri... From Kajol to Deepika... The romantic love stories are the same. But what happens when the movie ends? The popcorn's over. The theater is empty, dark, ravaged and stinking.

You make promises to yourself.

And you break them. Only to get set for a new show. With a new audience. A new hero, a new heroine.

I'm ready to fall in love. All over again. Hopefully, this time - I'll soar. And fly. Nevertheless, I'll take this chance. And even if someone cuts my rope, strangles my belief - I know it's worth dying for!

Isn't Yash Chopra smiling?

- A NoMAD.

Distractions

2008-02-27T02:15:00.002+05:30

Partying. Drinking. Dancing. Flirting. That’s how it goes, right? That’s how we distract ourselves when love hurts or when love’s lost.

Loneliness. Anti-Social. Depression. Swollen Eyes. Regret. Sympathy—that’s the other side of the picture.

Sleek black dress, dark crowded room, club lights, loud music and men. A woman would do a lot to get away from the person who holds her heart. In the arms of another man, she smiles… she dances. She pretends that she does not care, that life is all good and she is having fun.
She dances until she is breathless. She dances until she realizes it's not working.
Who is she kidding?
It's a dangerous thing to fall in love, you know. It's a one way road with one hidden dead end. There are no exits and there are no U-turns. You are on it and that’s just it. Drive smoothly and just pray you don’t hit the dead end.

A woman who has fallen in love truly and entirely will never be able to get out of it—not completely—ever. They say, in the cycle of replacement, love is the only thing that cannot be replaced. There is no comfort. No distraction is able to make much of a difference.
It's like drinking poison. You know it's your system. You are slowly dying and there is nothing you can do about it. You are just waiting for you to end. You want it to be abrupt because you know that there is no way back, but the poison… it's going to take it's sweet time to take over… and you are left with no choice but to bear the anguish.

I want to dance before I die.

Tonight, I want to dance…for once without the ‘distraction’ factor, please.

-Raajii

He.

2008-02-21T00:10:00.004+05:30

"I met him this Valentine.I remember:-

...they feasted on his humiliation as he watched her walk away.It was a proposal , a fair proposal and she refused .
They laughed and forsaken he cried inside.The carcass of his love laid still somewhere inside his heart as he tried dragging it to some corner where he could watch it rot and decompose.That would give him a scar, never to forget and ignore,that would help him stop repeating the mistake.
The flowers were silent,there cries smothered by the indecent clamoring.The stare to the sky, eyes cold as stone.There were pleads but also complaints in those eyes.He felt as if the sun would burn him to ashes,a strange burning sensation he felt clinging to his cheek and ears.The breathes turned shorter and the heart-beats sounded like thumps from some distant place. A long beep pierced his ears,from some unknown source,may be from within.He could feel his limbs move in their sockets,he could hear the leaves crumble beneath his feet,every sound was so clear but a strange numbness enshrouded him.The only day when he wanted to forget her...not ever to forgive her.

Every eye on him,his name on every lips;a misdemeanor for the world,an adventure for his friends,stupidity for her and a mistake for him.They tossed his love around like a cheap "thing" on the grape-vine.

That was the last day when he had let the world take over him.Everything has changed.

He is careless,laughs on himself,makes everyone laugh,has covered the scars with soot and cosmetics of his cynicism,has tore down the walls that had "Trust" written all over and has built a new one with "Hope" written on it,his tears are more deserving now.He bathes in sun ,plays in the rain,he wears the smoke and dust of the city ,walks are longer,the hum on his lips sound louder,the eyes- mischievous wanderers.He is "LIVING",he is breathing,he is fiZZing Inside...Just the fiZZ keeps him going."

The "he" is not me.For few minutes I put myself in "his" shoes and wrote this.
I love "him". :-)

In Love?

2008-02-20T10:05:00.003+05:30

March 2, 1892
Dear Diary,
Today I fell in love.

These words compelled me to pick up this small gold-rimmed book from one of the shelves while roaming around in Borders the other day. But, these words were also the reason for me to put it down on the shelf after two seconds.

I wonder if we really know when we fall in love. How can the writer or the character be so sure of the exact time and date when she fell in love? Is it so easy to describe the most complex feeling one has in just two short words? You can't just get up one day and decide that you are in love or you are going to be in love. It just doesn’t work that way.

This is the biggest dilemma of the young adults of our age. We so badly want to associate with someone that we usually force ourselves to either fall in love with someone or to deceive ourselves in believing that we are in love with a particular person.

Falling in love or being in love is one’s life’s most important decision and experience. Usually life revolves around it—we revolve around that person. Why are we so hasty in making the most important decision of our lives? Why the first person who shows some care is the person we decide to spend our lives with? I do understand that it is hard to resist the care and kindness but we need to keep in mind that the consideration one is offering you might not be for forever. We need to understand that probably the other person is not as emotionally involved as we are.

A good relationship is the one in which both partners/spouses bring the best out of each other. A good relation is the one in which you not only have fun but you know (notice it's not “think”, it's "Know") you can count on one another for support. A relation where you can be a complete and total mess but the other is still willing to accept you and love you.

Do you see yourself pretending in front of your partner? Do you feel pressurized into doing something that you don’t really feel like doing? It can be something as simple as watching a particular type of movie or staying up late at night. Do you, at times feel that you are overly criticized or overly praised? Do you question their or your own credibility? Do you feel afraid that they will probably cheat on you if they had a chance? Do you think you can't be yourself in front of your partner most of the times? Have you faced certain times when you were not able to count on them or you didn’t feel comfortable doing so? If you answered YES to even one of these questions then let me tell you that there is something seriously WRONG with the relationship you are in.

Half of the time we know exactly how the other feels about us but we deceive ourselves into believing that everything is going well. Half the couples that I see breaking up, they will confess at one point or another that they knew for a long time that things were not going well.

Why are you so afraid? Is that person the only person who will ever love you? Are you afraid that you will never find love again? Is your self esteem so low that you are willing to put up with someone who really doesn’t care about you? The person who has left you when you needed them the most or worse yet, left you for someone else and you are still crying over it? Why are you so pathetic? I am not willing to cry over people who have treated me badly and neither am I going to stick around in a relationship which doesn’t give both of us happiness. The ultimate goal of life is Happiness. We are with a person because he makes us happy and because we make them happy; if you are not happy there is no point. It's better to live alone and free than put up with an idiot for the rest of your life.

…And love, I've come to understand, is more than three words mumbled before bedtime. Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day. It is not a NEED. It is not a WANT. It should never be those things. I am sure we all are better than that.

Stop. Think. Evaluate.
It's about time you do or you will cry for the rest of your life.

-Raajii.blogspot

ThankU for the roses! They were very pretty.

2008-02-17T17:20:00.002+05:30

All of that started almost a year earlier. We had been in the same college. I was two years senior to her. Even though we were exchanging text messages for almost a month then, that was the first time I called her on her cell phone.

“Hi, when is your birthday?” I asked her. “I was just updating my contact book.”

“Oh, my birthday was just a few days back, you are late.” She replied coyly.

“Won’t you will have a birthday next year,” I persisted.

So she told me her birth date and I hung the phone.

A lot of things had happened between us in the next eleven months. The first seven months were great but the last four months were like hell for me. We had not talked even once during those four months of our estranged relationship. But I still believed, after all its not whether love takes you to hell or to heaven, important thing is that you are transformed by it.

I was not sure, if I should call her to wish ‘Happy Birthday’. I had two days to decide. It was Saturday and her birthday was on Monday.

As usual, while sorting my mailbox, I saw an interesting email. Let the stars decide was its subject. It was from some tech-startup that generates random numbers for you. The important thing was that they generated the numbers using cosmic rays.

That sparked my blue sky thinking. Don’t think I’m a day dreamer, but then, my first meeting with her was a true serendipity. And both of us believed in our dreams.

I knew the locality where she lived but not the exact address. I would generate a random number using this cosmic connection and use that number as the house number in the address, and send her the flowers. Even though the chances that she will get those flowers were very less, I should go with it. Why should I decide, let God decide it, I thought. And what would be more romantic, than finding, that there exists a cosmic connection between you and someone.

On Sunday, I placed an order for Jewels of the Sea – an elegant creation of white roses and pearls. On Monday, I went to office, but all I could think of was whether she received the flowers or not. I was not able to concentrate on my work there, so I came back to home and spent rest of the day reading all what we had exchanged in the our better days.

Three days had passed, and still I didn’t knew whether the flowers were delivered or not. Actually I started believing that they were not delivered. That is the end of it, I thought. No cosmic connection exists between us and I will not pursue this anymore.

On Thursday evening, she wrote back.

“ThankU for the roses! They were very pretty.” is all that she wrote.

All love stories are the same.

-anand

Valentines Day

2008-02-17T13:25:00.002+05:30

Oh… Its valentines day. Happy valentines day… I cheered my neighbour friend next door. All dressed in Red, instructed all at home to dress in red, I stepped out beaming with pride looking around if anybody else is in red attire – atleast some shades of red somewhere visible on people – only to find out it’s there only on the company badge tag on few while others did dress to kill. Never mind. I thought. As the day unfolded, I got to know what others are doing for Valentines Day. A couple who are married for quite some time took out time from the hectic schedule to meet up for lunch. Even that came as a surprise to the husband when wife promptly lands at office just 2 minutes before the lunch time and tells him, “hey, lets go out for lunch. I’m here to pick you up”. This surely is one facet of love. Best of it all, wife also goes extra mile to change her hairstyle to look new – just to see that spark in the husband’s eye. I remembered, Pramoda saying “unconditional interest in someone is love”

Another friend couple waited till 12 midnight to cut cake and celebrate the Valentines Day with each other. What is commendable here is amidst the hectic schedule, both of them took time to go out of their way to buy the cake and gift to each other – on a weekday. For people who are working like zombies, that’s a big deal. Its then Neeru came to my mind. “Love is about sharing and giving. It’s about commitment and above all its all about being happy”.

It was lunch hour when I had two good friends coming to my desk to remind me that we had to make a trip to the cafetaria. Valentines day was “nothing” for one, while the other just smiled about the thought of it. “It is companionship, support and trust. It is standing together as 2 pillars and being the foundation of a life despite each other’s shortcomings” so feels Anu. These two friends have realised this thought quite evidently. They celebrate love everyday. Its not the occasion, but the situation for them that is required to express love.

I went on – exploring what love means to all these wonderful people whom I cal my friends. A great friend, another typical scorpion Mini Me (that’s how I cal her), tells me she can write an essay on love. She surely can, ‘cause only she knows to give love. Be it to her husband or to her son or to her near and dear ones or to her friends. Another friend Srini, who is rocking without any strings attached, feels love is all about sense of happiness and care. What a profound thought.

Still single and ready to mingle Deeps is so emotional about the concept of love. She feels “love is not an emotion but the existence. It’s the greatest power in the creation.”. Love, certainly is the most powerful feeling that is created – very similar to the democracy. Very rarely used.

How can I miss Supreme Consciousness to quote on love, who very aptly feels, a book has to be written when asked to define it. I’m surprised, our SC knows what love means, I sighed. I think nobody knows “that which doesn’t concern itself with definition is love” came this message from the far aamchi mumbai Meens.

Its been quite sometime, the smartest one of all, Archana is in love. Who better to define love than her. Without a second thought, she tells me “love is the feeling of belonging somewhere or to someone. It could be a person, city or anything under the sun”. Though it took a while to digest this heavy thought on love, it does make a lot of sense to me. I don’t think if anybody else is in love with Bangalore like I am. J

I headed back home after a really hard day’s work. While I ventured out all set to paint the town red, all that I learnt was love is in the eyes of beheld. A CEO in the making Anil is quite categorical when it comes to love. He says, “Love is different at different times. What might be definition when you are 25 and dating is different than when you are 34”. Thank god, I’m not 34 and love is all in the air. I have to just feel it. To put it even more symbolically, my valentine gifted me a bottle of perfume – thus the Valentine day ended with search for a definition for love.

Valentines Day: The Things We Do

2008-02-15T03:55:00.003+05:30

My dear readers,
Unlike everyone else, today I would like to present to you the most celebrated day in an entirely different context.
Love, when sprinkled with some humor is the best treat.
Tell you what… these quotes are real life incidents… a life that I am a part of, that is. Some of these incidents are the you-have-to-be-there moments, nevertheless, they are bound to bring a smile on your face.

“I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.”
-Chris, on analyzing Valentine’s Day

Alyson: What are you guys doing for your residents at Valentines?
Rob: I suppose I am going to give them some candy with heart-shaped cards
Adhira: and condoms!
They will need it more than they'd need the candy... :-)
-Worries of a resident assistant

Raaji: Honey, I know you love my sweet, sweet voice but you would have to be satisfied with my fingers now
-Hanging up the phone and getting back to chatting.

Brian M.: You're gay.
Chris: Make me!
Joe: What do you say to that?! It's flawless!
-Normal conversations

Raaji: I have a big news for you!
Nishan:(very excited) You broke up? YES!
(pause)
Raaji: No (serious face)
Nishan: Oh! (sad face)
-abrupt changes

Raaji: Megs, can I kick your boyfriend?
Megs: oh, please go for it.
Raaji: thanks.
*bang*
-Normal conversations in all seriousness :-)

“Hey I have standards too when it comes to dating girls. I would like girls from tan to brown”
-Nishan, on dating standards

"Imagine all the worst parts of the Bible that you have ever heard, multiply these by ten, and then pretend it's real."
-Justin, on the wrath of his girlfriend

Raajii: So, how is your lady?
Nishan: I don’t know, she likes me but we are still just friends.
Raajii (seriously): Don’t worry, its just a matter of time.
(I don’t know why he just cracked up and after laughing for a good 5 min...)
Nishan: I love your confidence. Bless you!

Sarah: Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight...
Jess: You can stop right there. It's not going to happen.
Sarah: Why not?
Jess: Because that's Saturn.
Sarah: DAMNIT!
-During a walk, a night before Valentines

Raajii (While eating ice-cream at 2am and rambling): I am not going to call. I am sure he can make a lousy phone call on one lousy day. Like come on now, how hard is it to remember that!
*Pauses*
(making a face) Hey, there is no other flavor of ice-cream in this thing. He said there would be more flavors!
Faz (listening patiently): Ahh... the things that bother Raajii....
*sigh*

"Come for the coffee.... stay for the ladies...."
-on the board in our 7th street Cafe :-)

-Raajii.blogspot

As Perennial As The Grass

2008-02-14T14:09:00.006+05:30

As I walked through the forest of life in search of the perfect flower, the first flower that I chanced upon was the rose. It was exquisite and elegant. It was rich and charismatic. It was delicate and charming. It was not meant for the ordinary. It was made for someone special. This is the flower I had been looking for all my life! My heart soared to great heights. What more could someone ask for. It could not get more perfect than this. It was my first love.
Day and night, I wove dreams of togetherness with this love. The thought that I would possess it forever made me so happy, I thought I was becoming insane. My search had come to an end.

As I moved closer to it, the rose eluded me. I eventually realized that the rose was not made for me. What a disappointment it was. How would I live without it? I wept in grief at my loss. I wept for several days. I had loved and lost.
It left behind a void in my life which no one else could ever fill. First love is never forgotten. I would never love again with this intensity for no one else could be as perfect as this one. It was the only one of its kind…

Holding on to my dream with utmost tenacity, I continued walking through the forest, not caring to notice my surroundings, but imagining that I would find the rose again. I said to myself consolingly “The rose and I have a future together, for otherwise, the encounter would never have happened”.

After several miles of journey, when my memory of the rose had faded, when my wounds had healed, when the blood had dried, I met another flower. The Jasmine. The fragrance of it permeated the air, filling the surroundings with a sweet scent. Yet it did not stand out, but merged in perfect harmony with its environment. I was drawn towards it. It contained enough sweetness in it’s womb to diffuse it’s aroma throughout the forest, and yet it practiced a quiet reticence. It could afford to be loud and proud but it practiced such humility, lending itself as a string of flowers to a youthful maiden who would decorate her hair with it and at the same time, offering itself in innocent submission to a priest, who would place it at the feet of a deity in a temple. I had not known anyone so modest. I was in love again.

How mistaken had I been in thinking I would never love again. Not only did love happen but the intensity was the same this time. I knew, for I had experienced it before. My heart soared once again. It could not get more perfect than this. It was the only one of its kind. My search had come to an end this time.

But as I moved close to it, it eluded me. I moved closer and it was gone. My heart bled. It hurt with the same intensity, but this time it was a familiar pain. I had gone through it before. Ah! What a tantalization! There is no greater cause of distress in life than the cause of unrequited love. My faith in the permanence of my hard luck was restored. I would never love again for no one would replace the love of jasmine in my heart.

I moved on. It was a tiring expedition through a rough terrain of thorns and shrubs, creepers and climbers. There was no sign of respite, no fountains and no springs. As I walked, I saw a flower the name of which I do not know. It was a wild flower. There was nothing remarkable about it. It was neither rich in colour not did it have a fragrance. It simply existed in a natural uncultivated state. What I liked about it was that it did not care to defend its position. It did not try to give a justification. It had an untamed, undomesticated, unbashful disposition which I found very intoxicating. It was simple, candid and uncomplicated. Living in abandon, carefree as the winds, it drew me towards itself.

Now I was annoyed at myself for feeling this way about something so primitive and uncultured. What had happened to my taste? Was it desperation that led to this feeling? Should I settle for something so unrefined?

When I look back at the journey, I am surprised at myself. When I began my journey I was looking for something spectacular, I was looking for aristocracy, exquisiteness which I found in the rose, but as I moved on, I valued the humility and modesty of the jasmine. I was impressed with the care freeness of the wild flower. Have I lost the very purpose of the search that I had begun? Have I become less choosy or have I matured as a human, and has my perspective changed?

I became introspective. I looked back in retrospection. A realization was the outcome of my contemplation.

On an impulse when I compare the rose and the jasmine and the wild flower, I observe, not that one was better than the other but that, each one was as perfect and as complete as the other. Loving one was as ecstatic as loving the other. The loss of one was as painful as the loss of another.

The roots of my beliefs are now shaken. They say that love happens only once and they say that first love is never forgotten. I believed them. But now I wonder. Is there any truth in these? Perhaps they are nothing more than seeds of thoughts implanted in the society by wise men with ulterior motives.

There are no wounds that time cannot heal, nothing that cannot be forgotten. Time does not forgive anything or anyone.

Perhaps the only truth is that love is unconditional. You don’t need a reason to love. You don’t need a perfect flower either. It never really is the last time. For the heart is an inexhaustible resource of an endless supply of love. It needs to bestow this love upon someone. If it contains or withholds this love within itself, then it suffers. It dies under its own weight.

I now stand disillusioned.
The heart will soar and plunge again and again. It will explode in ecstasy, weep in despondency, go through silent suffering, rejoice in fulfillment, wriggle (squirm) in desperation again and again not because the flowers of the forest are irresistible, but because love itself is perpetual, like the seasons that come and go, year after year.

Love may elude you once but it will beckon you again. Do not be cynical about love for it is as perennial as the grass. It can happen to anyone, at any time and many times. And every time it is as fulfilling, as refreshing, as perfect as it was the last time. You will love the rose, the jasmine, the wild flower and many more cause love is perennial and perpetual.

Love prevails as long as the journey. You cannot define it’s boundaries. You cannot describe it using parameters. You don’t know when the search began and you cannot say that it has come to an end. For all you know just around the corner there may be that special flower waiting for you.

As I continue my walk through the forest of life, I now find myself standing before the sacred Lotus in the midst of sparkling waters!
My heart soars once again. Even though I try hard not to, I cannot help believing that this is the most perfect of them all. This is the flower I was looking for. It is unlike anything I have seen before and there never will be anything like this ever after.

My search has come to an end and I find myself moving close to it!!

Laws Of Attraction, did they say?

2008-02-13T19:07:00.004+05:30

Well, there are none. And I'm not adding an 'I think' or 'according to me' because that's just the way it is. And not all things need surveys and analyzes to prove them. At least this one doesn't. Feel like arguing? Ask yourself. Today, someone makes you feel nothing. The next day, you feel you're nothing without them. And he/she isn't the super hottie or the perfect person you always dreamt of, and still so much better than that. Whether for a few months or years, or even mere moments. Its just the 'connection', and if you thought you could attribute it to similarities in interests or philosophies, you are wrong... in most cases, your subject of admiration and adoration thinks very differently from you in every way, perhaps.

Seduction, courting, impressing, splurging... they don't really work in the end, do they? Nor does converting that one-off fling into a full fledged relationship. Just like the 'perfect' match you find on that matrimonial site often fails to arouse the tiniest spark, no matter how 'cultured' and ideal in theory. The brands on the body and the words on their lips also fade out after a point. Make-up wears out. The macho mask falls. Magazine tips and 'expert' tricks don't seem to work.

Because in the end, love isn't about being smart. It isn't about trying to answer questions. It isn't to fit in or fill in. It isn't always an evolution of friendship or the assumption of its impossibility. It isn't about mind-reading or heart-feeding. Sweet nothings have nothing so sweet about them, after all.

You have been loving since years now. Still, there are times you feel totally devoid of that very feeling which built the life you're leading today, with the very person you know you can't lead it without. The next moment, your minutes old 'important' preoccupation seems all insignificant and meaningless. And you're surprised at how you just can't get yourself to feel equally passionate about that person and your prized profession at the same time.

Maybe there are some out there whose hearts, minds and bodies are perfectly synced, in absolute harmony with the subconscious and unconscious, but for the rest of us, this puzzle will always remain unsolved.

And if 'laws of love' indeed exist, why is it that they are impossible to follow? Why are most affairs clandestine and perfidious? Aren't laws supposed to make life easier and more organized in the end? Why is it that these norms, mistermed 'laws', always seem to oppose and kill? Why is it so difficult to discipline love? Simply because it isn't meant to be!

Why else does a lover, suffering in unrequited love, come out and love again, even in betraying a love he thought he could never forego for anything else in the world? Not because he allows himself that, but because there is an inexplicable combination of factors that allows him to allow himself that liberty.

Anyway, questions & questions everywhere, without an answer to find, for love is not to deliberate upon, but to free the mind!

Somehow, these lines (originally written for cinema) from one of my favorite magazines, First City, quite sum up what I wish to say...

Maybe it is best left a mystery. Why look for logic in magic? Surrender. Let the show go on.

Love...all around!!!

2008-02-13T00:09:00.001+05:30

Kya yaar !!! Every time someone asks someone to write about love then all that someone gets is words full of pain,desperation,rejection dejection,complication,suffocation and yes (How can I miss that word !) frustration.Love is not that bad ,is it?

Ok.

"...I.G.Park(Bhubaneswar) or Indira Gandhi park named after Indira Gandhi (of-course !).Its a green park (Idiot ! Parks are always green !)...Ok.Its a good park (Better !) and its said that Indira Gandhi gave her last speech right here.

Enough with the history.Lets quickly move on to Sociology part.Now you won't be surprised at all if I say that over the years this park has slowly metamorphosed into a sprawling nestling of some sort for the love-birds(educated college going love-birds !).And over the years the number of Uncle-Aunty-Chunnu-Munnu pariwaars visiting the park has greatly reduced coz Uncle doesn't want Chunnu to practise his curiosity near the bushes.
The last time he tried ,he gave a shout of Eureka and claimed that he had discovered Doodhwaale Bhaiyaa and Kaanta Baai playing hide and seek behind a shrubbery.Uncle was embarrassed.

Few intellectuals and poets tried encroaching the coves of these love birds.Armed with paper and pen and heavy thoughts they helped themselves on the benches and this act of arrogance forced the love-birds to seek shelter near the bushes and behind the dustbins.

Valentine Day is knocking on the back door (Everyone in my city celebrates Valentine in a Clandestine manner !!! SO backdoor.)And florists are busy tying up bouquets,the bakeries are rustling with orders(someone told me that they are so filled with heart shaped cakes that even the birthday kids are managing by cutting heart-shaped cakes with I L U candles over them.) The boys have already started gelling there hair up and the girls are making a bee-line in front of beauty parlours-places that sell self-esteem.The movie theaters are booked ,corner seats special demand.
(They just hope every seat was a corner seat.But sorry,even Euclid can't design such a theater.)

Uncle-Aunties have started hiring raju-pappu ,kids from the neighborhood ,to spy for them.They will get 10 rupyah for every correct information and a free ticket to the "Where were you?Its so late ." show starring Uncle and his naujawaan ladka.

SO we were in the park rite?As the Cupid is brushing his fur and sharpening his arrow the Khaki shorts waale bhaiyaas are sharpening there tongues and are busy collecting stones to huck them at the gift shops.
But no one can disturb them in a park.Coz that's a place where the birds flock together.With Gajju hawildaar doing his beats with his trusted laathi,no one can touch them.Coz he has a soft corner for them.(His story,next time)

The bronze statuette of Indira Gandhi stares over them and they bare there secrets infront of each other.As the sun slowly dips behind the tall buildings, the parking lot fills with the clamour of bikes fighting for space.Its a rush to get to the loneliest corner and the farthest bench and the lucky ones who get there become the objects of jealousy for the rest of the evening.

The whispers,the giggles,the laughters,the snuggles...ahhahhahhaaa ! The impatiently waiting boy,doing a to and fro ;the girl with a sweet anger on her face,checking her watch every minute;the hopeful auto-wallahs waiting for the boy to see her off and vroom into the city so that they could wheel her to her house/hostel with double the charges !Everyone's happy.The chaat waallah,the ice-cream wallah,the phone booth wallah,and a silly blogger...Happy!
(Cut it short ! Its getting too long! Don't test the reader's patience)
Ok.
So as the evening slowly totters into the darkness, our love-birds spread their wings and return to their "real" nests.A painful last look exchanged,a promise to meet again the next day,assurance for the late night call and then bbye !!!

BByeee!

I Surrender

2008-02-11T22:50:00.000+05:30

I give up. After struggling with sleep for two hours or so, I can’t fight anymore. I don’t want to even try to sleep now.
I give up.
Just take me, because I give up.
You win, I lose.
I am guilty. Punish me.
I am guilty of loving you. I am guilty of fighting it. I am guilty of suppressing.
I miss you... terribly.

Words ache, fingers tremble and my mind is flustered. Please put some sense into me. I keep on falling for the glitters in search of the gold. No matter how much I deny it, the truth is that you are the gold. This gold is right in front of me yet it is so far away. I can feel it; I cannot touch it. I can hold it; I cannot embrace it.
I love it.
… and I don’t want to fight it anymore.

I give up. Please take my hand and take me to the land far away…. to the place you love, to the time you cherish.

Please put some sense into my mind. Please take me. I look up to you for answers... for you have all the answers. You always had my answers.

-Raajii

And we talked...

2008-02-07T01:01:00.001+05:30

Last hours of the midnight strolled by as I watched my mobile carelessly fiddling with the screensaver.The deftness of my thoughts made me walk through the strange avenues where I hadn't even tried toddling.Different thoughts,few lines from some half read story,few stolen emotions from the past ,all mixed up ,trying to go candid on the paper.The husky voice of Bryan Adams flooding every part of my ear.
Suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt,the mobile buzzed.A name flashed on its screen and it restlessly pleaded me to help it kill its tremble.Something else was restless somewhere,deep inside my heart.

The name I never thought would appear on the screen.
"Should I pick up the phone?What will she say?Or should I let the ring die after a while?".A thousand questions stumbled upon each other but my hands went for the phone and with a strange arrogance and authority they pushed the "receive" button.

"Hello",she said."How are you?".
Don't know what made me blabber out like a mad boy,"Ahaaa ! Madam,You gettin time after so many days?.So what made you call now?",a childish complain in my tone and she laughed.
What was happening to me?I was supposed to cry,I was supposed to feel my heart tear apart.How could I be so normal?Wasn't she the one who gave me all the pain?

The figments of a forsaken dream appeared like dead leaves in spring but I ignored them,I let them disappear.Some pages turned by themselves,but strangely looked new to me.I didn't remember the lines anymore.I brushed aside the past and tried to convince the present that I was there with it.

And we talked,talked like old days.She hung up after her familiar "bubye".
My eyes felt the mist...not much they could do,just were able to gather up a single drop of tear.I was strong.I am stronger.

Space...In Love

2008-02-06T12:54:00.000+05:30

Love is allowing the other to be the way the other is...

Yes, I did not need to and yet I went to Esprit showroom which had opened newly in my city, and blew up a big fat four figure amount. Another cotton frock, in yet another hue of brown was added to the already huge pile of single-piece cotton dresses. A few t-shirts and a pair of jeans made its way into the already cramped wardrobe. I had given in to this ridiculous, mindless extravagance after a good five months this time. The days in between were so whole with work and children that I had had no time to shop. That particular day I was feeling low and Esprit seemed to be a good mood-lifter.

The shopping bag was supposed to be stacked away with clothes placed in their respective sections. But I was too excited on my new purchase and wanted to share my find with him. And so the bag stood there in all its red glory (Esprit bags are red in colour and so attract immediate attention). It was the first thing which my husband noticed as he walked in after a hard day's work. Avoiding the usual, 'Hi' he screamed, "Where do you think you will put them? Is there any space left? Or would you discard the ones which you have already worn once to make space?"

His tone pierced me right through, even though I knew his reaction was justified. All my excitement at what he thought of what I had picked, fizzled out. I became quiet. A few minutes later his anger calmed down and he felt apologetic and tried to make it up to me. He tried to make conversation. "How was your day?" "You know I struck a particularly good deal today". I answered in monosyllables. I wanted to sound warm, interested as I am at his return, but I could not bring myself to.

Over the dinner table, he said, "I am sorry for spoiling your mood". I said, "I am sorry too, for I know you are not wrong in telling me what you did".

We had made up, yet my mood for the day was gone. I knew that I must become normal; I was not angry or upset with him or myself but I just did not want to be chatty, exchanging the news of the day as we usually did. Instead, I said, "Let us go for a movie?" We went for a late-night English thriller, munched popcorn, ate an ice-cream, came back and slept.

In the morning he left for his morning jog and I got down to my yoga. At the breakfast table I started of, "You know I met the most amazing woman yesterday…..".

Love is allowing the other the time the other needs to get back...

- Raksha Bharadia

Raksha Bharadia is an Ahmedabad-based author. Her first book Me: A Handbook On Living has helped many find inspiration and understand themselves better. Her second book Roots And Wings - A Handbook For Parents will be out soon for all parents to benefit from.

Distant Dreams!

2008-02-06T12:49:00.000+05:30

The whistle blew! The first, the second and the third, slowly the train started moving on and everything seemed rushing back. She was walking slowly towards her door.

A big smile carved out of his lips. She seemed darker than her actual complexion, her mascara and kohl had smudged and she appeared as a dark, petite figure. All of a sudden, he felt glorious. She felt cheated and lost. To him it seemed like his brain was emptied of all thoughts, the blood rushing in his veins had evaporated like water and not a drop was left, and his heart had stopped the regular lullaby of lub-dub. She walked like a directionless figure, gripped by her thoughts, chained by love, her heart squeaking for care and her tired body screaming for rest. For many others, this emptying feeling might have roused a concern regarding their health, but he had always been a free man. She felt all the more passionate for him and more then life it was him that she desired. Marriage and customs were not meant for him! She wished, she prayed, he would return. At last, he was free! She felt haunted and desolate like a barren desert.

Unconditional..

2008-02-06T12:11:00.001+05:30

I've not yet seen my (only) niece Riya, in person. And it'll be an year before i could actually meet her and take her into my arms...

Yet, not a single day has passed since she's born that i haven't seet her snaps... or her video.. To add to it, her current snap is the wallpaper on both my comp and my mobile phone...

I really wonder, is it because she's my first niece, or she's my niece, or she's just like a cute l'il baby seen in every baby soap ad, or is it because of her that i became "aatya" (paternal aunt) for the first time?! Or is it because before she was born, me and her mother used to discuss the names and clothes and colors on the walls for her?

Sometimes you just love somebody unconditionally.... How else could i describe my feeling for this little angel.. without even meeting her...

Moving on...

2008-02-05T22:56:00.000+05:30

Anand is typing away the code to glory, the deadline for code delivery is not over for another 3 hours. He thinks that in another 45 minutes he shall be done.

After patting himself on the back for beating the deadline, it is time to relax and maybe chat a while with friends. In the last couple of years, his online presence has taken over the remaining social life he had. However, Anand didn't mind it, for work drove him and he avoided attempts to indulge in deep friendships or relationships for the fear of goodbyes.
He opens the browser and visits Orkut, its blocked on the company internet, but then a good geek always knows his way around that. On the Orkut homepage, he browses through the recent visitors section and pauses.
Almost immediately, he feels uneasy and has an urge to move away into a shell of his own.
A moment later, he starts thinking of how irrelevant his existance and feelings had been to her.
It was an unrequited love of his engineering days, which he beleived had died with time. Although he did think of her at times, he still liked to believe that he had moved on.
It was the first day at college when he had noticed this simple looking cherubic girl scared enough to be away from home. Luck had it, she was also in the same branch of engineering, they hit off very well as friends. Anand then didn't realise that this friendhip turned to love soon. However, she had amazing instincts and could detect the change, vary of the future she distanced herself from him.
Anand remembered the day he finally professed his feelings to her,'I know that you have an idea about how I feel about you, but I need to tell it to you that I love you, else I shall regret it forever...' As expected, the reply was not affirmative.
Life has moved on, job happened and success arrived. Today he can see that she had visited his profile on Orkut yesterday. She remembered him...but then she is already married and has a kid now.
Anand couldn't stop asking himself What if things were different, what if she would have loved him the same way he had loved her...what if!
This chain of thought broke up when an Instant Messenger window popped up suddenly, with his boss reminding him of the status meeting. Yes life has moved on, but perhaps he couldn't and maybe never will.

Its Just Those Rainy Days...

2008-02-05T10:41:00.000+05:30

Mischievous rain drops trickling down the window pane woke her up late one night. Still half asleep she lazily shoved the blind with one hand and peeked outside. It was still dark and raining heavily. She could make out the outlines of the street lights and ups and downs of the pathways through the dense raindrops.

Then, all of a sudden, her gaze froze at the scene. She looked outside and a weird sensation surrounded her. She couldn’t bear to see the lovely rain any longer. She tossed the window blind back into place and put her head back on the pillow. Sleep was far from her eyes then. They were wide open.

It was a the same window, the same rain and the same view except that it had been closer to dawn. There was some light outside, as the sun was struggling to come out from behind the clouds and the rain made everything look all the more beautiful and mesmerizing. She was lying on his chest with one of his arms around her and the other holding the blind up to see the rain.
He was dead quiet looking outside the window. Her eyes were closed. She wondered what he was thinking or if he was thinking anything at all. She was too afraid to ask. She didn’t.

“It's raining now,” he finally broke the silence.

God, how better can this night get… she thought and smiled.

After lazily opening her eyes, she took the scene in. With him it seemed so comforting... so perfect. She wanted to take it all in. She tilted her head for a moment to inhale his fragrance and kissed his chin.

“It's so beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Of course, it is,” she replied.
Then with mischief she said, “I wanna go out and run around in the rain with you.”

“Like this?” he smiled.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind throwing on some clothes before going out,” she chuckled.

They both laughed.

She planted another kiss on his bare chest. His grip tightened around her.

After subsiding a lump in her throat she said,

“I love you”

He sighed.

A moment later he started to caress her hair. She was already tired. Her eyes started to close again. He snuggled in and closed his eyes as well. They slept for a couple more hours before finally getting up.

She took a deep breath coming back to the present, feeling every sensation, every emotion all over again from that night. She was lying on the same bed listening to the same sound of the rain drops from the same window. She was filled with no regrets, no questions—just emotions. Too many intense emotions.

She was just thinking.... how weird it was to have memories of the moments that were never hers.

A Mail from Cupid !

2008-02-03T20:50:00.000+05:30

Dear Tapas,

Before I start pouring over you my sorry fate, please help your eyeballs through these messages:-

Conversation-1 :

Loving the "body".

"Oh my love ,I love your hair so much.Just give me some time and I am sure, by the end of the year I will reach your heart.Till then-I am so in love with your hair."
"Honey,I know.But make it quick coz there's someone else who loves my eyes and he is moving really fast.And by the way your six packs have reduced to four,that guy is trying for 8-packs !!! "

Conversation-2:

Loving the "brain".

"I love my boyfriend so much.Do you know ,he is an IITian !"
"Hah ! Mine is in Philadelphia doing some research ."
"Oh ! You are so lucky.Your love is "better" than me."

Conversation-3:

Loving the "style"

"Cool man ! Your gurl's so cool.At least she knows the rite way to sit on the bike.Meri waali feels so embarrassed!She sits at least 10 inches back.Sometimes I forget if someone is on the seat or not.Ask ur girl to give her some lessons,may be on her scooty. "

No offense meant but this is what I found out .Love has turned into more of a status tag rather than a feeling.Every one has taken the matter into their hands.The only use that I have figured out for my arrows is to scratch my back,but drat !they are so soft that it takes almost 5 minutes to kill that damn scratch of mine.Last time when I logged into Amazon,I found one of my arrows being auctioned. I didn't bid coz they looked so old and unused.(I had logged in to buy some new fluffies for my wings.The pollution and dust have made them so dirty .I thought it would be cheaper for me than getting it couriered from heaven.)

Now tell me .What am I supposed to do?Now sorry for whatever I did to you.Take it easy,Ok?Just help me get through this dry patch.

First they kicked me out of U.S.,then U.K. and now you guys are throwing me out.I tried moving Down-under and visited Australia but my heart didn't like the place specially after the reactions that a guy named Symonds gave to me...uunh! He was such a Monkey !

I tried going hi-tech and hovered for some time over the I.T.Parks of Bangalore.But before I could work some magic I saw the mobiles beep and love blip-blopped like anything.These SMSs are so fast.I really like lighting the first flames of love...you know,those serendipitous meetings and the "love at first sight"s are all part of my master plans.But damn these Yahoo and gmail.And I have taken the max beating from those social networking sites.
Networking my left foot !A few chats,few pics exchanged(some are morphed) and they say they are "made for each other".

I think my time is over in India.Or may be I will join these Khaki-shorts waala chaps.They are nice chums.They care so much for me.They know what true love means.Last time I conversed them,they were planning to ransack some cyber-cafe`s.I will manage with their hollering and morning oath taking ceremonies.Or I will report back to God and ask Him to give me some other department.If you have any suggestions then reply.
For your convenience I have opened some email accounts and an Orkut account too.
you will surely find the IDs familiar.
email-heart.breaker@gmail.com;careers_busted@yahoo.com
Orkut-I prick wid ARROWS !

Sorry,I pricked you a bit harder.
BBye
Your friend

Cupid

PS: Please try replying before 14th of this month.

Yes.I loved...

2008-02-02T18:36:00.000+05:30

Where was I? Why is there so much silence? I missed this place.I know,lost I was in a world of lies.Thought it would be a one way street but never imagined that I would be walking back...alone.Its even more shattering when I find my past linger like a haze in front of me.I wished to go to heaven, but I should have thought for once-"you need to die to go to heaven".

The congealed scent of love is slowly fading,the sanguine blood has turned dark;crushed beneath a strange guilt I try to embrace pain ...may be that will tell me if I am alive.The tears still ask my faith a thousand questions.
I want to hold my body,I want to love myself.So much pain it took,so many scars it has now.It shivered like a lonely child ,crying for that warmth.And there was no one to swaddle me.The white trail of tears glistening like a dried rivulet of pearls on my cheeks.I want to live now.Live like I have never before.

It hasn't changed much,I can still catch-up.The rain waited so long to drench me;I won't keep you waiting now.The songs are playing ,the same way I had left them;am waiting for the next crescendo and I will join in.The dappled sun rays on my face ,embracing my countenance.The gentle breeze slowly making the last tear feel like a dew drop.Eyes still hurting but bear a broken smile.I can feel my touch now,the way I used to run my hand over my face.I can feel my feet now,they blades of grass kissing them.
Listen ,someone is trying to mutter something...its slowly beating....who is it?Stupid me !Its my heart,its so close to me.It was always there.Sorry,I lost you in my madness.
My small room is breathing with me.Waiting for the night when we will talk with each other and we will look for the dreams to knock on the door.And then the silence will sing a lullaby for us.I missed that lullaby.
I missed you life.Forgive me...Embrace me with all your heart.All I want to see is you.All I want to live is you.All I want to feel is you.Forgive me.I love you life...I will keep the promises I made to you.I will.Just don't give me those prejudiced eyes...I feel guilty...

"Its awfully simple to fall in love but its simply awful to fall out of it"

A Letter to my Angel!

2008-02-02T14:48:00.000+05:30

Other men said they have seen angels,
but I have seen thee
and thou art enough.
~ G. Moore ~

Dear Angel,

When I looked up in the dictionary to find the meaning of ‘angel’, I found these definitions-

· ‘a spiritual being superior to humans in power and intelligence’;

· ‘an attendant spirit or guardian’,

· ‘a person like an angel (as in looks or behavior),

· ‘one (as a backer of a theatrical venture) who aids or supports with money or influence’.

I think that you, my angel, is all of the above, yet your simplicity and down to earth attitude is what charms me the most. You have been so affectionate towards me and I wanna thank you for that. You have been my ‘umbrella’ and provided me with all security in this world. You have been unselfishly loyal and benevolently concerned about my well being and good. All in all, you have not only inspired me but also motivated me to do my best and follow my heart. You have given my confidence back and instilled the faith once again in me. And in return of all of this, you have never asked for anything in return…Definitely you are my angel!

I am just another girl and don’t have the wits and patience to match yours but all I can promise is all my care with all my heart. You are the personification of love for me and I adore you. I admire your optimistic outlook instead of all that you have been through. There are times when I behave irresponsibly, when I act awkward but your calm responses make me realize my felony. You so understand me that I not only rely on you but at times I even don’t need to utter a word. They say, artists are beautiful people but after knowing you I am sure of that.

I have told you this a lot many times before, but again I want to tell you-

"I love you my angel!"

This Valentine's Day!

2008-02-01T22:02:00.001+05:30

As I wander through the gallery stores, I see the various gifts designed with the hearts. The cards, the teddy bears and the other materialistic things to show your affection to your love. Well, I believe you don't need to wait for the 14th February to show your devotion to that 'special' person in your life. But still, all those hearts in pink and red leave me depressed, because there was also someone in my life to who I would do anything. Just about anything!

And yes, I did. I let him go, for his own sake, partially. I let him go, because he wanted to, and then I realised it was more for my own well being. I never knew how was it to be alone on a Valentine's Day since I got to know what love or 'dating' is. And it wasn't so early in my life too. It was just about 2 years ago when I came to know what is it like to have someone by my side. Someone who'd be so loving!

Everyone has a right to be loved. Love other than the ardor of the relatives, no matter the race, age or family background. And I was being loved too. But it wasn't for long. He excused himself by saying, that things won't work out between us because of the major age difference we had. Anyway, looking at the red roses I feel someone could give them to me too. Someday, I tell myself. Someday, I will be one of those who have the special someone in their lives.

Now I feel so lonely. Though I have everyone, but still a part of me is still empty. And then, 14th February disturbs me even more because a day before that was the special day too, 13th February being his birthday. I wish I only wake up when these two days end. But to all those people who are lucky enough to have a Valentine, my advise to you, "Don't ever let go anyone who you adore, because love is hard to find." And to those people who think they are unlucky like me, I'd say, "Let love find us."

A Lucid Dream

2008-02-01T00:00:00.000+05:30

What is happiness to you? I wonder.

If you ask me what happiness is, I would tell you that happiness is right in this very moment. This moment, which is beautiful and pure. This very moment when you sit right next to me, with your legs crossed, and eyes focused on your notebook in your lap. Your mind thinking about nothing but how to solve the logic problem you are working on. You scratch your head from time to time and pinch the pencil in your teeth while drowning yourself deeper into thoughts. A frown appears on your forehead when you struggle with something or get annoyed by my peculiar way of typing and the key strokes causing distraction. I try not to cause any more distractions for you, as I am loving you this very moment- the way you are looking, the way you are sitting and the way various expressions come and go your face. I want this moment to last forever.

In every life there are moments that bring it definition.
Indeed.

It's strange how we have always been able to get comfortable with one another, like an old couple who know each other very well. They say, young love and friendships can’t stand the silence, it wants to talk, to do something, to keep itself busy and that is the only way they find to attract each other. However, when any relation matures, it doesn’t require those things to keep it interested. I tend to believe that we have reached that point or are getting there. I like it. It is more comforting than anything else. You might not think the same way but I like to fantasize, and no matter what you do or what happens, these fantasies can't really stop. I love you and I know I will always love you whether we stay together or not, whether we even see each other again or not.

Last night, I sneaked in just to watch you sleeping. I love it when you are fast asleep and I can have you all to myself. However, you did not seem to be at peace. I expected you to be but you weren’t. There was anger on your face accentuated with some pain and though you were fast asleep I could feel your body in a very uncomfortable state. I wonder if you ever sleep peacefully. May be you did once. I hope you do again. It hurts me to see you like that. I wish I could just absorb all your pain . I know we both do.

Peeking from behind the screen, I see you and this time you see me too. You wonder if I am sleepy, tired or just bored. I assure you that I am working and totally comfortable. I wish I could tell you how happy and satisfied I am at this moment because you are here. I wouldn’t ask anything more from you. I know you wouldn’t be able to give me that and, I know you won’t be able to give me these moments again either. Things are unpredictable. Things have always been unpredictable. That is why I want to see you and preserve this very moment in my memory forever because this is happiness for me.

I get a friendly pat on my head from you and suddenly I feel sleepy. Not because I am tired but I am at peace. It happens when you are around. Its the trust and comfort that have developed over the course of these miraculous years.

So, I will sleep. I will sleep in this happy moment, whispering under my breath those three little words,

“I Love You”.

Yes, I do.

-Raajii

Saddening Politics!

2008-01-20T18:16:00.001+05:30

All of us have heard and seen many elections! To lure the voters, we have also seen politicians making a lot many promises, which are indeed the most significant part of an election and the backbone of the campaign on the whole. The promises for new roads, proper water supply or rationing, employment opportunities are a few. But what if the political agenda is ‘circumcision’ and the politician even manages to steal the show for the same reason.

Coming to my point directly, I am shocked the way a political issue today turns into a social issue and any social issue is used by the politicians for their voter bank. In our country, we did see the burning Nandigram where a political issue was fuelled into a social issue. And outside our country, let’s take the latest example of Kenya. Kenya is already a destabilized economy. Elections were held in the nation on Dec.27 where two opposition party leaders- Kibaki (whose party saw the electoral victory) and Odinga are at loggerheads. It might shock you but the campaign directed against Odinga was on the basis of circumcision. Odinga who belongs to the Luos tribe (one of the rare tribes of Africa who doesn’t follow circumcision practice) was announced as incapable of ruling.

The political fight between these two leaders has turned into a social agenda. Not only this, the Kikuyu tribe (to which Kibaki belongs) has been chasing down Luos and forcing circumcision upon them. They have been asking men of other tribes to show their private parts and sparing only those who have already been circumcised. This has also given way to other crimes that the men of Kikuyu tribe are committing under the so called ‘circumcision checks’. They have been evicting, raping and looting other tribes, all under the shade of a political master. I may not blame Kibaki directly but indirectly, he indeed is responsible.

This issue brings to light how such an issue brings to turmoil the existence of a tribe, sect or entire mankind. This piece of news left me in total dismay and disbelief. This may relate to just a tribe but one who can see this in a universal light will only find him/herself in melancholy.

(You can check out the source here)

Slaves Again

2008-01-17T13:11:00.000+05:30

As a new year arrived and made itself comfortable, three thinkers – two of my friends and I – decided to offer it a beverage as a mark of our hospitality to guests…a stimulant…a stimulating conversation. Presented here is the decoction from one of the threads and the coffee I prepared thereafter.

We were talking about the status quo of the Indian Government. It is common knowledge that today the government is concerned only about staying in power and all its actions and decisions are aligned towards that singular purpose. No policy is examined from the perspective of whether it is beneficial or harmful but rather whether it will help uphold their image, whether it will help garner votes and create long-standing vote-banks. Consequently, either age-old policies are continued with for the fear of upsetting a multitude of maniacs who will go on rampage in revolt or, worse still, retrogressive policies are brought-in in the name of equality, fairness and justice. The Opposition takes itself very seriously and literally and keeps ‘opposing’ whatever the government proposes without any analysis, giving baseless reasons for their criticism thinking that it will boost their image as an ‘intellectual’ lot. And the government keeps ignoring what the Opposition says (even if, by some fortunate turn of events, what they say makes sense) since they are the Opposition and they are just not supposed to agree with each other. The hapless nation and its people, for whom (ideally) the policies should be framed, are left behind watching the numerous Parliamentary sessions where this mindless game is played and millions of rupees of the taxpayer’s money is wasted everyday.

It reminds me of a possible scenario in household where the birth of a newborn has just shifted the equations a little – the baby is crying for a change or food or whatever, and the young couple is fighting over whose responsibility it is to take care of it…they keep fighting to reach a conclusion – the result will affect all such situations in the future when the baby is crying again – meanwhile, the baby continues to be wet or hungry and suffers. India today is like that baby – the government and opposition are only interested in proving who wronged the nation in what way the last (useless) time and how they will set it right in the future. And they are so busy doing this that doing anything else (like implementing policies for example) is just not possible in the short time span of 5 years!

From the existing records of history one realizes that the (so-called tyrants) Mughals especially Emperor Akbar had this practice of bringing-in a variety of viewpoints into their courts. There used to be a set of people, intellectuals we would call them, whose job was to critically examine the policies that the Royal Court was planning to implement – analogous to Opposition today. The suggestions of these intellectuals were then discussed by the Emperor and efforts made to incorporate them.

Even in the courts of the Indian Kings long before India came under any external occupation, there used to be a set of people representing various religions along with a special set of agnostic (atheistic) people. The agnostics were supposed to debate upon the various aspects of religion that the religious representatives or the King might have and make the picture complete. Their opinions were respected and heard…they were not beheaded for having religious (or non-religious) ideas of their own as happens today. In all these courts, there was a mandate that everyone would hear everyone else’s opinion and not oppose it…even if they wanted to oppose it, they would have to be very respectful in doing so.

Today, with politicians licensing murder as punishment for simply believing in another God, we have come a long (and need I say wrong) way off from the days of yore when there were wise kings and leaders and everybody was free even if they were subjects of another human being.

Sometimes one wonders, were we really suffering under those Kings and Emperors (or even the British for that matter) or are we much worse off today! Some of India’s best literature and art came in the times of the Mughals. Oh hell they gave us the Taj which we Indians (barring a few fanatics who are hell bent on proving that a Shiva temple existed under where the Taj is…some jobless bloke’s Tejo Mahalaya theory…another Ayodhya in the making? Another Babri in the offing? Makes me sick) so proudly flaunt to the world!

The British ended up leaving a legacy that is today the lifeline of this nation – the world’s largest railway network and Cricket…half of the Indians practically live on it and India is known better as a Cricketing nation than anything else. We were all equal under them…we were all slaves. Was it that bad other than the fact that the Human Rights guys may not have liked the sound of it? We are not better off under our Politicians today…free for the sake of being called so…being killed for opinions…being discriminated against in every way possible…being practically looted in the name of Tax yet no difference being made to the lives of those who have been waiting for it.

Politicians are public servants…their shoulders should be burdened with the responsibilities that their position brings…they have the trust of at least half the nation who care to walk, limp or be carried to voting centres and bring them in power and that should be intimidating…they should be bowing down with humility not walking around in arrogance…who are they if the people who bring them in power stop exercising their choice? Where would they be but for all the money they have embezzled from a hard-working multitude who have no choice but to pay tax (thanks to TDS)? And yet, all they can think about is ‘I, Me, Myself’ with no realization of what they ought to do and how horribly wayward they have gone…while We, The People languish in one way or another.

We united against the British to set ourselves free…we are in shackles again…we are slaves of these Politicians…both used the Divide-And-Rule policy and we fell for it…time and again…and the colonies of the British are analogous to the Vote Banks today…nothing has changed…only the context.

When are we going to exercise the supposed power that Democracy brings to the people…the ‘Of The People, By The People, For The People’ crap? When are we going to stop letting them make wrong decisions for us? When are we going to stop killing our brothers at the call of some power-hungry fanatic leader and unite to break these chains? When are we going to stop being Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Parsis, Tamilians, Gujaratis, Bengalis, Punjabis, left-wing, right-wing, and any of the million other identities that are possible in this country and be Indians again? When?

* Phoren I Am NOT! *

2008-01-16T19:00:00.000+05:30

It all started when I first told my friends-"I love Hollywood Movies (!)".The moment the last word bid goodbye to my lips,all the eyes around me felt the twitch in their muscles,brows furrowed,eyes piercing ;one of them shot-"Style maarta hai.Angreji films dekhta hai,hayen !!!" This made me dig a grave then and there and I paid the homage to the list of my favourite movies which I was about to read out.That was the last time I "disclosed" my sins of watching hollywood flicks and even greater a sin of listening to their music !

(India is a country where quite a number of people go Ga Ga over Italian and phoren fashion but there are a few Desh Bhakts who think and claim that Gucci was the son of an Indian Jute farmer who was kicked out of India just because he was found adulterating khadi with silk (and thus murdering the Swadeshic Textile Industry !).This is India with a moral brigade strong enough to force Archies stores to stay open 364 days a year but on 14th February.They can sell all sorts of cards throughout the year but 14th Feb is a strict no-no.)
Now where was I?Oh yes, stop me if I start veering off the micro-level of my circle of friends.I spent most of my "hormonal" years in the not so metropolitan city of Bhubaneswar ,where listening to English music is considered as an Ishtyle factor and English Movies were met with shrieks and apprehensions at my home.But things have changed and no more suspicious eyes if they find me browsing through the Angreji Channels.
But I understand,they are not to blame and not even the society I complain about.The first movies that came alive on the screens with characters chit-chatting in English had shades of "blue" and were released in theaters infamous for there highly "unsocial" motion pictures (More moans than dialogues!!!).But the unwanted but stealthy intrusion of the western culture in our civic enclosure have things rolling for enthusiasts like us,we have got "clean" movies released in even cleaner theaters !
(But I still haven't figured out why do the Indian counterparts of our Angreji actors always end up making a passionate and sweet kiss look vulgar and obscene ?Answers? Anyone but Emraan.Please)

Some of my friends,who think that being Angreji is Ishtylish have taken up to mugging up the lyrics of the famous English songs,just to hum them in a not so clear way so that it gets almost impossible to figure out the mistakes and sometimes even the song itself !
.

Now dear friend,who is asking you to cover yourself with this fake western blanket which has got so many holes in it through which I can clearly see a capped Himesh Reshamiya "nose"ing out a crescendo close to your ears.If you love bollywood then what's the problem?Music is music.Like you prefer Chinese to Vadaa ,the same way I prefer Shaun to Sonu Nigam .You want to know more about Western music and flicks ,then do it,no one will stop you.But please don't show it off in a cheap way?Don't try to push the pizza down your throat if your heart craves for a dosa?Listen to what YOU want to.
Ab yeh mat kehna-"Ishtyle maar raha hai..."

I love their music but does that mean that I don't love my country or that I don't love my culture?Now what is that?Everyone has likings and dislikings .I am a human like you are so I have my sets of likes and dislikes.So where's the point of me not loving my culture.Koi samjhaao inhe !!!

just not a dream!

2008-01-15T00:45:00.000+05:30

I don’t know what’s happening to Politics around the world. But I do know little bit about what’s happening in India and a little more in Karnataka – my homeland. Karnataka at the moment does not have a chief minister. For a common man it is not at all making any difference. The life is just going on fine like it used to be earlier too. Though this leaves me with a question why to have one, because my inclination and knowledge is not at all towards “politics”, I don’t tend to debate on the brickbats of my own question.

All that I’m worried of is – a great place to live in. Not just for me – for everybody around me. I don’t want to see kids begging near the traffic junction nor I want anybody living in slums. I want each and every woman here in this country to step out of home peacefully at any hour and get back home – safely. I want each and everybody get 3 square meals a day and a peaceful sleep end of the day. I want each and everybody to get access to good hospitals when ill. I don’t want to see anybody doing any odd jobs, which I personally don’t want to do.

Just this little from our political leaders who have it all.

Peace!

House On Fire!

2008-01-08T11:38:00.000+05:30

House on Fire. Not an essay anymore. What he saw was ridiculous and more ridiculous was his helplessness. Lying at the pavement, blood soaked his face and his shirt was ripped from the collar till the ribs. Scars were visible. Blood and dirt mixed together, reminding him of his human basicity. Three, four young fellows rushed on without noticing him, as if he wasn't a human but a dustbin about which no one really cares until and unless garbage rots in it and create a foul smell. A mob...he could sense a mob was coming that way. Footsteps echoed and faded. He looked towards the sky remembering his God. The blue color of sky also started melting into crimson red, light yellow.

He shirked from the thought of her. His house was on fire when he returned to take her away. He peeked into the window and all what he saw was a glimpse of her hand that held the pallu of her red-yellow sari...trying... to fight the fire...shrieking, crying out for help. He felt the same amount of heat which boiled down over his body. He cursed himself. He cursed the society. He cursed God and those who followed his laws, those who used his name to cover their shameful acts. It was all happening in His name but he knew that the reality was under the veil. How for a piece of land, whole of the set-up was planned. Being her husband, he knew what was happening. Her words echoed in his mind-----Ramlal wants that chunk of land to establish a factory there which would not only render the whole basti homeless but even pollute the ghat. All the promises being made are futile. Nothing is being done on paper. But I'll do whatever is possible to make sure that things don't work out for them!

He knew that the game had begun but it will take such a turn, he never knew that. When clean politics failed, when claims failed, when threats failed... those dirty politicians turned the basti into a playfield, where they begun their dirty game. With both Hindu-Muslim workers settled there, the game became easier. They lighted a spark and blazes of fire were seen. House on fire-not an essay anymore.

*Basti-Village

Unbreakable

2007-12-30T03:42:00.000+05:30

She lay in ruins. The Angel. The valley wore a desolate look as the wearied sun longed to disappear over the horizon. The bleak landscape resounded with her incessant sobbing. The demons had long been gone. Her hapless outcries had been vehemently suppressed by their demonic exploits. A crime so heinous that left her shattered. Her modesty knifed at mercilessly. Her soul hid itself in a coccoon of ignominy. The Angel lay still in a pool of blood, wide awake, tears meandering down her cheeks only to fade away. She had been left for dead. But something in her was still breathing. Hope. It overpowered her shock. Her fear. Redemption on her mind. Fight back she would. The Angel waited.

The silence was defeaning. Amidst the clamor prevalent in the crowded hospital ward, there was an unusual calm seeping in. Those eyes said it all. Imrana knew this. She held the girl's hand.

Three arduous years had transpired since that shocking incident. Imrana knew how she had dealt with the pain. The Nizam-e-Qaza was a law in its own right. A Parallel judiciary system run by fanatical Muslim clerics. Men without an iota of compassion and pity. Their heartless way of meting out 'justice' could not be questioned. Their irrational judgments, were an end in itself. Those who opposed were victimized ruthlessly. Such an oppression of the masses had been prevalent for many years. Women, in particular. Relegated to the confines of the four corners of a room, enshrouded in a veil, women were treated in the most bestial ways possible. They were born humans but only to grow up devoid of their rights. The freedom to express themselves and the right to education had long been snatched away from them. Wretched men, kicked them around whenever they could and whenever they needed to. Women, after all, were considered weak and a needless burden on society. What could they possibly do? Who would dare raise her voice and question the ways of men? But Imrana did. She spoke for the rights of her sisters, of what was rightfully theirs. She dared to speak about the essence of education for all women, something quite unheard of in the past. She made women in her neighborhood shed the vile purdah, urged them to work and taught them to become independent. The courageous woman that Imrana was. Men around were offended by Imrana's daredevilry. It wasn't long before she was being threatened of dire consequences. Other women were forcefully dragged out of classes and beaten mercilessly. Imrana's husband wasn't much of a man and he fled away, fearing for his life. But she didn't care. She never took a step back and braved her way forward. It wasn't long before the Nizam-e-Qaza did what they had to do. She was dragged around the whole village, clothes stripped off and labeled a witch. With false allegations being heaped on her, her character was questioned. Nobody around did anything, for those who did try to protect her were singled out and mistreated. And not long after, she was dragged into the woods and raped. Again and again. Her cries for help throttled in hell-fire. The multitude was a mute spectator to such a vicious crime. 'Justice' served. Or was it? Imrana was helpless.

But now she wasn't. A fearless woman who now stood by her ideals, much more firmly. She was heading a NGO which had been on the forefront in helping women and reinstating their presence in the society, time and again. Her guts, determination and valor had stood the test of time. Braving a chauvinistic world of men, she did everything in her capacity to give back women the respect they were entitled to.

In an assuring tone, Imrana spoke.

"You are not weak. And you shall not give up. I'm with you. Believe in God, for he is with us too."

Tears gave way to a broken smile. An endearing sight as such, the Angel bent forward to embrace the girl.

The Last Laugh

2007-12-27T18:16:00.000+05:30

I am dead, almost. But why, what had happened? Memory fails me. With an immense effort I lift my eyelids, the harsh light of the room blinding my eyes I search for the picture; Pari being kissed by Suresh and me on each of her cheek. It was the picture I opened my eyes to every morning, Pari’s kohl lined light-brown eyes shone through the picture even now. Dressed in a baby pink frock with puffed sleeves, her scarce but curly hair (unruly even then) scrupulously tied into two fountain ponies, and a toothless grin that could captivate anyone, she was the cutest baby ever, as every baby on the face of this earth is.

The picture was taken two years back, when Pari was barely 4-5 months old, it was her first picture in the studio, her eyes had danced from one flashlight to the other and then to the camera, hardly resting in one place. But how had she posed and given the best of her smiles when the photographer was ready to take the picture, as if she understood fully well what was happening. “She is a born actress, so comfortable in front of the camera.” The photographer had remarked, jokingly. How would ‘her’ first picture be? I thought. And my hands instinctively reached for my stomach to feel her, but I immediately sensed that something had gone horribly wrong, and my world crashed down in an instant. It was coming back to me in patches now and I so wished that I had died without remembering, without going through it all over again.

Is it a girl or a boy? Nine months of suspense, expectance and nervousness. But not in this age of advanced technology and Suresh wouldn’t wait. I had reluctantly agreed for the sonography, forbidding him from disclosing the result to me. But the result couldn’t have been more obvious; I had never seen him so preoccupied. Suresh wanted a boy and it was plain from his disappointment that it was a girl.

A girl! Pari will have a little sister! Will she be like Pari? Will she also be as tiny and delicate just after birth, will her eyes be as big and unblinking, will her hair be as unruly, will she also sleep, curled up like a cat, forehead tense in concentration but lips curved in a serene smile? Will her favorite game also be entangling things into my hair and then extricating them with great skill? Will her antics also make my otherwise boring day, exciting? Will she also hold the same power over me; will her tears make me anxious and her laughter make my moods soar? Questions, left unanswered forever.

It was yesterday (or was it?) when Suresh took me to the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine checkup, only if I had known of what lay in store! Suresh was quiet all through the drive, he had made up his mind, I being used to his mood swings didn’t give it much of a thought. But I started having misgivings the moment I was brought into this room, it somehow didn’t feel right, but the Doctor assured me. Events after that are a blur, but there would’ve been complications, which are bound to happen in an abortion so late. I remember having a dream though (or was it a dream?), I was in a pitch-dark room running away from a masked man, soon he had me cornered, his knife glinting, as if it had sensed its prey. I cried and begged, but was he even listening, I still remember his eyes they were, so unmoved, so business-like, so inhuman.

But can words ever describe what I am feeling for Suresh now? Is a human being capable of such an intense hatred? Why did he do this to me? Is the desire to have a son, so strong, so maddening? Is it a boy or a girl? Does the answer to the question matter so much? Why is ‘girl’ a totally unacceptable answer to some? Questions left unanswered again, but can any answer be convincing enough to justify a deed so wicked?

People are shouting outside, I hear Suresh too. “It was a boy, you killed my son, you killed him!” he is shouting. Some one is trying to pacify him “The technology is not fullproof, Sir,there is always a margin for error.” But this enrages Suresh even more, and the placatory voice is drowned in agonizing screams and sobs.

I no longer hear the voices, it’s as if calm has descended over my whole being. A strange sensation is flooding my body, and of all the feelings, strangely I am feeling elated. And so, in spite of the tears streaming down my eyes, in spite of the powerful pain searing my heart, in spite of knowing that I am going to die, inspite of knowing that I’ll never hold Pari in my arms again, in spite of having just lost a part of my soul, I laugh and laugh and laugh.
--A mother

Sex-selective feticide is so rampant in India; it sends shivers down my spine whenever I read
about it. And ironically it is more common among the so-called educated class .In many cases women are forced into it, but many a times women are complicit, even willing participants, in both the cases it is a gross violation of human rights. Laws are there but only on paper. Detecting the sex of foetus, without citing proper reasons, is illegal, but clinics have spawned up everywhere and they are doing brisk business. Mobile clinics frequent rural areas which otherwise are untouched by technology. It is easy to see that these clinics are catering to the demand of the society, but that does not make them less unethical. Amidst talks of women’s rights and women’s liberalization, every single minute a girl goes ‘missing’ in India and the clock is ticking fast.

The Painted Veil

2007-12-21T23:06:00.000+05:30

In our part of the world marriage is considered 'the only' solution to your otherwise problematic existence. May be new problems make them forget the old ones. AND match making is one of the favorite hobbies of people here. A rich and well-settled (preferably abroad) husband…. also educated – depending upon their definition of 'an educated person'…. is considered an 'ideal' one. It doesn't matter whether our mr. perfect is a person of intellect or carries a soul inside….. yeah, after meeting so many conscienceless people I have come to believe that body and soul can exist without each other.

He might be 'an ideal husband' for a girl whose thoughts begin with patiala shalwar (with very short shirt) and end at the stories published in local women digests – whose life revolves around latest romantic Indian flicks and saas bahu soaps.
But for a girl who thinks there is more to life than eating out and getting dressed all the time, who believes that relationships are not all about getting physical… one who professes platonic love…. a woman who can think for herself and who can speak her mind ….. for such a woman life is not easy.

Live but don't let live…. that's the motto of people here!

Here goes our stuff:

Lying next to him
yet a world apart
with dreams all broken
that's how she had to start

carrying her battered self
carefully stepping on broken dreams
holding on to her crumbling hopes
drowning within her salty screams

he couldn't see thru her
the fate has its own strange ways
she kept bleeding inside
and it went on for days and days

she – his pretty little angel
who he possessed her fully and whole
he had her in his arms
but he never had her soul

enclosed in a coffin
and as the death-bells chime
she bid herself good bye
and felt alive for the first time!

What's Love Got To Do With It?

2007-12-17T13:16:00.000+05:30

A New Year is around the corner and one of the first western festivals that we will be celebrating in the New Year (apart from New Year’s Day itself) will be Valentine’s Day. Now this has long been the eyesore for a multitude of Indians and they have been worried about immorality and the western concept of love infiltrating our culture. Of course, all Indian love stories are exempt from any compliance with morality (as defined today by the masses – dating included FYI) and are above and beyond all verification. Why don’t we begin with the Mahabharata – the book most Indians will swear by:

While on a hunting trip, King Dushyant of the Puru dynasty meets the hermit-girl Shakuntala. They fall in love with each other and, in the absence of her father, Shakuntala weds the king in a ceremony of 'Ghandharva', a form of marriage by mutual consent with mother Nature as the witness.

Today, the concept of being in love and love marriage is looked down upon by our society as they cry foul for the loss of culture. Would they care enough to look into their past and realize that we inherited that tendency from the supposed foremost ancestors – Dushyant and Shakuntala – whose son gave this country its name: Bharat.

What’s this got to do with Human Rights, you ask?

In a series of incidents in the city of Nagpur a few years ago, the city’s self-proclaimed moral police – a bunch of hooligans professing to be saviours of Indian culture (read Hindu Culture) – went on rampage in the city’s parks. As part of their crusade for culture, they would catch hold of young couples sitting in these parks and abuse them both verbally and physically. The boys were beaten more than once. The girls were insulted. And the city was entertained/horrified (as the case may be) as the newspapers carried a chronicle of this drive.

What was worse was that the protectors of the people – the Police Force – were playing privy to these hoodlums (so what’s new about that?!). They would go about in those Khaki uniforms (now more a symbol of terror than anything else) driving away or abusing these kids who had probably come there to have a quiet conversation or watch a sunset together over the beautiful Ambazari Lake. In fact a few days later, there was a notice in the papers that the Police will not appreciate seeing couples in parks and public places anymore and they will be dealt with stringently.

I now want you to read the following articles from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights -

Article 5
No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.

Article 12
No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.

Article 13
1. Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each State.

The behaviour of the moral police and the police force was in direct violation of Articles 5 and 12 above. Even girls were not spared. And the fact that visiting parks and public places together was prohibited for those out on a date came in conflict with Article 13. In addition to being a mockery of human rights as recognized by the United Nations, this whole episode came in the way of an undeniable need of man as a social animal – to love and to be loved. It is the absence of this emotion – love – that causes all violations of Human Rights in the first place.

If a person is stripped of the basic right to love someone and spend time with them, if one has to undergo physical abuse and indignation as punishment for loving someone, if love becomes an embarrassment for the way you are treated in public by hardly educated hooligans and not a principle to uphold, no Human Rights Charter can save humanity.

And you ask, What’s Love Got To Do With It?

You can access the Human Rights Charter here: http://www.unhchr.ch/udhr/lang/eng.pdf
Sources: http://hinduism.about.com/

About the writer: Anupama Kondayya is a software consultant by profession. She is a writer by passion and has utter faith in the power of the spoken and written word. Her other interests include reading, singing and travelling.

Soul On Sale

2007-12-10T23:00:00.001+05:30

"And He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done"
Genesis 2:2

He should not have. He created humans on the sixth day to have dominion over land and sea and all the creatures there shall be. He created us in His own image. Did he forget to fill our hearts with the same mercy and compassion?

Today is World Human Rights Day. It is the day the Human Rights Charter was adopted by the United Nations. Have we ever wondered for whom? Certainly not for those mute birds and animals or immobile plants. Ironically and tragically enough, the Human Rights Charter has been adopted for humans.

Civic laws may be different everywhere but how one human being should treat another universal principle. All the religions have the same fundamentals. We are the descendants of Rama, Krishna, Jesus, Guru Nanak, Mohammed, Buddha and Mahaveer. Yet, we need to be told how our fellows must be treated. They died telling us to respect our women. Yet, men beat their wives in inebriated condition, over dowry matters and harass their children. We have failed our saints and their work and it is shameful to have a Human Rights Charter.

What are the factors that make us human? Our ability to think, to feel, to empathise...our soul, our conscience. We have the ability to be merciful, compassionate and kind. We alone have the ability to make this world a more beautiful place.

Instead, we choose to put our soul on sale. The price is measly. It is a trade-off between morals and money, sadism, greed, lust...The treatment of Prisoners of War (PoWs) by the American soldiers - sadism at its peak...The macabre manner in which innocent people are mauled in communal riots - a mockery of the Human Rights Charter. Does white skin give one the license to superiority and reckless animalic behaviour? Does our soul have colour too? What race does pure conscience belong to? What religion? After a certain point, we become immune to such questions. We go back to our origins, become animals. And then the world adopts a Human Rights Charter. It is tragic.

" You should build a better world," God said.
He questioned, "How?
The world is such a wondrous place
And so complicated now;
So small a man I am,
There's nothing I can do."
But God all wise and kind advised, "Just build a better you".

And then the world will be filled with more love than ever before. That will be the day we will be able to scrap the Human Rights Charter - a true celebration of humanity and human rights - for it is our right only to live together with love, harmony, brotherhood and tolerance. Till then, Happy Human Rights Day!

About the writer: Anupama Kondayya is a software consultant by profession. She is a writer by passion and has utter faith in the power of the spoken and written word. Her other interests include reading, singing and travelling.

Euthanasia

2007-12-04T09:42:00.000+05:30

When we think of this word, certain points emerge from our consideration. What spontaneously comes to my mind is 'Mercy killing'. Yeah, I'm for mercy killing. I somehow find these bunch of guys silly...the ones who are against euthanasia. I can't banish their perspective either but one thing's for sure...they'll have to accept the fact, eventually. People happen to be against Euthanasia, I don't know why. This comes out from my heart. It's true! Life is God's gift, we have no right to take it away but forget not, Euthanasia means 'Mercy killing', most likely the word 'killing' catches the eye and not 'mercy'.. I would have strongly been against it had people wanted to give up their lives because of family or monetary problems. This ain't for losers but for people suffering from incurable diseases. Imagine the pitiable state of a patient suffering everyday, every moment, crying in pain helplessly. He has no other option. He knows he's gonna die soon but then why being put through all these agonizing moments of torments when he has an option to die in peace.

But who would want to die? Imagine a young child weeping dolefully, holds his mamma's hand and says, "Mamma, I wanna live.. Mamma, I wanna live.. But I can't bear all the pain". The point is the mother knows that her child would never be able to live in peace with so much of suffering in store. At the same time, the child wants to see the world. Now don't you think it's a trivial situation?

One post in some community read, 'The origination of the word 'euthanasia' itself is shameful as it shows defeat of some medical science against some disease'. That seriously makes no sense because in today's world had it not been for medical sciences, our lives would have been in a jeopardy. Just because there hasn't been cure for certain diseases, you can't banish the medical sciences and hold them responsible for the origination of, 'Euthanasia'.

When some things aren't in our hands, we need to accept them the way they are. Dying in peace is better than struggling each and every moment!

Growing Early Or Lost Innocence?

2007-11-29T19:27:00.000+05:30

A cousin of mine was shocked when her elder daughter (studying in eight class) came to her and asked, “Mom, is it important to have a boyfriend, does that make one look more cool and wanted?” She was dumb and even after reflecting a lot on what kind of an answer this question should have, she preferred to remain silent. Not that she could not have made her daughter understand (maybe she even did later on) but what bothered her was how life has changed and how kids are no longer kids.

Kids are no more kids. Ludos and dolls have been replaced with online games, gizmos and iPods. They are brand-conscious, aware of the latest trends, concerned about their looks and even love to party, and the lot is of an average age below 15. We may be bragging about the developments of our country, the latest technical innovations but somewhere aren’t we all guilty of taking childhood away from those grown up children? Where a few parents blame themselves, some put it on the age and fast life. Today Barbies have replaced dolls and why have they become a favorite among children? One of my friends studying psychology reasons, “Because children imbibe everything from their surroundings and they know that to have a figure like 'her' is something big. They love 'her' not as a doll anymore but for that star status, for them that ‘Barbie’ is what Angelina Jolie, Madhuri Dixit or Aishwarya Rai is to us.” Same case applies to having a fair complexion; there are a few girlie’s (like most of them in their teens or later years) who will like when even when they are complimented about their not so fair color. If you ask me, where that comes from; just browse the TV channels for a few minutes and you will see loads of fair girls advertising fairness creams.

Their expenses are rising not only in education but even as far as their personal lives are concerned. What was the forte of teen age has become the play of kids, they have girlfriends and boyfriends at the age of 12 and you can even find them shopping at Archie’s on Valentine’s Day. For once you may think that this is an exaggerated take but look around and I am sure you’ll find examples. Laptops are no more a desire of a college going student but even the one who is just appearing for class tenth boards. No wonders, that can be something good but then facts like cyber porn seeps in. Where a few children don’t even get to have three meals a day, others boast about their richness and gizmos. Recently a group of three children (one aged 8, the two other aged 9 years) have been accused of raping an 11-year old girl with whom they were playing. This incident shook the community of Acworth, a small Georgian town but is it really the fault of those kids? Incest is nothing new and even entering the Indian households, it may go unreported but not unnoticed. A lot of questions cloud the mind but the answers are few!

Rolled Down

2007-11-26T13:12:00.000+05:30

She startled me . I dropped my Mocha. That was the last thing I needed after a long day.
I was furious and did not want to spare a single rupee for a smelly street urchin who had ruined my perfect coffee .
She wasn't among the ones who give up easily. She persisted. I screamed at her . The loudest I ever had.
I sat back in my car . Rolled up the window . She spat on the window.

She had second thoughts about ruining a perfect Sunday and spending a day in a remote village teaching kids.
Sure she had always wanted to do this . She found about ASHA a month ago.
Now there she was . A hot day . She wished for rain , so that they would cancel the whole thing.
But she knew it wouldn't.

I had detailed and washed my car just the other day . I was furious.

They were all of the 20 kids. Some of them bored .Some of them eager . Some of them just glad that they didn't have to work that day.
She was struggling to think of a Hindi word for 'addition' .And then
one of the kids asked her (in Hindi) ... Does everyone in your house love you?
No one had asked her that before. It was always a given .She realized though, that she couldn't ignore it like she would ignore a rhetoric . She replied yes and asked the kid , "Aur Tumhe?"
"Haan agar Ghar hota to jaroor pyar karte , didi" .

I rolled down the window . She spat on me.

The Cost Of Happiness

2007-11-17T22:21:00.000+05:30

May 2005, Scene - College Atrium near the Utilities Shop. Me and a group of friends killing time like you always do in colleges.

What were we doing? Nothing specific, just chatting and sipping cola (or was it a juice?), in that usual hustle and bustle of college I happened to notice a small young girl of maybe 5-6 years of age covered in a bedsheet, perhaps one of the numerous children of the construction workers working at our college, scavenging the garbage bin of the Utilities shop for some eatable.

Suddenly she was warded off rudely by the shopkeeper, terrified, she ran away. Ideally I wouldn't have bothered to do anything about it, it was all so normal to see, this happens everywhere. But that day I moved, I could sense that the child wished to have something nice to eat, my friends stopped and stared at me because I left the conversation in the middle. I went to the shop bought 4 rupees worth of eclairs, and ran after that child. The girl had reached the water cooler and was quenching her thirst, seeing me run towards her she stopped drinking and was about to run. Perhaps she thought that like the shopkeeper I was going to scold her for drinking water in the Academic Block, I asked her to stop and opened my hands to reveal the Eclairs. She was reluctant to take them, but I persuaded her to take them all. In return to this favor I got a big smile from her, and then she ran away. It made me feel good from within and the happy feeling lingered on for sometime. It all costed me just four rupees to make her smile and feel happy.

Perhaps that is all happiness costs us - the desire to do something, not with pity but, with care.

When was the last time you felt happy doing something?

Dancers In The Dark

2007-11-14T16:56:00.000+05:30

I gazed silently at those nimble pair of legs which moved in haste. A few steps forward, then a quick flip. A moment later, bending on the gravelly surface and writhing back and forth through a hoopla, without so much as to touch it. Pushing it aside the next moment, sprinting forward and taking a gravity defying somersault again. A young girl of the same age, fidgeted nearby, playing a small dhol tied to her neck and singing to the tunes of popular bollywood numbers. Another kid belonging to the same clan looked on, waiting for his turn next. I felt as if every single act of theirs, was smeared in a monotonous semblance. But then, it was their conditioning which blurred such an axiomatic display to a large extent. Helplessly I watched, however trying not to, at times. A sight as such made me dwell earnestly on the cruelties meted out to such pitiable young souls, clinging to a parallel world soaked in abject poverty and hopelessness.

It was a difficult sight to construe. Disturbing. Deplorable. In the subcontinent, this is considered quite a 'normal' occurrence to all and sundry. A performance as such by those hapless youngsters, most of them below five, held the multitude in awe. Heartless souls around had completely obscured themselves from this impregnable truth with such repose as it pushed me towards the brink of stark disappointment. My quaint thoughts jittered on the rickety borders of hesitation but I looked on, shamelessly. Something changed inside me at that very instant. What I saw, nudged my soul and struck a deep chord inside me. I glanced around making a frantic search for their parents. But none were in sight. Those kids were all alone. On their own. None to hold their hand and guide them the along the right path. None to care. None to shower love. These little angels had nowhere to go. They knew not what stuff dreams were conjured of and savoring them unlike kids of similar age who were fortunate enough. They knew not what it meant to go to school, to learn, to play with toys and develop into educated beings. Made to gyrate to vicious rhythms of impoverishment along a tumultuous path of despair and desolation. They were born humans but now, with each passing day, they were being stripped of this so called 'gift'. Let loose in a cruel world, devoid of love, guidance and protection, showered so lavishly on other children of their age. Let loose to align themselves on their own and make sense out of the chaos and the bedlam prevalent in our cruel society. Such an age to eke out a living, for their family, for themselves? A family strung together by nothing but hopelessness and despair? The truth held me in a trance. It was weird. Every second, I tried to make more sense out of it. I faltered many a time. But I tried.

The crowd was growing impatient with each passing second. I knew why. The more they looked at the proceedings, the more they reveled in a mellowed act of derision. But to me such a mockery, rather being directed towards those poor souls, seemed more to be directed towards the system. The system which has sprouted such a sordid state of affairs for the little ones. A system where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Whatever happened to those much touted welfare programmes for the needy, those so called 'honest' efforts to educate the poor children and tall claims to restructure their lives? Mere words scribbled in government files left to rot in dusty shelves? Hollow promises made by the inept bureaucracy? How true. Humanity, chucked into oblivion, lost forever...never to be found.

A soft tug at my hands, made me break away from the trance. Her fatigued eyes, amidst her soiled face and disheveled hair, yearned to say something. But all she could do was unfold her palm and implore for money. The next instant, as soon as I had handed her a five rupee note, she flitted to the person next to me only to be dissed aside. I turned around to see the other kids penetrating the crowd and approaching people for money. Some chipped in a few pennies, some stoically ignored their innocent overture.

But soon, time ran out. I saw the light flash green ahead. People around made a dash forward, in a state of tizzy as they have always been accustomed to, amidst horns blaring and vehicular pandemonium. Those three fragile minutes seemed like eternity. But something stayed with me. That silent impeccable look in the girl's eyes which silhouetted her dreary fragmented existence. A pinch of hope in a cauldron of overflowing despair that made her endure her pains and trudge ahead in life. In that fleeting instance, I realized I needed to break the mould and do something for such poor children. A honest attempt to alleviate their misery and try to make them realize that even they are entitled to what we 'humans' take for granted day in and day out. Penning my thoughts here is a minuscule step taken to highlight such an overlooked scenario dominating all around us. God might smile at such a novel endeavor, supposedly. But I, for one, care less about what He thinks. A mission lies ahead of me. Fulfilling a drive to bring a smile on the faces of these children. After all, it's my pursuit to restore that bit of happiness in their lives, in all the ways I possibly can.

“Come little one, come along

To the land where you belong

Fear not, smile my friend

With us, you shall blend”

I am Smriti

2007-11-13T13:53:00.000+05:30

I am Smriti, remembrance, that’s what my name means, and that how I live these days, in the past. I came to Bangalore a few days back, I never wanted to leave my village, I loved our battered but cosy home, the generous mango tree in our backyard, the winding road that led to the village pond, the village school were Neeru (Neeraj my lil’ brother) and I used to study…

When Ma* told me we were going to the city, I refused straightaway, Neeru also started crying, Ma said we didn’t have money and Hari kaka* had found a job for Baba in the city. I broke my gullock* and gave Ma the money I had saved for lac bangles and a pair of dolls I wanted to buy during the Shivratri Mela*. (Ohh! How colorful and lively the mela used to be? ) Ma hugged me lovingly and explained to me that the money wouldn’t even be enough for the train tickets. Neeru and I got excited at the mention of trains, we had never been on one before. We used to wake up to the whistle of the passenger train that passed in the distance early morning, sometimes running out of the house across the lush fields to watch it. It looked so small just like a toy; we used to wonder how it carried people inside it.

But shortly we were inside a real train ourselves, it looked so big from close, no wonder it could carry hundreds of people. We fought all through the way for window seats, we had to change two trains, but that was nothing, I was so excited, the constant hustle-bustle of the stations reminded me of the Mela. Finally we arrived in Bangalore, it has been three days since I had a bath, normally Ma would’ve pestered me to have a bath, but this was no normal day, its not everyday you come to a city like Bangalore.

Hari Kaka’s house was near the building he used to work in, in fact the whole setllement had come up because of the construction work going on in the area, Baba was also going to work in one of these buildings. The first workers called their kith and kin from villages afar, who in turn called theirs and so on, the vicious circle continued and the settlement teemed with migrant workers.

Neeru and I took to exploring the area nearby, each day we used to make a new discovery; we found a few kittens hiding under a basket one day, a new playmate in our neighbors’ daughter, an old vacant house which we made our frequent haunt…But otherwise I used to miss the village, the trees, the fields, the peace, Bangalore was too bare somehow, too noisy. Soon life settled into a rut, even when Baba was earning more than what he used to in the village, we were scraping through with difficulty, Bangalore was much costlier than our village.

Neeru and I hadn’t been enrolled in the school yet, one day workers from the nearby NGO came to talk to my parents, they had seen Neeru and me roaming quite a few times and inquired about us. The NGO ran a hostel for girls, they wanted my parents to send me there, I would be well taken care of there, they told my parents and even be enrolled in a school. Ma didn’t want to send me, but Baba convinced her, she would have a better life there he said.

So off I was sent to a new destination again and here I had no Ma, no Baba, no Neeru, I was on my own. There were some fifteen more girls in the hostel; some child laborers rescued by the NGO, some girls who had resorted to begging, some orphans and some girls like me, from a very poor family. I wished Neeru was a girl too, he could also have come here and stayed in the hostel, the hostel was nice, two aunties stayed with us all the time, one was our cook and the other our teacher.

Every morning we got up early and had a quick bath, and then we played for sometime before having breakfast. Once in a week we had sweets in breakfast, I wished I could share them with Neeru he loved sweets. We then did lessons, we had missed the admission dates for school, and so we would be enrolled next year, this year we would be taught in the hostel itself. I remember doing lessons with Neeru after school; we used to have so much fun, Neeru used to eat up so many alphabets while reciting them. If I scolded him, he used to say, “Didi* I ate up ‘e’ for egg, I made a big omelette wit it, it was yummy.” And we used to burst out laughing it was our private joke.

After having a short nap in the afternoon we used to play in the evening, hide and seek, races, river and mountains, home home. I had lost my favorite doll when I came to the hostel, I had cried a lot but didn’t get it back, I now played with Kusum didi’s doll, Kusum didi loved me a lot, she loved all the other kids, she sometimes even used to recite stories to us in the night.

One-day some Aunties from the NGO in Bangalore came to visit our hostel; I was so excited to see them they would know how my parents and Neeru were, I might even be able to talk to them. I showed Aunty the tattooed number (Hari Kaka’s cell number) on my hand, she dialled the number and suddenly the distance didn’t matter, I was talking to Baba, he said he would come to take me home for Diwali and I was so happy. Ma had gone for buying vegetables and Neeru had ran to call her, when they came back Neeru snatched the phone from Baba, he had so many things to tell me, the new friends he had made, the new games he had learnt, his new discoveries. Finally Ma had to force the phone out of his hand, she was crying, as was I, she asked me to be a good girl, take good care of myself and study well so that I could live a good life when I grew up.

In the night I thought what a good life was? I don’t know what Ma meant when she said she wants me to have a good life. But for me a good life is when we are all together, Ma, Baba, Neeru and I, like we were back in the village, in our battered but cosy home, where Neeru and I used to play in the shade of the mango tree all day long, and then in the evening take the winding road to the village pond to have a bath there with the Sun, so that all three of us were all fresh for a new day, a day which would be surely better than today.

Ma*- Mother
Baba*- Father
Kaka*- Uncle
Mela*- Gathering
Gullock*- Piggy Bank
Didi*- Elder Sister

MaKe A cHaNge tHis DiwAli

2007-11-05T23:20:00.000+05:30

Diwali. The word in itself conjures up a phase of unhindered celebration. All the mirth and jamboree amidst this glowing festival of lights! A time when people criss cross all caste and religious borders and come together to mingle in such an euphoric fete. Money does play an important role and hence people seek the blessings of goddess Lakshmi. The lure of money takes precedence in most minds. Come to think of it. On such a festive occasion, getting a bonus is the norm at most workplaces. (For me a 'bonus' boils down to 'an extra amount' of pocket money). Accumulation of wealth does lead one to go on a spending spree. Nowadays, considering the level & amount of disposable incomes, buying on instinct is what matters rather than just the need to buy. Quite true. But before buying that pair of jeans or just another pair of shoes the next time you go shopping, stop for a while and ponder. Do you really require it? Would you really be happy or is it just a means to satiate your urge to splurge? Think about it.

Have you ever pictured a poor kid's diwali? I bet Diwali is just another day or maybe a string of syllables echoing in his ears, making him yearn more and more to submerge in the festive spirit. On a day when most people put on gaudy clothes and dine at upscale restaurants, the imminent feeling of being an outcast dawns on him, albeit unknowingly. Such a gaping divide between the haves and the have-nots leaves me with a mawkish sense of disbelief. They dwell in slums and the pavements, forced to work and eking out a living to make ends meet somehow. In such a desolate state of mind, burdened with things they ought not to be thinking of & bereft of education, they wander about with the dreamy look in their eyes. Simple and innocent desires akin to a child belonging to the higher strata of society, go unnoticed and get wiped off their mind eventually. "Those eyes" reveal all. Nothing to conceal.

The truth is...making a mis fortunate child's dream come true would give us more joy than buying a mere pair of clothing. Such a profligate attitude needs to be cast aside. Maybe to some extent. This Diwali, let us part with some amount of our material wealth and donate for a cause. Instead of splurging on a plethora of crackers (yes, its tough but we can at least try!), we can utilize it to benefit the needy children.

It isn't much of an effort. It's the willingness to make a difference in the lives of the poor little ones that counts.

Remember: A generous act of yours will bring a smile on the face of the poor kid living in that alley. A smile which outweighs all the wealth in this world put together. A smile so captivating, so pure.

[With inputs from ShAkE Inc.]

A Fading Light!

2007-11-03T22:16:00.000+05:30

Diya, she was named! Diya which signifies light but ironically her fate made her the carriage of darkness for her family! Her mother loved her initially but couldn’t tell her, she wouldn’t have understood anyways. Then it was her father and grandma, who were expecting a male child. As if this wasn’t enough, fate played another joke, she was blind. With four more girls, her mother soon started hating her, cursing her and telling her that she was the cause of all the troubles, all this now, when she was able to understand! How much her mother wanted her to die, but she grew up, thin, lean, with a pale skin like withered leaves, rotting in the soil, with freckles all over, like a seventy year old, she grew up with the eternal wheel of time.

Time flew…Her father was no more in a job, all what he did now was drinking and drinking endlessly. A mother with a burden of four girls and one blind girl, she thought of nothing but of ways to live, to survive. All the five girls were put on the roads, in the shabbiest clothes they had, to beg, to beg for money, so that they can survive, they can live a life which was worse then death itself! Time passed and so did two of her sisters. They cried but only initially, as later they speculated that maybe another world, a world unseen was anyways better then here. They no more cried for the dead but smiled and prayed for their happiness. Diya grew up, begging, begging and begging amidst the cribbing and nagging' of her mother.

Time flew…The eldest sister was married and it was time for the other one to go to her new home. It was that day, when things went worse once again. Diya was still out there in the streets begging, not for a look of kindness but money! She used to beg near her home as her blindness limited her. She felt a pang of hunger and remembered that no one was at home, as they had gone for those little preparations left for the wedding. She felt nauseated, thinking about how it would be to see the ugly faces. She was just thirteen but the array of her mind was mature enough by now, she knew the ways of the world. Engrossed in heavy thoughts, she was crossing the pavement when even her inner world went dark!

She was lying somewhere but she felt, it was a strange place. A strong smell swept across, she tried to get up touched by the unfamiliarity of the place but then she heard her sister sobbing.

She asked her, ‘why are you crying?’

All her sister replied was, ‘you met with an accident, why do you go on the road alone, couldn’t have you waited! You always bring trouble, a quarter of money kept for my dowry has been spent on you now, who will marry me, tell me, why did you do this!’, and she went away.

Next came her mother, how desperately she wanted her to touch and kiss her, how she wanted to embrace her mother and cry in her lap but fate hadn’t destined her to experience love or bliss. All she was able to bag from her mother was a few slaps, scoldings, and a voice full of hatred, a realization that how unlucky she was. Three days after she was brought home but she didn’t hear any voice during all these hours. Both of them were quiet, maybe angry at their poor fate, she thought. However, she knew everything will be fine, she knew it. One day later, a man came and gave some money to the mother, he was asked a lot of questions but he refused to answer any. Five days later, the ‘barat’ came; her sister was finally getting married without any hassles. She heard the family of the bridegroom coming in and she knew it was time. She skipped out of the door and no one noticed her, anyways she was always ignored she thought. After a turn, a man was waiting for her, she recognized his voice, the same man who met her in the hospital, the same man who came to her home and gave money, yes, he was him. He took her in a rickshaw and they entered a building, the same strange smell swept across. She recognized the place; after all, she had spend three days there!

She was made to change and laid on something, which they were moving fast but quietly. She could hear them speaking faintly, the same voice and one of another male. Something was rubbed on her thumb and an imprint was taken on a paper. They were saying some unfamiliar words, words which she didn’t understood, words which she never had heard, words like ‘operation’, ‘kidney’, ‘doctor’ and lot of them, like that. Then she heard that word again-‘transplant’, yes, he had asked her for this and she had agreed with the only condition of those two thousand rupees. She was told that she could die too but for her the marriage seemed an imperative thing. The day was decided that very hour and she was asked to keep quiet about everything. Going through all this, she suddenly felt as if she was pricked, slowly sleep came to her. Once again, her inner world was sleeping but it had a sense of tranquility this time, she felt it! As she wilted away to an everlasting darkness, her mother lit crackers, her sister was smiling, they were happy, it was such a joyful day for them! Walking past, she noticed a flickering flame of one of the diya's, she picked it up and placed it in a sheltered place, making sure that it lit!

The Ring Of Life

2007-11-02T11:18:00.000+05:30

The lazy December Sun removed the black coverlet it slept under and as it yawned, the first rays of sunshine peeped into Firozabad and hesitated to announce the arrival of the day. It was a new day in the December of 1985.

These were also the sunrays of hope for two families in Firozabad – Isha brought joy to Mr. And Mrs. Sinha, then childless for 11 years; Asha brought another bread earner to a five-member family of Bangle makers. And both began their journey towards their destiny…

Isha started growing up with the entire household dancing attendance upon her at every instant. Asha was another burden on a family already struggling to make the ends meet. There was no food in the house on most days and not enough clothes for the baby. So, there she was – a hungry, naked baby – whose only purpose was to grow up and get to work.

As a toddler, Isha disliked milk and would make every attempt to avoid that glass of milk every night. Soon she discovered a way that saved her the trouble of downing that liquid and yet remain the apple of everyone’s eyes. On the pretext of having milk in the garden, she would take the glass and empty it the nearest rose bush. Somewhere, not very far, a hungry wallowing Asha would have just cried herself to sleep.

Soon, it was time for Isha to join Kindergarten. She liked school, they taught such fun things there – poems, games, craft and colouring…she loved colours. Asha had grown up too by this time…watching her two sisters join the glass coils together in the flame of Kerosene lamps to form bangles and her mother, colouring and polishing the bangles. She would watch her mother for hours…Oh! How she loved the colours!

When she joined Primary School, Isha turned out to be a very bright and active student. She would score well on all the exams. In addition, she started training to be an athlete. She liked to run…she liked that swiftness. She would run so fast she felt like she would start flying any instant. In no time, her coach took her to an inter-school athletics meet and she won the first prize in the 100 metres race. The Chief Guest awarded her with a Gold Medal strung in a Blue Ribbon, she was showing it off to everyone the rest of the day.

That day was also the day when Asha made Bangles out of one whole glass coil all by herself – 312 of them. She had aligned them, joined them, painted them Blue and then polished them all by herself, sitting in the same crouched position for 2 days. She was fast, her mother had told her. Today, Asha had fulfilled her purpose…the family would get an additional Rs. 3 for the glass coil that Asha had completed. She was showing off the bunch of bangles to her siblings the whole day.

Isha was a sturdy child and remained so while she was growing up. But she would get a bad bout of cough and cold every time the season changed. Her mother would prepare some Kaadha* for her and she would be alright in 2-3 days. Asha would keep coughing too…now and then…but nobody ever noticed. The cough would subside by itself and Asha would get back to work.

Asha’s cough got worse and often she would be in bed for 3-4 days away from the Kerosene lamp and the bangles. She would feel better soon and get back to work. The bangles continued to be made and sent to Bangle Sellers in the City Market. She could not afford to be away from work for too long.

Even as Isha was about to graduate from college, her parents were receiving alliances from prospective grooms, all asking for their beautiful and talented daughter’s hand in marriage. One of the alliances, which came through family friends, was from an Engineer settled in Canada. Isha’s parents thought it would be a good match for their daughter and invited the boy’s family over to meet Isha. The rendezvous went on till late in the evening at the end of which the alliance was finalized. The marriage was to take place within a month as the groom was flying to India for a very short period. That night, Isha went to bed blushing deeply and dreaming of life in Canada.

Asha was on a bed in the Government Hospital that night. She had coughed up blood that afternoon while working. She had been coughing very violently and almost constantly of late. The doctor asked her mother some questions, drew a blood sample from her left arm and returned some time later to announce that Asha was suffering from Tuberculosis. Asha sobbed herself to sleep dreaming scary dreams.

On one hand, preparations for Isha’s marriage were in full swing; on the other, Asha had been in the hospital for almost 3 weeks then. The shopping for the marriage was almost complete with only accessories remaining to be bought. So, Isha called up 2 of her college friends to accompany her. They arrived in the City Market to buy fancy footwear, trinkets and bangles to match her ensemble. They went to the Bangle Store just before leaving and started to look around.

Isha was to wear a Blue coloured Sari for the reception and she picked up a dozen Blue-coloured bangles. She felt the glass to check if they were strong enough. In a hospital room, a grim doctor felt Asha’s dropping pulse. Isha held them against the light to see if the colour was consistent…the blue sunrays filtered through the glass and fell on Isha’s face. The doctor checked Asha’s eyes but they were dull, devoid of all light. As Isha was checking the bangles for size, she heard the musical jingle of the bangles. The doctor heard Asha’s laboured breathing. The bangles were perfect! Isha decided to buy the blue-bangles. As she handed the bangles to the shopkeeper, one of them hit the counter and broke into pieces. Asha stopped breathing. Isha picked up another similar bangle, paid for the bangles and walked off. Meanwhile, another girl, another bread earner was born somewhere in Firozabad who would make more bangles.

They were two children, born at the same moment with the same stars in their horoscope…one died uncared for in a hospital bed; the other followed her destiny to Canada. They were two children, connected by more than their stars, connected by a fragile glass ring…the ring of life.

Approximately 20,000 children work in the glassmaking and bangle-making business in Firozabad. Children as young as five work for eight hours or more in the dark rooms of their homes. Girls are usually involved in the first step of the process called “aligning”. They use kerosene or gas to apply heat to the ends of the bangles, staring into the small flames for hours and breathing in the gas fumes. The boys work mostly on the next step of the process, called “joining”—using gas or heat to complete the round shape. They, too, spend hours sitting in crouched positions, working with flames and breathing in unhealthy air. Together, the families turn the coils into bunches of bangles. Each coil makes 312 bangles for which a family earns 2.25 rupees—just five US cents—for aligning and joining.

Source: Beautiful Bangles Tell An Ugly Story About Child Labor In India By Kirsten Hongisto (November 6, 2006)

*Kaadha: A medicinal preparation of herbs that relieves cough.

The Power Of 'We'

2007-10-31T18:30:00.000+05:30

Not long ago, an experiment was conducted wherein thousands of people jumped at the same time. The impact generated, was measured through a seismograph. The human aggregate needed to know if they could cause a magnanimous entity like the Earth to wobble by the sheer power of numbers. Apparently, they tasted success and their united efforts resulted in tremors measurable by the seismograph.

‘Writers Blend’ is an experiment too. An honest endeavour to rope in enterprising and diversified writers under one umbrella. Can we all, by the sheer power of our voices, cause an everlasting sonic boom in blogspace? Can we make a difference? Sure we can. Never should anyone underestimate the power of wordplay.

A lot has been said about the power of the written word; If a well composed article makes its reader think and agitates his/her thoughts, then it’s a purpose well served. Capitalising on one’s deep thoughts and feelings is essential for penning a good write-up. This is precisely what we need here. The passion for affecting a cause. Squeezing out the turmoil within to bring about a change. Harbouring the perception that we can make a difference by writing about what we believe in.

‘Writers Blend’ can be categorised as a thematic blog. Month after month, the themes shall change to cover a wide variety of significant issues. Interested individuals are invited to articulate their thoughts on the particular theme. Different facets of the same theme will be encompassing the whole month, which will allow the theme to grow on the readers mind, notably in contrast to a normal e-zine.

This is India’s voice and We, the people of India, need to uphold her dignity at any cost. It’s a sincere request to all individuals to refrain from the usage of outright profanities and not to resort to verbal mudslinging at other bloggers, come what may. The usage of parliamentary language is advised here. Since the blog has just kicked off, we request you to add a few lines of introduction along with your post, professional / personal, as you want it to appear on the blog.

Currenly a select few are being invited to join Writers Blend. Going forward, individuals who are interested in joining this blog and putting their thoughts across on a theme can send an e-mail to mindscaped@gmail.com. We also request you to mention the sub topic under the theme of the month that you intend to cover.

All said and done. We, the people, are all set to speak out our mind and to sing the song of our heart. Let ours be the voice that rustles up the lifeless leaves. Let ours be the voice that creates ripples in calm waters. Let us all be the harbinger of the inevitable change waiting to unfold.

Blend your voice with ours and empower a cause. Welcome all, to Writers Blend.