SHOTS - HUMAN TRAFFICKING

Note: Again, a long pending draft... When I reread these even I felt horrible... Don't ask me how or why I came up with these things.  And the truth is I do not know anyway that writing this could actually help anyone?!
How can common people stop any of this, or contribute in some way to stopping any of these things?
One thing we can promise ourselves is to make sure that the next generation is inspired to be good.


She tried to contain her excitement! She felt proud to be doing this, joining work on her 16th birthday...!!
Not many girls from her elementary school had survived unmarried and NOW she would work to support herself and her family!
She would be the son her parents had always wanted...until her little baby brothers were born that is but they are little and sick, so she could be like an elder son! 
She held on to her little sister with more resolve, the puny 12 year old hands gripping her tight in response.
They walked into the "firm" and were happy to see many girls of their own age or lesser.  She was glad her sister had someone to play with.
She was not sure why Chacha did not look proud or excited for them.  He smiled with resignation and relief as he pocketed the amount carefully and patted her head saying "we will save your little brothers don't worry"





Twins were such a rare thing as it is and both boys meant definitely good things to come.  She had seen it in happening in the past year.
Two of her sisters getting married to the old station master and his helper on the same day!  Even Arasi said everyone in the village were jealous of her family.
Then her father refused to give her away in marriage though she turned 13 last month...
AND NOW she was being allowed to go work out of town.
Kumar mama had made them see the possibility of her and latchumi supporting her family.  Of course dad got drunk silently and mom moved her big bellied frame as silently out of the house as she could with almost inaudible sobs.
She would take latchumi to a movie with their first salary.  They will eat one meal less to make up for the ticket.
The memories kept repeating themselves as it did almost every morning.
She tried to be strong as she walk to the dormitory where girls her sister's age lived and worked - cleaning and sewing for them - unless someone rich asked for one of them specifically. 
Or like her sister today, turned 12. 
May be she could bribe auto Ravi with a free round to help sneaking them out to a movie and back...




With this one, it added up to Rs.10000.  That would be more than enough to pay for everything.
She would need to hurry to send the money order in before evening - it was Friday, the busiest nights mostly.
Her calculations were interrupted by the discomfort of the mundane routine.
This one was always quiet and dissociated she recalled. 
She almost thanked him for the respite he gave her. 
Then she remembered and then it hurt. 
She swallowed her pride and shame.  Like everything else...




The 10 volunteers were all young men and women arranging the boxes all around for them all to pick one each when they left.
So she stood up trying not to shout at these "know it all" bunch of youngsters that had decided to educate the poor prostitutes!
Of course, one of the educated customers, or a TV ad, or a stray commoner uses one.
But they knew the reality even better.  Even the chatty Sekar had beaten her when she asked him to wear it once.
"We can suffer the disease than go through the beating everyday", she tried to maintain her tone.
She was angry that these young men and women who have probably never had sex yet, came to show them how they could be safe. 
After everything that had happened to them, why do they think AIDS was a big deal! 
She probably already had it anyway.




His friends had played a dare on him for his 20th birthday and he was not sure anymore why he agreed!
He was not sure if he was ashamed or horrified.
The experienced hands that were promised to initiate him belonged to that of an almost pretty 15 year old girl...
She did not even show any surprise at the sight of him.
He said "I don't want anything from you" but I will stay here for an hour so they pay you.
Her sly smile both teased him and thanked him.  He had his first crush and heart break at the same time. 
The NGO and the police received an anonymous tip that night.

Musings on FANDOM and the much expected journey...

My recent visit to Hobbiton- the icing on the cake of the little visits to LOTR book and movie places of NZ- prompted some thoughts... 

Hobbiton is obviously a "the destination" once in NZ if one is an LOTR fan.

And so it was, for us too.  LOTR was introduced to me by my brother when I was 15 when a bunch of us went to watch the movie "Fellowship of the Ring".  Of course I fell in love with Aragorn (and Viggo Mortensen) and he was the definition of "the man of my life" for my 15 year old self (and I fought over him with two other cousins of my age at the time).  I did not like Viggo Mortensen as anything outside of the role/looks of Aragorn, not even as himself when I googled him. :( oh and Gollum! I used to (still do sometimes) imitate/enact Gollum.  When Suresh gifted me the One Ring, I surprised and even spooked him with a "my precious... Gollum gollum" in Gollum vocals... :D a quite plump Gollum that made me though, he he!

The book is a different story for me... The first time I tried reading it was a #fail; not being able to go past the first 100 pages! This was back in 2007 and I was still in university.

I read it again much later, probably in the heights of joblessness of 2008 June - Sept break.

Having always been a fantasy fan, it was no surprise that I liked LOTR.  But I was not a fan in the traditional sense.  I never was - for anything - for that matter. 

I realised it when discussing Harry Potter books - which I read over and over again - with a dear friend (Lakshmi Ponnuswamy) and realised what a "fan" means.  I decided I would never be a "fan" of anything in that traditional sense where you remember and recall every minutiae of a book/movie.

But that is not to say I can't remember the events, characters and details quite well.  I just don't bother to remember them all and do not think it a sin if I forget something.

Fantasy and especially such a detailed and multi-layered epic such as the LOTR family of books, holds a very special place in my heart.  I too have had, no less than Elven dreams, trying to speak the tongues, (of course also trying to invent my own) when I was still smitten with the first read.

Visiting the WETA, (the studio that created many favourites such as LOTR, Avatar, District 9), the statues of the Kings, Gollum and Smog at WELLINGTON Airport.
Visiting some of the places where various scenes from The Hobbit were shot were quite an experience in that it would probably take another post to, if not for each spot. Oh and Avatar!  Can't wait for sequel(s)...!

Coming back to my experience in and at Hobbiton, it reminded me of..... how I was not a FAN. So many fans were feeling special just by being in the place that created Hobbiton for everyone, almost as well as how JRR would have wanted it envisioned.  For me though... it made me feel sad. 

Let me explain here, it is one thing to look at Mount Doom up close or go to the WETA studio and look at the gear or the graphic aids used, to look at the life size replica of your favourite characters.  It brings just JOY.  

But HOBBITON is just different (Atleast for me).  It's this perfect, peaceful and beautiful place, filled with happy people.  It's not hard to imagine but the movie did good by expanding on that dream with wonderful details and capturing the essence of it all.  And to go to the actual place to see where they brought it to life is a memory I will cherish, an experience I will remember. 

But that being said, here I was, looking at Bag End with no backend!!
Nothing except the door and the frame really.  That sort of killed me.  I could, in that moment, empathise with those kids that go through their "Santa is your mom" moment.  It was this bunch of highly skilled people working in a dedicated team effort and mounds of creativity, imagination; and I am sure immense FANDOM, that created this absolutely brilliant place that was only in the imagination of all those LOTR Fans and JRR's epic words till then.

And there, for me, was hard physical evidence of the fact that it was all NOT REAL.  It was NOT TRUE.   Of course I knew it all before.  But in that moment to actually see it all as a SET and be explained the details of how they painstakingly put together the magnificent piece of work-art, was this feeling of sadness that dampened and dripped on the feathers of the wings of joy and made it just float half heartedly instead of soar into the sky.

On the one hand, I was there, with one part of me being excited about being here at HOBBITON!  And the other half of me quietly withdrawing within myself into a deep corner with accusing teenager eyes. 

So instead of writing a piece of review on TripAdvisor - I am sure there are gazillion reviews already so one less is not going to affect people's decision if they already are looking for "reviews" to decide to go to Hobbiton - here I am lamenting a slight fraying in my dream fabric.  A must see if you are strong (fan) hearted unlike me.

Oh get lost! But take my love with you!

Oh get lost!
But take my love with you!
when you walk all over me and leave me on the floor
I hate you from my heart, from inside my soul.
All that anger flowing and drowning me foul.
And that's when I lose it and let you go through the door
Oh go to hell!
And there trotts my heart, with a wagging tail...
That's when I decide to drown deeper but with my heart gone...
And the burden of my love for you following you out...
Leaves me so light that I float back right up...
The bouyancy of this ironic life...
And again my zombie mind shouts...

Oh get lost!
And still there goes...my life and love with you...!

Just some thoughts

Sometimes we won't understand if someone spoke to us this way because there are a myriad of other things in play when we speak to one another such as our facial expressions, tones, body language etc., that only add fuel to fire or makes things go on an unnecessary and/or damaging tangent.

When written down there is only our own assumptions of tone so we can pause to think about if they truly meant it that way! 

So I hope everyone reading this takes a minute to review themselves and also pause before they think or speak next time.

People are so often so full of judgement and prejudices but do not pause to even consider the possibility of being so.

Sometimes they are so naive about it that it baffles the hell out of me as to how they can assume such things and be unaware of the fact that they are only "assuming" and it is not the truth.

Other times they are so adamant or arrogant about it or at the very least confident about their assumed facts that I am left amused and angry at the same time.

Get out of your heads people and pause before you speak or act!! Really!!

The other thing I find annoying is the fact that people can't let their younger ones make their own mistakes and learn.

They must "correct/help" them... But please! The best parent is the one that stays around, watches you make mistakes & learn from those but doesn't say "I told you so"!

The one that gives a pat on the back and says I learnt it the hard way too, you are only so much stronger for it now! 

Of course it all comes down to individuals but most mature young ones expect this treatment and the more you treat them this way from earlier on, the more they learn to be on their own and evolve to learn from their mistakes, isn't it?

Young people need others to have faith and confidence in them!  Give them that and they will be thankful to you for it forever.

I am learning of such mistakes I made myself too - of assumptions, judgement and handholding - that I did to a lot of people that had the misfortune of being "under" me or "younger" than me, and I just want to say sorry for being an ASS :)

The wonders of (Associative) Memory, Emotional Overwhelm and othertricks of mind:

When I was between 8 and 10 years old, I used to speak Telugu fluently. 

I can't string a basic sentence together properly, if you asked me now.

How we are adept at forgetting things more than remembering!!

I grew up with my parents being able to speak 4-6 languages each, none of which I was taught to speak (or read or write for that matter) except for Tamil and English.

But today, if some one talks in those languages I was exposed to as a child, I can follow the meaning of a conversation or at least work out the context of it.

I would feel as if I was invading the privacy of the people conversing.

On the one side I would be eager to know how much I could understand and on the other, I would want to stop listening.

An Associative Memory is when some semblance to an old (archived?) memory brings forth responses/reflexes that you were not aware that you could/knew.

Two of the aspects of this have always fascinated me more than the others, that arising from music and that arising because of scent or odour.

Note how I said Music specifically and not auditory in general. 

Yes, I know... It does makes more sense when there is an order to the sounds as in the case with music and not just noise or abstract sound to evoke a long dormant memory or reflex.

And music being an easy & well known mnemonic (remember all those school rhymes), should only make it easy for my awestruck brain to make sense, every time it sings along a whole song without missing a beat or word, when that from a dusty memory, plays somewhere even I have no memory of actually listening to it ever.

My family was quite into Music when I was a child.  Our pursuits of music in its various forms have reduced and we almost do nothing but listen and may be share playlists these days. (As I'm sure is the case with most of us with "busy" lives making a living...) 

Today I got reminded of Meera Bhajan songs by LataMangeshkar (apparently recorded in the year 1978, I just came to know) that my mom used to listen to a lot.

And the surprise in store was that I could remember every song (and even the little breathing pause she takes in one of the songs which got recorded mistakenly.... :))

Similarly, this past week I was listening to quite a few of the old Indian Music either from Movies or those sung by the greats from their 'singing for Indian Movies' careers.

And some of these songs I still have not seen videos of, hardly ever heard them on radio or cassettes (given these are easily 40-60 years old) but I could remember (if not sing) every little 'nuance and tricky trek on the notes' along and at the exact places.

Always a pleasant surprise when that happens!

But a scent evoking memories is a different story altogether for me... This is something that I can't explain really well. 

The memories it brings back are sharp but still shadowy...

I wish I knew how to tune in to this and figure out the teasing memory... 

I've sometimes stopped in my tracks, trying to really reach out and snatch at the memory when a scent hits me bringing back half a story.

Sometimes it's like a puzzle, dropping a piece at a time, right on my head so it would jolt me (to being awareof it?) but pieces not always of the same puzzle.  

This is one of the most intriguing experiences.  Makes me curious (obviously), aware (of some foggy memory residing in my head), zoned out (from the present trying to remember the past), sad (when not able to completely recall) and all of this at the same time. 

Not to sound like a creep, I am pretty confident that everyone has these experiences especially if one has moved around a lot or has seen a lot of changes in life.  Some are just more aware of it, some less.

Who knows, may be I am just connecting to my 'present' on a parallel universe... ;)

Now not just memories but there's another activity of the ever busy neurons that intrigue me...

When I feel emotionally overwhelmed while I watch an extraordinary performance of any kind.

Idol and Talent shows are my best and worst entertainment in this sense.

I absolutely don't mind this in the confines of my own house and that of my loved ones, definitely a nuisance when I am out and about.

The best way to become the butt of jokes when among friends... Huff!!!

Well, memories and emotions are/were always my favourite topic of discussion even if it was only in my own head.

May be they are overrated like people say but I am sure I will always stay fascinated by them!!

Personally I don't like India! But you could visit...

I am not sure why we are this way, but I see a lot if this around me in this country.  May be this is prevalent across the world but I don't know about that.  I wouldn't since I have travelled nowhere outside of my country.  Not even out to many other states within India let alone go out of the country.  But that being said I have, yes, have seen this complex.  A sort of superiority inbred inferiority complex.  Or may be the other way around?! We go around bitching about the country even though we live here, earn our money and not just survive but live here.  Some of us who do this may have travelled outside of the country, may have lived there a few years but that doesn't warrant this sort of bitching about the country to foreign nationals in the name of being friendly!!! Why do we do this?! I don't know.  It's alright when we do it among ourselves but not to outsiders.  Or is it? Is it alright, this basic thought, this shame of belonging to or living in this nation?  

I do not believe in taking pride in just the ancient history and keep talking about it all the time to all visitors.  Atleast not anymore.  But that doesn't mean you say this is one of the worst places to live in.  

It is a basic right or rather a responsibility to feel proud of the good things in ones country.  Note 'the good things'.   Why not? 

I have a few around me who travel frequently, extensively and/or regularly to different parts of the world and from all that I have read/heard I know that we are bad in some things but also good in some.  As always with any place isn't it? 

But I do think it should be ingrained in us to not bitch about the country to others let alone feel proud and share it.  It should be one of the morals taught at home along with 'stealing is wrong' or something as basic as that.  

I am not saying that we should not involve in intelligent discussion (or even as someone put it armchair debates) but please have a basic sense of patriotism or atleast hospitality.  Yes hospitality, for hospitality is not just making the guest comfortable but also feeling a sense of accountability/responsibility and/or pride towards ones place wherein the hospitality is offered.

I wish I had the guts and enough knowledge to make a sane conversation and make this co passenger in my train understand that your fake accent and half baked command over the language and the conformity that you seek by making yourself an outsider from all the bad things in your country is only going to make you be valued at much less and your country even worse (or may be the other way around) than if you behaved a good host and not bitch about your country unnecessarily even when the guest  insisted your place was good.  Or better keep quiet.  I have this strong urge or impulse to show this script to this co passenger but being a young woman traveling alone in train I do not want to risk my safety.  Yes I know this is probably making me a coward and may be even as bad as what I just wrote about but could I help it? Probably not! Time will tell.  If I act on this impulse will update this blog.

Being friendly and personally showing off (supposedly) as an outsider is an INGNOMINY and NOT a thing of pride!!! 

The little old lady that made me happy!

It's after a long time that I have been moved and overwhelmed in real life, in person; not one of those videos or those blogs or those news articles or those tweets or Facebook uploads...

Today I met an old lady. She cud have been anywhere between 75 and a 100 years old.  She was going about her life with so much acceptance, such innocense (and even a sense of humour I later saw) inspite of all the worldly problems of health, wealth and well, life as such.

She was almost hunch backed, about 3ft tall, had the early spurt of hair growth on her head, that follows a tonsure, a dirty gown on that covered her dutifully from neck to ankle, a dirty cloth bag of her few belongings or may be those that she needed for her business whatever it was. She walked a straight path on the busy main road, her eyes on the ground, not the slightest intention on her (evident from her body language) to even seek physical help, let alone stretch her small puny arms for alms, to the plenty of people walking around her, definitely in a much better state in life.

As I crossed her, I cud barely control the reflex to turn around and look at her properly, not just the outline I caught as I overtook her in pace.  My angel and demon were swiftly engaged in the battle of morality, of dharma and the practicality of my real life.

As I reached the bus stop to take the connecting bus, I (like the child we all are within) told myself that I wud wait and see if she wud head my way and if so I would give her a small sum that wud appease both the angel and the demon or atleast strike a compromise while they found new arguments as to wanting and not wanting the lady to head my way and debating over how useful or laughable the sum I had decided upon to give away was.

I had already extracted the money from the attic of a bag I had and was ready when the angel's wish won. The lady walked right into my way.

As I approached her she broke into such an innocent and infectious smile that I was surprised.  The battles that were waging inside me until that very moment I approached her were quelled, more like the demon was dumbstruck.

As I inserted the currency notes into her ( really small) palm she paused to squint at the notes and then gave it back to me with a half mute vocabulary and said 'kapde' (clothes). She tried showing me something with 5 of her fingers that I initially did not understand.  I told her to keep the money, mustered a warm and guilty smile and walked away.  To my surprise she walked to the bus stop and approached me.  She again tried giving the money back and explaining that she needed clothes making the 5 finger gesture.  Then it stuck me, or atleast the most I cud make out of it - I extracted some more from my purse hastily and gave her a relatively larger sum.  I told her not 'Khana milega' (you'll get food with this) this time but 'kapde milenge' (you'll get cloth with this), with a reltively less guiltier heart and a more satisfied smile.  I rushed towards the bus that approached while I felt all the eyes that were earlier watching us, slowly leave and the woman followed and got into the bus too.

For a second I thought she was following me but realised that she actually was travelling in the same direction.  I was not sure if my heart was happy or my ego unhappy.  I even thought may be I just got fooled and I wanted to walk away, into a corner, not wanting to look at anyone that might recognise me from the curious exchange or especially the lady.  For I was sad to leave her clinging to the support pole while a young fellow gave me the 'ladies seat' that he was occupying until then.

As the driver and conductor started laughing and having a jovial conversation with/about her or probably js couldn't help smiling at the innocent expressions of the sorry little creature to whom they tried demanding the ticket fare while she half mutely joked back giving them imaginary coins from thin her.  I was watching every word uttered with a beating heart, every eye on her that was curious or mocking, made me want to get up and pay the ticket fare.  But the demon had had enough. Angel was making feeble attempts.  As I realised that the diver and conductor were merely having good natured fun and did not expect to get anything from her, I relaxed and let go of the idealist in me that had decided to hail the conductor (as inconspicuously as possible) and pay him her bus fare.

When I saw her alight from the bus on her own accord at her destination, I breathed a sigh of relief
and told myself that she is going to walk 'home' as safely as she had travelled so far.


Then I started marvelling in earnest at the astonishing strength and happiness showed by this frail child of an old lady.

I wished I had given her a hug, that I had taken her home with me, given her good shelter for the night, a square meal of food and the love of a daughter or granddaughter; like the scores of people who are currently doing this for thousands of people across various cities everyday without expecting anything in return.

I wished I had given her the big bar of chocolate in my bag and as I thought this it also crossed me that it cud even have been adverse to her if she had diabetes.  Then the irony stuck me. The irony and cynicism of human nature that doesn't really let us move beyond our limits as a 'practical person'.

Well this was a small portion of just what I cud do.  May be one random day when I cud.
If I were asked to spend all of my earnings in such deeds or even just a significant amount monthly for these people (as those many many noble hearts are doing), I wouldn't be able to.

This was just a lucky day for me, probably a celebration for a dear ones birthday that wud be here in one day.

But this also saddened me, for this was also the dark irony. For I had expected people to have noticed.  This consciousness had embarrassed me causing me to seat myself into a corner.  I had thought about how they wud have perceived me.  May be I am js a pious Muslim doing her duty during the month of ramzan (for I did have a costume similar on) - though a duty no less nobler - but still done because you are supposed to.

I was saddened at these thoughts that had crossed my mind.  I tried to dispel it by thinking how nothing  matters - how people perceived,  whether or not they even noticed.  At the end of the day it made me happy, moved me and made me smile.  Then it was touché, the angel smiled at the demon.
I recalled phoebe and F.R.I.E.N.D.S.  Accepting this innate human pride or whatever that was was more graceful than I had thought. All that mattered was I have done something to help someone and in the process made atleast two people - the lady and myself.

I walked the rest of the way home with a slight spring in  my steps, blessing the little lady's soul.

Hard Love...

Love is a lot of hard work made to look easy... with a smile or a touch or a word or a thought be it real or imagined! 

#DelhiGangRape

This question was haunting me the whole time I was following the news about the Delhi Gangrape Victim's condition but I never really came across an answer untill just now.

Why were her intestines removed? What could have led her to such huge amounts of infection?  I found the first clue when I read the iron rods used in the brutality is suspected to have caused the infection.  

But it did not answer how internal injuries/infection could have been caused by this - may be cuts and scratches came in contact.  Still how the intestines in particular? It did not add up.

And I was not surprised and nor should you be when I say I did not really imagine the answer though when I found it, it was obvious.  Of course!  But also, of course I did not imagine the answer!!! For it was the unthinkable!  Not even my lady-colleague who I called to show the article had imagined the answer.

I am not sure if this is being dumb or naive or what but that is probably how most of us felt - because this is unthinkable!

I found the answer here:

http://health.india.com/diseases-conditions/delhi-rape-case-why-such-brutality/

"Picture this – A 23-year-old girl with dreams of a great future shifts to Delhi from her hometown for further studies. She’s travelling in a bus with a friend when four men assault the duo with an iron rod and proceed to rape the girl with such unspeakable brutality that would make you shudder.

The girl is now in such a ‘critical’ condition that she needs a ventilator to breathe. The men not only raped her repeatedly but also beat her with a blunt object and shoved it into her vagina leading to multiple injuries all over.

Dr B. D. Athani, medical superintendent at the Safdarjung Hospital in Delhi said ‘She has sustained serious abdominal and genital injuries. It seems she was repeatedly hit with a blunt object on her abdomen or an object was shoved into her private parts. She has several injury marks on her body but the injury to the intestines has created a life-threatening condition. The girl has been operated on and large portions of her intestines were removed. She has lost a lot of blood but has regained consciousness."

I don't care about the fact that I am at office and I am welling up but now I fully comprehend the meaning of the description/compliment/admiration - A very brave girl - that is being rained on the victim.  

Even without the knowledge of the "how" the girl's intestines were damaged I already understood when they called her brave.

But this, this is enormous!!! I Salute her and I sincerely hope no one else gets is put in a spot as this which would require them to be so "brave".

And then, when not knowing the whole of the gory details I was already chanting - 'castration and may be even let to bleed to death' ----- not just for these bastards but for that matter any of the species roaming this planet violating from little children to adult women (sometimes even Men).  And now, knowing what I do..... 'death by castration' - fully justified...

Why be kind to the beasts by doing it chemically which is not only painless but also temporary?!

And how naive had I been when I thought I saw shame, guilt, fear, embarrassment in the eyes of a couple of guys who happened to unknowingly stand too close to me in a busy bus stop and I turned - with all that fear and vigilance of a woman on her own at a bus stop "as late as" 8.30 PM - to stare at them and 'shoo them away'.

That was a day after the #DelhiGangRape news-rage and I thought, 'this protest and coverage is probably reaching people'.  

But it is not about this message reaching the already educated and gentle men having enough humility to feel sorry and ashamed for what some of their gender did (are still doing in many parts).

This is about it reaching those who are not in a position to understand what is going and what it could all mean - may be under the influence of drugs - or without education or brought up that would have taught them, women are no lesser than themselves and they are in fact inferior if they thought they could wield "power" by committing any degree of violation of a woman.

Can we really teach them? May be not, may be only fear of the law and consequences would keep them at bay - which at this moment is apparently too frail to lift a finger, too slow to catch the bastards or too blind to see the harsh reality when there is no "sufficient evidence".

But how do we make sure we do not have more and more of this in future?
Catch them young! Reach out to the schools - no not just to the girls in the school to tell them how to be vigilant and safe - but to the boys in various schools from govt institutions to international ones - talk to the young ones and teach them to respect the girls as their equals and not take advantage of the others' (usually) relative frailty.

More importantly let us not make the mistake of even jokingly show our own sons and daughters any partiality/inequality that would be the first seed in their hearts that would grow into the tree of unintended but culturally imbibed/inherited dominance and chauvinism.   

Let us not become the grandmothers/fathers who used to wait to offer the one chocolate left, to the beloved grandson and hide it from the granddaughter sitting right there.

And I was avoiding writing on this for so long because I know this might not really contribute towards the change but the article I mentioned above just broke my restraint. 

I am atleast voicing my opinion and I hope it reaches atleast a couple of people and propagates through the infinite and all pervading social network towards "Action" somewhere, may be even in the smallest of small ways.

I wish I could physically join the protesters at India Gate and was not aware of the protests that happened here in bangalore when it did. And I am sorry I did not.

And it was not too long ago when I was sharing my opinion - India would probably never come together in a grand scale for anything - when I was discussing the situation in Egypt.

Today it has, and I am proud of my fellow countrymen/women making the government stagger back a few steps and pause and think before they spoke a jumble of stupid consolation that they would otherwise throw at all too knowing population - that which knew the list of diplomatic government responses byheart and did not care to see which one was being used at that instance.

I hope that we do not stop at this protest and that we followup untill solid action is taken - in terms of amended bills, safer roads, more equal and educated society; in the reality of seeing these and other such bastards castrated/hung for their unspeakable crimes.

For this and other victims of such brutalities, the survivors and the eternally struggling... Support and salutes, good thoughts and prayers!

P.S: I wrote this last morning and now the victim is even more critical than she was then.  And there has probably more of this inhumane act occured around the world.  

I am not sure this piece is all coherent nor enough to have a title that would make it look nice.  This is just my shame, outrage and anger.

The more I think about the fact that I am unable to do anything about this and am comfortably going on with my routine - with only a conscience to quieten, no doubt with the help of the villainous cynic labelled 'the practical' of the two that live inside my all too accommodating/adjusting Indian mind - the more I am agitated about what has happened to the once hot blooded young feminist fighting in every little chance I used to get for the "little" rights and freedom of women!  Oh of course! I grew up... grew old more like...

Independence - Life's Reward Structure

The problem with the people that love you/care about you is that they tend to not be able to accept the fact that you have grown up and/or that you are on your own, especially when you make decisions and choices that don't really go down well with them. 

Be it really big or really small, it is not - you did something like that because you made a conscious decision/choice - but were under a bad influence which lead you to do something like that, which you could not have conceived of by yourself, No!

The reason is simple, they cannot find fault with you, so it has to be someone or something else.  May be the friends, the various relationships with their environ, that may have put such thoughts and actions in them... But well, the hard truth is that, it is in most cases, not so!

There is this innate nature in human beings to gain independence in every form.  Entropy may be, showing up in its purest form!?  One wants to go his or her own way, learn things the hard way, even though there is this wisest person who could give you the best advise on the matter, right there, next to you in theform of a parent or a sibbling or a close friend.

But this may be out of various decisions/thought processes.  As in my case for instance, one may just want to learn it the hard way because there is a certain satiety associated with self learning even masochistic sometimes. There is a certain pride associated with "self" people and again the society or the upbringing is to be blamed for this thought structure too.  Independence, has some respect, some glamour to it, though people do not want it for their children all too soon (and it is almost always too soon).  So one may want to prove to their kin and kind that they are strong by trying to be independent and ends up growing a fondness to it, an attachment that becomes a fixation.  A reward structure.  Like a hard earned penny or something.  The learning that comes out, a "life's hard truth" that stares out at you at the end of a difficulty, may not be very sweet, but you will never forget the bitter sting and hence the learning either.  Or the reward it brought to you in any form/degree of satisfaction.

Is it wise to let people go and make all the bad decisions and learn by themselves, especially when it is your beloved child? Of course not, but you may have to let some learnings pass by, without your interference, and teach themselves to your loved ones, the hard way or otherwise!  Standing aside and watching your child grow up and try to fight life is a part of parenting too and the challenge is to keep them on their feet while they do, giving them the push without them realizing it, by a simple process - Trusting them to do it!

Trust works wonders... Trust me on this...

P.S: As always all these thoughts bring a stronger fear out, rather makes me brace myself to face a stronger challenge, in my future - Parenting!

Hers. . .

She always felt like she has known her for a long time. . . There was something about the look in her daughter's eyes like she knew her mother too well for her age or time would have permitted her to know.  The serene smile, yet, so innocent as it was worn on the little face. . .

The skin so soft.  The soft silky brown hair undecidedly folding into curls at the ends.  The little hands and feet.  The milky fragrance of her little body.  Even when the baby cried relentlessly in the nights during their initial days together, she did not get irritated. If she was tired, the minute she lifted her daughter, she was grateful for the warmth and comfort the little body offered her.  Her daughter was the most beautiful thing she had ever looked at, ever held. 

The little crinkles near the beautiful brown eyes. . . And those eyes.  That sometimes, soothed her... Sometimes disturbed her. . . It was colour she knew only too well.  She had not thought about it clearly for a long time though it used to nag her mildly, constantly. Every time she looked at her beloved child, she would invariably get hooked to the eyes.

Then it came to her one day. When she was going through her school photographs.  But it couldn't be.  It may not really be for it was not distinctly that shade of dark brown.  It was like a somehow more feminine version of the same eyes.  But it could just not be.

Everytime she thought about it, she became uncomfortable.  For her general wondering grew into a disturbing curiosity.  Then it drew her imaginative mind's interest far more deeply.  And before she could stop herself, she even started hoping that it was true. . . That is when she had to stop herself.  She did not want to disturb her calm, peaceful, in fact beautiful but a little lonely life.  Stop.  What was she thinking.  This is why she had to stop.  She wasn't Lonely.  She had her daughter.  This is what she had chosen.

She had the perfect life, she told herself.  An independent and interesting career.  A cozy little house for herself.  She is making enough money to support herself and her beautiful little daughter and still saving for her only daughter's future. . .

She did not have an unhappy committment - nothing that would affect her comfortable existence.  Her daughter was her world.  Her family had not spoken one word to her after her decision and she was not too worried.  Time heals everything.  She has supported her baby all alone for 2 years now. . . She was sure she can do it all her life. . .

She had her best friend to support her at hard times... No. . . No, she would do even without him.  Or would she?  Please, no not again. . .  Those eyes.  They always set her thoughts going like this which is why she was always wary of them though she loved them, especially for their familiarity for she could quietly build an imagination too good to be true. . . Wait... What is this. . . Stop. . .

She looked at her baby sleeping - the angel, the saviour, the joy. . . She soothed herself that it could not be so...  She was fine. . . Everything around her was fine. . .  And then the door bell rang.  It was time for his visit. . .  She loved to see the adorable smile that spread on her daughter's face every time she saw him. . . Much like her own happy heart at the wonderful company. . .   But she feared the day when she would ask about her father and the day she may even mistake him for, if only it were true. . . Stop. . .

She shook her thoughts away to go back to her life, the way it was. . . Happy but a little lonely. . . She had to admit. . . Except for these visits. . . She might very well admit it to herself. . . Herself alone. . . 

Letter to the Bastards.....

You sickening bastards,

What the fcuk do you guys get from that?  It totally slips me...

I do not understand the joy of a fleeting second of your hand/body touching/hitting skin/dress?

Why cannot we enjoy a moment of let down guard?  Why should we be vigilant all the time?  Why is it our fault if we walk down a road enjoying the scenary instead of watching out for the sicko in every person we walk past. . .

Nobody is going to bother if you go to your fcuking corners at your homes and do sick things imagining random people you see on the road...  Atleast we wouldn't know. . .

Do you even know how humiliating it is, those few seconds/minutes?  Well, do you even care. .

There is almost no girl that does not have a flashback of having been abused.  Beginning right from childhood...  I really don't want to start on child abusers.  There would be no end, the sickest of you all. . .

And all those educated bastards... These are the decent ones - with their friends and aquaintances - but walk to the Pubs/Coffee Bars/Dance Floors or any place that has crowd/drink/smoke/dance/music - where women would want to let the hair down - and start showing their ugly side just because women are "out and bold enough to have our share of fun" . . .  They have the face to even say that to their friends -"well what are such places for... After all the women come there to have their drinks!"

Just because a woman drinks or goes out with her friends doesn't make her "easy"...

The things you do in public, range from flashing to brushing past to shagging to groping and pinching... What sickening joy?!!!!

Well, get this, I know it probably doesn't hit you at all, but in the weakest of your moments, where your inflated egos and disguised insecurities are exposed, remember this!  You are the most despised, hated beings that could ever live on earth. . .

Flashback...!!

Life doesn't seem to be the same at all times... like us. Different situations kindling the different personalities inside us, each having one strong line of emotion- the force, the energy that changes the whole environment, everything around us, people, their views, and hence our reaction to them, that, an emotion again. "Strange" is the word that comes to my mind when I realize the above. Strange but how true…

Now, as I read the above after 3 months or more from my writing it, I can see that I have come really a lot far away from my innocent childhood, ambiguous adolescence to the little matured late teens.

How life and time play a tricky game, making us passionate, pleasing, making us expect, joyous, disappointed, displeasing and teaching us all the way through... Though the civilized mankind has understood all this (or that is what it thinks!!), developing special fields for it called philosophy etc., the truth remains that "the very wise mankind" is still a student, learning the lessons of life, a different one each time and a different one to each person, making it impossible to make an index for the chapters learnt.

Yew!! I seem to be talking big things; I am just 18!

That was 3 years ago. That was the first ever blog i wrote, the one i spoke abt in the "first blog". Its been a real long time since i blogged. Thought i wud start anew with a flashback...!! ;p