sacrifice for love

She stopped feeling everything after few weeks. Pain, happiness, smiles, cries; everything. Only one thing flowing under her skin was nothingness. Feeling of having nothing; feeling nothing; dying of sinking to the deepest waters; where she couldn’t hear her own heartbeats. As if it was not beating and still for a moment.

Mother was crying on the phone, of her disappointments, her misfortune, her pain, and her never ending sorrows. And, all she wanted on the other side of the call was to end the call. Had it been some other day; some other moment, she would have felt the need of being with her mother, consoling her in her arms, wiping her tears off and shedding some to accompany hers. Surprisingly, she was feeling none of that.

She left him; that relationship; every relationship for that matter. She didn’t know for good or bad but she had to. Everyone thought that she is wrong. Maybe, they all are right. She didn’t know much. All she knew was that it had to end.

Not because, he was wrong or she was right. But because they were different; or maybe only she was different. She couldn’t understand him, her parents, or the quintessential decent society. She was imperfect to everyone.

She didn’t know not putting her dreams on the back seat made her less committed. She didn’t know not putting a red mark on her forehead made her less married. She didn’t know not changing her surname made her less loyal.

An imperfect daughter, an imperfect girlfriend, an imperfect bride and an imperfect woman.

An imperfect woman who couldn’t understand the art of taking permissions; obeying orders; making herself indispensable; and having smiling lips and a sore soul. An imperfect woman who could not understand what it means when someone says, ‘sacrifice for love’.



Watching the skies

Watching the skies

has been my favorite  pastime,

From early  dawn

to the late half past nine.

Clouds, changing colors and

 tracing varied contours with a poise

Putting me in a light trance;

 like a dreamer, I always close my eyes.

But, today the storm clouds gathered;

and, no contour they could trace

Dyed the sky, blackish-blue;

they shouted, screamed and lost their grace

And, I slaughtered my dreams

 with the cantankerous clamour,

kept the parts in my clandestine closet;

glad, only I can hear their yammer…

Adieu my home

Its’ four twenty three in the morning; background music of ocean splashes from the movie ‘the ship of Theseus’ filling my spooky empty apartment, (recently, I have developed this habit of listening movies than watching them), a packed blue giant suitcase and a stale rose bouquet from the Valentine’s Day. Yes, I am leaving this city after 4 years. Before this moment, I was thinking, I am going home. Am I really going home? A place full of love, security and comfort; that’s home; right?  Convenient life, loving & dependable people and never alone; that’s home. But for a person, who is comfortable when insecure, scared, alone and independent – what’s an idea of home?


I came to this city alone with nothing but dreams. Four years back, first day in this apartment, which I never called home; I slept alone on floor bedding. I never had a more dreamful night in my life and surprisingly, all those dreams have come true by this time. I had my best and worst moments in this apartment. I laughed, cried, read, wrote here with the best companion I ever had, myself. I found a new friend within me here. Had long conversations until dawn with none but myself.  This place taught me to be alone; not to be happy or sad but to be content, while alone. It was different than being in hostel, letting friends, roommates joining my giggles or wiping off the tears coursing down my cheeks, as none was here but me to do that all.

From the little stupid modern art on its walls to the old, not-so-pleasant but very accustomed fragrance its rooms have; everything is so damn mine here. You buy things everyday but  seldom you create. I guess I created something here. From a scared, little village girl to a strong and independent woman; I guess I created a lot here. Poems, stories, love, strength and yes, I created a home here.

This is home for sure; my home and tonight is my last night here…

So, Saying goodbye to this home. I am damn sure I will never be able to create this home again.

See its’ morning… From last night to last morning in my home..

Not related to this piece but the only song playing in my mind… so  ‘she is leaving home’

On an autumn night

a leaky tap

dripped a drop,

or an acoustic jazz,

I heard on an autumn night,

Frozen city lights

illumined my streets,

or a full moon bath

I beheld on an autumn night,

puff of cool breeze

caressed my shy cheeks,

Or a perfect kiss

I felt on an autumn night,

Blue moon

forgot to go home tonight,

Or a lost love

I missed on an autumn night….

I met her yesterday

I met her yesterday

She was quiet again

Hands on the chest

Like was holding some pain,

Lifted her face

Tried to look into my eyes

Out of guilt, couldn’t pull myself up

And kept gazing the skies,

‘Murderer’ – she called me

 In her languid tone

True she was

In despair, I could only moan,

Yes, I killed her long back

And, I take the blame

Assassin of my ‘own’ innocence

But, the crime was still the same..


Vibrant city

and moving cadavers,

Smiling lips

and mourning eyes,

Bleeding heart

in a ‘VERSACE’ chemise,

Suicidal marks

under a ‘CARTIER’ ticker,

Yes, I smell money

and hear cacophony,

My faith plummets

and so my chest-throb,

Have resplendent gems,

still a thirsty soul it is,

Today, I touched myself,

and finally numb it is….

Too numb..

Let them be kids now


Lazy afternoon nap, I was taking at my home town. Amma was sleeping next to me, muttering the same question 100th of time, ‘when are you leaving for Delhi?’

She waits for me, coming home to sleep with her, telling her my office stories, and sharing my life with her. She counts days, rechecks my bag to count clothes; I brought home, to be sure about my days at home.

Amma, I told you so many times; its’ tomorrow evening’, my raised voice made me sound annoyed this time. Amma didn’t say anything after this; she got up quietly and sat on the bed, looking for her old and dirty spectacles. I realized my mistake that very moment and dragged my head to her cozy lap. ‘Amma, I told you, I can’t ask for any more leaves; they will kick me out of this job’, I tried to soften my voice as much as I could. She remained silent and kept on running her fingers through my hair and I almost cried at the feel of them, all my childhood memories stayed there in my closed tearful eyes, for a moment.

The days, when my now-85 years old, thin, physically fragile Amma, my grandmother, used to be a strong headed, single, and an independent woman; as I recalled her in my childhood days. I remember how even old villager men were scared of speaking anything nonsense in her presence. My mother is an emotional woman and exactly opposite to my Amma. I hardly remember my mother shouting at us, or caring for our school dresses, studies or anything else, she used to be too depressed and sick to do that all. Actually, she didn’t need to as Amma always played a strict and dependable father to us, shouting at us, fighting for us, supporting us physically, mentally and financially too. I remember her busy days starting from getting us ready for the school, working whole day in the farms like most of our villager women do, scolding us for playing too long or for not studying.

She was heart of our family, taking care of everyone, scolding every one for not being perfect at their jobs. Everyone used to respect and get scared of her, at the same time. She was still working like a strong man, few years ago until this dreadful disease hit her. I could have never imagined Amma as such a weak person, who now needs another person to even fetch a glass of water too. Walking slowly in the veranda of our house, she is hardly noticeable. Maybe new brides, kids, newborns in my house have taken much important place in everyone’s life. AND, now she has become a task for everyone; her special meal, her medicines, her appointments with doctors, is job to everyone. She coughs all night and everyone complains about their disturbed sleep. She forgets things and keeps on asking same question, but sadly my busy family including myself has no time to repeat the same answers for her.

But, then I saw my cousin holding his two years old daughter and answering to her repetitive questions about the flower pot in our veranda. What was the difference, I could not understand? I was wondering how many times Amma would have answered our weird questions? How many times she would have hugged us when we were hurt playing? How many sleepless nights she must have had, when we were having fever? This was never a task for her; it was a joy to her; it was her life. And, now when she needs us, she is task to us. We explain, saying, ‘we are busy in our own life.’ I wonder if she didn’t have any of her own life while we were growing.

I guess this is not only my story. We all are impatient with our oldies; we ignore them assuming they don’t understand our modern lives. Now, may be they are weak and have a short memory; but if you remember, we used to be exactly the same, when we were young and then, they nurtured us with their love and raised us to what we are today.

I hope we could be the same to them as they were to us. When we had tiny hands and no voice; when we were strangers to the world and the world was to us, they held our hands and let us see, speak, understand the world through them. They spent a life time to make us understand the world and gave the most pleasing memories of our lives. So, what if they don’t remember anything now, can’t we make a new memory every day for them; as a small effort to repay the IMMENSE which they gave us and they are still giving us. Love can overpower the most terminal sickness too. They supported us when we were kids so don’t you think, they also have a right to be kids now.

Then why we treat them as a task in our lives, why we are impatient with them.. we have played enough on their shoulders, now it’s their turn.. Let them be kids now….

My head was still resting in Amma’s lap and she again asked me, ‘kalu jana tu? (When will you go?)’ I kissed her lap and said, ‘kadi ni Amma’ (NEVER Amma).


On a winter evening;

smoke comes to me as a secret chum,

Smoke, I make in the air;

Smoke, people hate about me…

Smoke of disappointment;

smoke of pleasure,

Smoke, who hides my past for a moment, I dare;

smoke, who gives a hope to have a future, bright or not; I hardly care…

Roasting peanuts’ smoke,

smoke wafting from my home’s chimney

Smoke from my village’s open fireplace;

that village, where I always sought solace…

An aspiring smoke and a deceased smoke;

that was the smoke and this is the smoke,

smoke, on a winter evening;

smoke comes to me as a secret chum…

Blue-black ink

On a sooty shelf;

found an old diary,

Looked for a virgin page;

started writing a smoky poem.,

Sniffed a whiff of happiness;

inhaled a cool puff of life,

Saw starry nights in my smoggy room;

my skin imbibed the white smoke,

Page is no more virgin,

pungent, blue-black ink;

Dropped in..

‘February; Friendship and Feelings’

February is about kisses, chocolates, hugs, proposes; that’s what everyone around is telling me.  Happy rose day; happy pose day! Happy propose day; happy remorse day! Hah…. So, February is love for you and I guess for everyone else. But February is nostalgic for me, every single day is full of nostalgia; nostalgia of friendship, nostalgia of togetherness, nostalgia of laughing aloud, nostalgia of crying hard, nostalgia of living a lifetime in one year, nostalgia of making the best friends for life.

‘De’s been with me since the time; I didn’t even know how to spell ‘FRIENDSHIP’, and she got married 5 days ago, which is like a dream to me. I have never told her that she is my best friend and neither had she felt a need to convey the same to me, anytime in last 25 years.

I met ‘Dr’ through her and never met a more selfless person after that in my life. I remember Dr’s reaction when she saw me lying in the hospital bed; she wasn’t able to see my one leg and thought that doctors have cut my leg just after 15 minutes of my accident. She started shouting and crying like anything, oh god, I can’t forget her face.

And yes, Su;Su’ is one lady in my life who doesn’t know what fear is. Shop-alcoholic, fearless, bold, sexiest in the group and we call her ‘Satyabadi.’ She doesn’t know what a lie is and her Satyabadiness made her meet a wonderful man, whom she got married last year and that too in February (See, February is special).

Lastly, Chinky and Nones ; my only friends from college and they never stop fighting with each other. I can proudly say that there exists one person on this earth, who is more confused than me and that is ‘Nones’. ‘Chinky’ is what a true friend is, emotional, loving, caring and knows what friendship is.

The craziness began when we, six stumbled on each other in one city at one time and five of us staying under same roof. Oh man! What a ride that was; a road accident that I can never forget, friends laughing with/on me, on a hospital bed, a friend who lost true love of her life at the same time, wounds; visible, invisible, smiles with tearful eyes, craziness, a passion as journalism, a job paying me Rs. 7000, break-ups, patch-ups, friends supporting my madness, full adrenaline rush and what not! Life was hell and heaven at the same time. Friends were family and sometimes more than that. Su and me, the only entertainment in the house. Nones was dealing with the biggest catastrophe of her life, and chinky, struggling to prove herself in the big city with her big dreams. De and Dr, our full-time mothers, cooking & feeding all of us, picking me from my night classes at college and they still are full-time mothers for me. I never felt a need to call at my home even after one month of my being bed-ridden, due to accident and the reason was De & Dr.

That was the year when we discovered a new word, ‘Adam-teasing’ and Su, of course was the inventor. That was the year when we learnt, life is a struggle and this struggle is fun with friends. That was the year when we learnt, friendship is not about being judgmental, friendship is not about doing favors and making your friends realize about those favors but friendship is about staying together with friends, laughing in the dreadful situations, no matter what world think about your friends but you must know how you keep your friendship alive and fresh even in the tough times.

It’s been five years for that wonderful year but I am still floating in nostalgia. I know, life has changed for few of us and life will change for rest of us too but I am sure that this friendship will last forever and when we will be grandmothers, I will still be the biggest ‘Phenku’ of the group, De & Dr be our mothers, Chinky and nones be fighting with each other like the way, they always do and Su would still be our leader for Adam-teasing and we will still laugh with/on each other sitting in a park, on a winter afternoon, enjoying the sunshine, the sunshine of friendship, true friendship.

Love you all….


RIP to the rape victim‘Are you fucking kidding me…Do you seriously think that DGRC victim will rest in peace after what has happened to her? Tell me, if you and I were there on that night of 16th December and it was one of us who would have been raped and assaulted brutally with an iron rod, thrown off on road, lying with our body tattered apart… If I would be the one who would be fighting to hold on to life for more than 10 days, undergoing knife several times, multiple surgeries & organ failures while the media made zillions by turning me into a “HEADLINE”… If I would be the one who would be flown off to die on a foreign land only to pacify the unrest & anger…BELIEVE ME …. I WOULD NOT REST IN PEACE…


We have failed, we, all of us; we have failed as a society. She died; but galvanized a cause that will not die; she waked every one of us from our long sleep of ignorance. But did we really wake up or are we still sleeping? Ban the tinted glass vehicles, hang the culprits till death, much brutal punishment; there are so many resolutions, everyone is suggesting now. There are few precautions which are advising women not to go alone anywhere. The point is, sexual violence is so routine in India that most people are habituated to its prevalence. You open any newspaper on any given day and you find on an average about more than three sexual crimes reported.  So what was so different about this case – the absolute, appalling cruelty of it? So if the case is not so brutal, RAPE is fine with you? Or you are going to wait that victim should be dead like DGRC then only you are going to protest?

Yes, we all feel the same right now; this has to stop somewhere. But, what is the solution? Who is going to stop this? Would ‘impeding women going out late’ be suffice? We need a change in law and law makers; we need to make a stringent law against rape. But before that we need to think about a social transformation in our country. A social change where girls are physically prepared to fight against these situations; where you don’t gift your daughter a doll and your son a Cricket bat; a situation where you teach your sons that women are important and they are not only the sex objects; a situation where no woman would have to grow up with the fear that she will likely be raped. When your daughter is growing up, don’t tell her that her body is made to be covered; don’t tell her that she can’t do what her brother is doing and when I demand this social change in Indian society, I demand it in the India living in villages, that India where sons bring prestige and money while daughters are viewed as a burden with their dowries and low income prospects. We need to change the mind set of people around us, starting from our family. Being a young Indian girl, I know how it feels when your elder kin tells you to cover your chest with a dupatta, while of course escaping the dirty gawk. You feel embarrassed and unprivileged at the same time and your embarrassment doubles when your brother is standing nearby you. This does not only make you feel low in front of your brother but it teaches him that- if a girl is not wrapping her chest with dupatta he has all the right to stare at it; up to an extent that the girl would like to drown herself somewhere out of humiliation.

You raise your daughter as if being girl is her honor; she has all the right to say yes or no to anything and everything.

2nd agent to the social change should be in our cinema and the celebrity obsessed public. As suggested by economist Swaminathan Aiyar,’ yet item numbers and rape scenes are not the main problem. After all, cabaret dancers and villains are not role models. What’s truly terrible is the manner, in which film heroes have for decades pestered, stalked and forced their unwanted attentions on heroines in a thousand films, yet ended up getting the girl. That sends the most outrageous of all messages to the public: pestering girls is what heroes do, and a girl’s “no” actually means “yes.” According to one particular well-known screen villain did about 100 rape scenes “with the audience almost cheering him on.”In a celebrity obsessed Indian culture, where every dance move, every dialogue, ‘every items song- where girls are compared to tandoori murgis and supposed to be swallowed with alcohol’ is being followed by people blindly.

3rd is our identity. We are not only sisters, mothers, daughters, wives and girlfriends; we are human beings first. Why women are described in relation to someone too often? Why DGRC victim is called as ‘Daughter of India?’ She was a woman who had her own dream. Why when a woman is single, she has her dad’s name and when married, accustomed to take her husband’s name? You can judge from this thing that even after her death still DGRC victim is known as some pseudonyms given by media. What all are big shot people scared of? Why our society is such that even after her death, the family has to keep secrecy of her name just to avoid the family’s disgrace. She herself was a victim and her family is only ashamed? These social slurs increase recidivism, woman is fearful of reporting against these crimes, and ex rapist is encouraged to make the repetitive crime best option.

I know we cannot change ages of patriarchy and misogyny overnight. But we have to start somewhere. I am starting today:

  • I pledge not to ever forget this heinous incident.
  • I pledge not be indifferent to ‘eve-teasing’ and any violence against any woman in this world.I pledge that I will stand up to every man who dares to misbehave with a woman.
  • I pledge to treat every man with a doubt in my mind throughout my life.
  • I pledge to raise my voice every time I face harassment.
  • I pledge to raise my daughters, telling them, they are born to make a change in this society and to break its rules wherever they feel a need.

Meeting that girl on a broken morning

Do you remember launch of winters in New Delhi? When you like seldom shivers crossing your body, when the cold breeze doesn’t seem that freezing, when the fragrance of roasted peanuts wafting from across the streets delights your olfactory nerves, when you don’t need hot air blowers but just a cup of tea to keep your hands warm. Well, this was one of the mornings of those days broken in my wrecked apartment. It was 4:30 am in my digital table watch and I was still reading an-already-read-50-times book on my broken swing. Don’t take me wrong, I am not turned as an early riser but for sure this was one of those mornings or I should say, one of those nights when I forgot to sleep; and believe me it happens with me  a lot. I have been a nocturnal creature since the moment I was born. I feel more alive and full of ideas at night. World seems more mine at night. Less people, less noise and more of myself.

Well, a broken morning of an insomniac night always gives you two options; either you ruin your day and go back to sleep or you embrace the new born day with jogging shoes on. For once in thousand veins, I chose the second option. Swathing in a cold blanket of smog, Delhi had woken up into a hazy morning.

After running almost half of a kilometer along shivaji marg, when my legs finally surrendered for lactic acid accumulation, I had to stop for a while to feed my lungs with some air. I looked around, there were few trucks and bicycle-riders. But what caught my attention was a black figure standing on the same pavement I was running on. At around a distance of 50 meters,I could see a young girl, all dressed up to her thighs in black impeccable chiffon with heels of almost my hand’s size, confused, shivering and furious about something. I simply saluted her guts and started walking towards her not to have a conversation but just to cross her.

‘Excuse me’, she said, the very moment, I was about to cross her. I turned back. Wow! Being an average looking girl, I was in a mix vein of shock and envy, as soon as I saw her flawless white face with abandoned eye make-up.

‘Yes’I responded in a pretending-not-to-be-interested tone.

‘I need some money or if you have phone, I need to call a taxi’a confident voice.

‘Excuse me’ – “who the hell dressed up like you asks for money early morning”, my thoughts.

‘Yes, I need to go to Gurgaon and I left my wallet in my friend’s car’ – no worries on the face.

‘Ok, so why don’t you call him and ask it back’I can be a CID.

‘I left my cellphone too’ she is definitely not polite

‘I sought my trouser pocket, luckily I had my phone. I unlocked it and gave it to her immediately.’Delhi needs few more years to make me a completed delhiite.

She called ‘Easy cabs’ and asks for a taxi at exactly the same place, we were standing.

You need some money?’ Though I only have 50 rupees in my pocket. 😛

‘No, no thanks, I will manage. But I would need a cigarette. Do you have one? – Now, I could see some politeness, smoking can change a person, definitely.

‘No, I don’t’ – who carries cigarettes to morning jog?

‘Oh crap! Taxi would take half an hour to reach here and this dress would kill me by then’ – she murmured, maybe seeking my attention.

I could have gone back to my jogging but something held me back. ‘Okay, I can buy you a cigarette; there is lot of small fag vendors just behind this main market.’

She seemed pleased and followed me quietly. I was amazed at my own behavior. Why I was being overfriendly to this weird girl? But Somewhere, I wanted to know about this mysterious woman who looked beautiful and sounded professional & confident, obviously not drunk and she is all alone on a road, early morning. She was with a friend who had not the mere gentility not to leave a young girl alone on Delhi’s dreadful roads.

She lit the cigarette and inhaled it with closed eyes, exhaling the smoke with a mysterious smile on her face. ‘You are thinking too much about me’, suddenly she caught my thoughts. I was befuddled for a moment. ‘No, no, it’s not like that I am just confused about what are you doing here?’

‘Believe me, you would not like to know’, she continued smoking.

‘No, I would like to and if you want we can walk and talk. It’s still twenty minutes for your taxi,’ I didn’t want to ruin the whole day thinking about this enigmatic lady.

‘There is nothing special about me. I sell myself to make money. This fake-rich, son of a bitch hired me last night, promised me 10000 bucks and then duped me, taking away my money, cellphone, every damn thing, leaving me like this. Given a chance, I would have killed that asshole. Now, as you know me, if you want to continue your jogging, you can leave’, she said all that stone-faced.

My jaw almost touched my fatigued knee. She is a prostitute, my curiosity doubled as for the first time in my life, I was meeting one. I gathered my wits and spoke calmly, ‘no, there is nothing bad about it, and I mean, I don’t have a problem. We still can talk.’

‘What else you want to know?’ how I landed up there? ‘Don’t be so typical,’ girl. My story is not interesting enough to entertain your colleagues at office.’

‘See I didn’t mean that. I guess I should leave. You take care of yourself,’ I said all that turning back.

‘No, wait, I am sorry. It was just sudden. I don’t want to stand here alone. Stay with me for some time. Let’s sit on the next bus stop,’ she looked so different saying that.

‘Where’re you from?’

‘Himachal’a big smile on my proud face.

‘Oh I love hills. I went there with a client, to Shimla, he kept me for whole week.’ She had a skeptical humor in her eyes.

‘And you?’ I tried to make the situation easy.

‘Katihar, Bihar, not as beautiful as Shimla.’ Why did you leave Himachal?’

‘For job, I am a MBA & got my first job here in Delhi,’ I responded calmly.

‘You are a MBA?’ for the first time I could see her big smile.

‘Yes I am. Why are you laughing?’

‘No nothing, I am also a half MBA’ – her voice was full of irony.

‘What? Then why you, I mean what happened,’I tried to be considerate.

Her face fell with what, grief, memories, repentance, I didn’t know. We kept silent for next few seconds and then she started.

‘I am the third girl child of my parents, the unwanted one. Dad used to work as a clerk in forest department. My two elder sisters got married at the age of 17. Katihar was a small town and my dreams were way too bigger than I was worth. My family wanted me to get married after graduation. But I wanted to study, learn English, wanted to go for MBA, have a good job. My father told me he could spend 5 lakhs on my dowry but can’t afford my studies.’ She said all that looking at the road.

‘Then’, I asked with a curiosity in my voice.

Then the same story happened, I made a mistake, maybe the biggest mistake of my life. Fell in love with a wrong guy. He promised to support my studies in Delhi and get married to me. He was from a lower bihari caste. Deep down, I knew, my family would have killed me, if they happened to know about my affair. Moreover, nobody in my family loved me enough to give a second thought and I eloped with him to Delhi. But as it happens in more of our movies, he turned out to be an asshole, betrayed me, had fun for a few days and then sold me at a place, no girl would have ever wanted to be. And I am still at the same place with a better lifestyle since last 4 years.

Why didn’t you do any job?

Big joke! I didn’t know how to speak English, had no ideas about computers and  had no money & no place to stay. Moreover, I accepted that place as my destiny which had already betrayed me enough, so could not have courage to challenge it one more time.

‘You could have gone back.’ I asked

to what? To witness my furious family and society who would have killed me in the very first sight? I knew being a third girl child; they had already hated me enough and moreover I liked this work. Less time, less work and a lot of money.

 ‘Are you happy?’ I asked looking at her.

‘I don’t know but I have money.’ Moreover I have left thinking about happiness. Certainly, this was not any of my dreams but for sure this is my real life. Live this day that’s all.

I wanted to ask more, talk to her about so many things other than her profession. Maybe, somewhere I could see a friend in that honest girl. But I could not.

Taxi came. She looked at me, said nothing, just a smile and got on. I also turned but then suddenly I shouted, ‘hey I didn’t even ask your name. I mean we can talk, if you want.’

‘No, I don’t think so, just remember me as a friend you would never like to meet again,’ she smiled and taxi soon disappeared on the smoggy roads.

I started walking towards my apartment thinking about what just happened. I could not understand why that girl was there that day. Was it one of the curses of our system, dowry, caste system, the prejudice against girl child? Or was it her boyfriend, her young age mistake? Why couldn’t she believe in her family? Why couldn’t her family give her a trust to go back? Is this the only profession left for a girl in a bad situation? Maybe, she had options but she chose this deliberately? Was she really happy? If she is happy in this profession, then is it wrong? How she must be feeling, selling herself for money?

So many questions and no answer!

I am here writing this piece on her and she would be selling herself once again. For what? Money? I doubt!!

‘Thapaad Kha Roti Pakka – So what if your husband beats you’

This is not what a husband in the interiors of Punjab or Haryana is saying to his wife but this is what, these days our almighty high court judges are telling to every Indian woman in the name of keeping a family together and bright future of the kids. When one of my domestically violated friend told me that a judge told her to compromise and adjust with her husband’s mood swings (which eventually turn into brutal beatings almost every weekend) to keep her marriage alive, I thought there is something wrong with this judge’s grey matter or maybe he doesn’t have it for that matter.

But, hey I was wrong, this isn’t her case only; all our legal gods seem to have lost their marbles. This morning, when I started leafing through the last few days’ newspapers, (Yes, I read newspapers for a week in one day; have you got a problem with that.) there is this one case came up. During one of the domestic violence case hearing, some Bhaktavatsala, a high court judge from Karnatka, said these wonderful words to the victim lady, “Women suffer in all marriages.  You are married with two children, and know what it means to suffer as a woman. Yesterday, there was a techie couple who, reconciled for the sake of their child. Your husband is doing good business; he will take care of you. Why are you still talking about his beatings?”

Please somebody pinch me and say I was reading these lines in one of my dreams. How can a high court judge tell a victim to accept her husbands’ beatings just because she is a woman and what the hell means, “Woman suffers in all marriages.” Above all he is not advising the woman to be financially independent but saying that she should be beaten every day because “her husband is doing good business.”

I really pity this judge’s law school which taught him only Tulsidas saying, “Dhol Gawanr Shudra Pashu Nari, Sakal Tadan ke Adhikari” means ‘DHOL,( Drum) SHUDRA(Of or belonging to lower caste),PASHU(Animal),NARI(women) are to be beaten brutally and  to be kept as dust below the feet”. Plus I really pity his chauvinistic mentality and statements which can impact thousands of domestic violence cases in Indian courts.

I really don’t know how system, law and our so called opinionates are going to react on his statement or if they are going to ignore it. For me and for any sensible human being, verbal or physical- any kind of violence is unacceptable even if it is in a relationship. Even if your husband is a multi-millionaire or a road laborer, he cannot beat you to release out his frustration from work from where he is paying your bills. After this statement, what this judge expects that all women should have a sigh of relief and say, “Thank God! Beating wives is not a constitutional right for every man in our country.”

I am not saying that every household dispute has divorce as a climax but accepting somebody’s violence just to pacify everything is not adequate. There are so many problems when two people decide to live together. Sometimes your spouse is driving you crazy with his or her nagging habits but mind it that happens with both HIM & HER. Just because you are a man & stronger than your counterpart – nobody has given you this right of releasing your hormonal frustration on a woman. Woman is no-fucking piece of a born-punching bag for you people and your god-damn frustration. So For Mr. Bhaktavatsala and People like him, I don’t care if you are born from a woman’s womb or some dropped down shit of a flying bird known as ‘Male Chauvinism’ but mind it and be careful when you are advising a woman, while sitting in a Judge’s chair or sitting next to your wife or daughter at your home.

‘Thapaad Kha Roti Pakka’ is history baby!!!! 

‘Can an Actor change a nation? – Yes, He can and so can I’ – Aamir Khan graces cover of Time magazine

Yes, he can. Not only an actor but a solider, a doctor, a police man, a school teacher even a poor villager earning Rs. 500 per month; has got the capability and power to change a nation. Aamir Khan, an Indian Bollywood actor dared to change the old school of Bollywood and chose to stand for social issues of India rather than selling soaps and detergents in advertisements. Today he got featured on US magazine TIME’s cover page for taking up India’s social issues on his television show ‘Satyamev Jayate’. Discussing issues like Female Foeticide, dowry, domestic violence, Child sex-abuse, medical issues, Un-touchability, Honor Killings, opposing big fat Indian weddings and supporting differently abled people on a national forum, he has talked about so many things in these thirteen weeks of duration of his show. He showed the real face of India to the ‘New Yo-Yo generation’. I don’t know if Aamir khan and his show have just moved us or we are going to move-on after the truth has knocked at our door..

Or maybe, we think that he has a face, a name and a history behind him and that’s what has worked for him. Do we have the capability of doing the same? Maybe we don’t have readers, audiences and followers like he has and may be our start up is not going to make to ‘TIME’ but still we have the capability of doing a bit of our part.

We complain for the poor education facility in our country; but we never cared to teach our maid’s son at home just for half an hour. We complain for the poor health conditions but as a doctor we chose to open our own clinic and not to work in a remote area to help the have-nots. We curse the country for the social slurs like domestic violence; but we never chose to interfere our drunkard neighbor’s fight with his wife’ no matter we attend her funeral the very next morning. We shout to the slogans of ‘No more honor killings’ but back at home; we oppose our kids to go for an inter-caste marriage. We call our country a big heap of shit; but we never care to clean our part of that shit. Instead we chose to leave the country, get settled in developed countries and come back for Diwali’s every year. If you really want to do something for India; I guess you need to be there in India.

JKF has once said, ‘Once Do Something, Do Anything except stand around with your hand out for freebies.’ ‘Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country’. I am born and bred in India, no matter how my country is; it’s my country, if it is not the best, we are going to make it better. Every other day I read slanderous and corroded posts and tweets by my young friends about how pitiable our condition is, how scrawny our government is, how corrupt our politicians are, how they say, and ‘there is nothing going to change in India.’ If our youth is spreading this message to the world, there is absolutely nothing going to change in India.

We got our freedom 65 years back; but what we have done of that freedom, how much we could have made of that freedom. We are standing on the carcasses of people who had fought, sacrificed and died for our freedom; what are we doing with it? We are still bound to the shackles of superstitions, corruptions, social bondage, religious atrocities, political incapacities and so forth.

 Yes, we do need personalities like Aamir Khan who has such a mass appeal and influential power who can speak to masses and leave impressions on their mind, soul and lives. But at the same time we should not step back in doing our own bit for the country we live in.  Mind it, if you don’t like anything, stop complaining and start changing it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it. Our parents have lived a life and our next generation is going to live their life; we have only our life to stand for the things we don’t like and dare to change them. I hope we can make our India, the dream india of our freedom fighters:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free,

Where the world has not been
broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out

from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving
stretches its arm towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind
is led forward by thee into
ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom,

my Father, let my country awake.

Drugs, Faith and Rape

After ages and finally ashamed on my lethargy on a weekend, I decided to perform my newspaper rituals and read it devotedly. Not to my surprise, everything so conventional was there, corruption, dirty politics, doping in sports and Rapes. Again not a unusual news for any metro city: A Mumbai girl was drugged and raped in a Kolkata park. Some five to six months ago, a woman at a Gas nightclub (Mumbai) was taken by 5 men;  who gang raped her before dumping  at Bandstand Mumbai.  Rapes are common in metropolitan cities but all of the sudden, Drug-facilitated rapes, the date rape drugs, Rohypnol, GHB, roofies, roaches, or the forget pill beats other hot topics on Google. The drugs which were being used in countries like America and Europe to cure severe sleep disorders are ruining thousands of girls’ lives in most of the metropolitan cities.

Apart from these Hi-Fi drugs, high doses of alcohol are also used as date rape drugs. Imagine a tasteless drug which you can consume unknowingly in a soft drink or juice can leave you confused, sedated, and finally raped when you will get up after 18 or 24 hours. This is not the limit; excess of these drugs can even cause cardiac and respiratory arrest, coma, or death. Some of them are even worst when you can’t remember what exactly happened with you a night before. Sometimes these drugs also affect the fertility of a woman.  In 80% of the cases, the person who gives drugs to the victim is her friend, boyfriend or a known person whom she trusts, accompanies him and finally got trapped. We call ourselves 21st century girls who believe in freedom, nightlife, parties, and live-in relationships; but do we believe in letting somebody take advantage of the trust we put in the person? Do we really want to enjoy a night life with complete strangers or with people who can drag us into a situation like this?

Before jumping into the solutions how we can try to tackle these situations; let me make things more visible by putting you in the worst situation. Do you know rape is one of the most profane experiences a girl can endure?  This is not a physical trauma but it is always aggravated by our society that customarily blames and makes rape victims unacceptable. According to the figures, at least 75% of rape victims suffer from chronic psychological conditions all their lives, 15% commit or try to commit suicide and 10% die or suffer from enduring physical disorder after the sexual assault.

I know after reading this, you would have had Goosebumps; but this is reality. Girls, new in cities, new in love or with immature and improper curiosity for night life, fast life end up like this and the biggest reason behind this is faith; trusting a wrong person. I know he can be your boyfriend, whom you think: can never do any wrong to you but actually he can and you should always have to  keep your eyes and ears open before following him blindly. I am not saying going out late night, parties are reasons behind rapes but trusting a person blindly and give all your strings to him is not a wise decision. You go out, have drinks but remember few things in the parties you are attending:

  • First of all try avoiding parties thrown by friends of friends or strangers.
  • Try to go in a group and by group, I mean your own friends, your room-mates or longtime friends.
  • Never leave your drink unattended.
  • Always try to get a drink only from the bartender, waiter, or waitress.
  •  At parties, never accept open container drinks from anyone.
  • Whenever you are leaving your drink to go to the washroom or dance floor; try to finish it before leaving or get a fresh one when you are back
  • Do not take any drink, juice from someone you don’t trust or from anyone for that matter. Remember, at least 80% of all rapes are committed by acquaintances.

Finally Stay Safe and always remember which I had read somewhere “Don’t ever get excited & blindly trust any new person you meet. If you already have some good friends then don’t look for many friends & don’t let your friend turn into your enemy. People change just like seasons. Stay with only those whom you think that they won’t be leaving you ever. People come & go in your life & you don’t have to worry about why they left. Enjoy spending time with a friend who knows everything about you & understands what friendship is….”

Main tenu fer milangi kithe? kis trah? pata nai – I will meet you again, where? How? I don’t know

It was 3:50 am in my digital table watch. Things were so spread all over in my room that even if somebody breaks-in; he has to actually search for hours and hours to steal the stuff. This is me, in my ragged knickers, sitting on my sofa-cum-bed-cum-carpet with a laptop on my lap. The irony is even after 36 hours of brain-fuck (yes, that’s the new word I have learnt), including 12 hours of detaining at the airport and 24 hours of travel (deportation to-be-specific) back to India, I was still restless and awake.

I think this is what exactly happens to you when you suddenly meet a person who is not a different person; but your alter ego. The one, who responds you in just one go; the one, whom you talk to the first time; still he makes you feel like, you have always been belonged to him. The one who reminds you of signals and symbols from every Paulo Coelho’s book; the, one who reminds you of Amrita-Imroz and their paintings & poems.

It was only two days, not even two days and he is all over me; from hell-head to toe. We haven’t met but feel like we have already spent a life-time together. It seems as if we belong to the same place or the same destination or at least we will meet somewhere before heading to our destinations. I know he is so-not-me, I am so-not-him. He is a nomad river and I am like a tranquil foothill. He wants to walk on the waters and I would like to wait for him on every shore. He wants to let his soul roam across the world and guess what; I dream of becoming his that-soul. He is those dry leaves of a tree which would like to be free and flowing with the air; and I am as stupid as that tree that would cry after every parting and again wait for the next spring to meet him.

I hate him because of his carelessness, his happiness, his ‘I don’t care; I don’t feel anything’ attitude; maybe because I always wanted to be like that but could never become. You know what it might sound crazy to you; but he is like one of those giant fast streams which is so fearless as if it knows it is going to swallow everything that comes its way. He is as raw and pure as nature and I guess that’s what charms everyone more-or-less like me. Life was simple before he happened to me and now nothing more is simple. He unhinged me, every emotion of my life, my priorities, and my dreams every-damn thing. He hasn’t any fear of losing anything as he has left everything behind; but I am yet to find the reason why? He is like the golden words of my favorite books or that fragrance of my old novels which let me freeze and make me alive in a single moment. He is like that fog on the rugged roads of my village which used to play hide and seek with me. I know the more I effort to get closer to that fog; the more it’s going to be away from me. I want to get lost in that fog but I know even losing myself will not be worth.

To love a person is easy but to love a soul is different. I haven’t seen him, felt him or touched him but it seems, he touched my soul somewhere. I am yet not sure if he even remembers my names’ initials or not. I don’t know what and how much he matters in my life but for sure he is one hell-of-a-person in my life that made me believe serendipity  possibilities, signs, symbols, or Brian Weiss which used to be the words of a different language of a different planet for me. I remember Punjabi poetess, Amrita Pritam used to describe her relationship with her lover Imroz, “Yeh mein hoon, Yeh tu hai, Aur beech mein hai Sapna.” I don’t know even if my love or whatever it is, so intense but that’s the same way I am feeling right now it’s absolutely me, him and this dream.

From the day he happened to me, whole world seems like a big signal to meet him. I remember apart from sun rays and cool breeze in last morning; there were so many signs floating in the air. Remember the saint smile of that hotel manager, that stranger baby girl who stopped and waved me good bye, the guy wearing that familiar blue jackets in the same shuttle to our plane. Everything seems to be a symbol, an omen –good, bad I hardly know. Sometimes you just get trapped in a long, dark tunnel and unable to see the bright rays of hope on the other side of the tunnel. For a different reason I am happening to see the other bright part only; no more darkness and I guess this hope will bring him to me and One day I will meet him, where how , I don’t know. I read this poem long back and liked it; that time I didn’t know the meaning but today every word seem to explain ‘ME’ –

Main tenu fer milangi

kithe? kis trah? pata nai

shayad tere takhiyl di chinag banke

teri canvas te utrangi

ya khore teri canvas dey utte

ik rahasmayi lakir banke

kamosh tenu takdi rawangi

Jaa khore suraj ki loo banke

tere ranga vich ghulangi

jaa ranga diyan bahwa vich beth ke

teri canvas nu wlangi

pata nai kiss trah-kithe

par tenu jrur milangi.

Jaa khore ik chashma bani howangi

te jiven jharneya da paani udd da

main pani diyan bunda

tere pinde te malangi

te ik thandak jahi banke

teri chaati de naal lagangi

main hor kujh nai jaandi

par ena jaandi

ki waqt jo v karega

ae janam mere naal turega

Ae jism mukkda hai

tan sab kujh mukk janda

par cheteyan dey dhaage

kaayenaati kana dey hunde

main uhna kana nu chunagi

dhageyan nu walangi

Te tenu main Fer milangi…

                                                                                                           –         Amrita Pritam

Don’t tell your daughters not to go alone; tell your sons how to behave

” Nazar Teri Buri Aur Parda Mein Karoon?’ ‘Don’t tell me how to dress, tell them not to rape,

No, you can’t go alone there; No, you can’t wear that; no you can’t opt that job; why? ‘Because you are a girl.’ And being a girl is a crime you never chose to do. These are some of the things my parents and your parents, in the name of our safety, have been telling us since we were born. Why a girl has so many restrictions? Not, because girls can do anything wrong; if we were given liberty. The reason is because some bloody, gibberish, SONS of DOGS who cannot control their sexual urge; can rape her. The irony is , these dogs are never taught at home; how to behave with girls but  girls,  are always taught how to dress up so that we can escape from the greedy glance of these dogs, how to ignore these dogs.

If a girl is raped on a street late at night; the first thing people ask why she was there on the street so late. Why she was alone? What she was doing? What she was wearing? What was her occupation? Nobody asks who the hell was that bastard who did this to her. Even if she was a prostitute; who gave right to these mother f***ers to do anything to her. Even she was wearing revealing clothes and their god-damn sexual urge is so damn aroused, I think, I have no shame in telling that without anybody’s help they can calm it down with their own hands in any public toilet. So, who gave this right to men to take any open-minded girl as a f***ing piece of their inherited property that they can do anything with her.

I don’t get this mentality. Obviously Man and woman are created by God with different bodies but who said which body part to be revealed or which is not to be. Its only skin we have; nothing else. If men are blaming us for wearing shorts, showing cleavages and bra strap as a reason of rapes ; Can’t we blame them for wearing shorts (again), those deep neck t-shirts showing chest hair and those low waist jeans where their Jockey’s line is yelling to come out, for the same reason.

But it’s not about we, young people, it started long back when we entered 13 and our brothers entered 13. Nobody told them they are grownups; but every scary glance on our body reminded us that we are grownups. Moms told us not to wear body hugged tops, not to go alone anywhere, not to play much with boys of our class. They never told their son not to look at girls as if they were nude, not to eve-tease, Not to RAPE. Parents tell girls n number of things before they leave house to be safe. They never told their sons how to make their fellow girls friends feel safe.

If girls were given insecurity by saying they are not safe; mind it; but they are never going to be safe for their whole life.  Instead give them confidence to leave the house alone and kicking in between the legs of any strangers who tries to take advantage in any sense. Ok, I agree, parents can tell their girls to be safe which is actually required in this god-damn society full of bastards but at the same time they should teach their sons not to become one of those bastards.

If you want to tell your daughters something; tell them to be bold. If you want to teach something to your daughters; teach them how to become a pain for all those bastards out there. If you want to give something to your daughters; give them a faith that whatever happens you will always stand by them supporting them. At the same time don’t forget to tell your sons ;how to be a gentleman to every woman he meets every day. If you want to teach them something; teach them how to respect woman. And if you want to give something to them; give them a faith that you know whatever happens they will not be a shame for the society they live in.

I Love you like a Frog!!!

I have no shame in saying that I was a frog since I was born and I would like to die being a frog only. Before you jump over to conclusions I would like to clear that yes, I am talking about rains and I am always happy and jumping like a frog whenever they are at my door. Rains means renaissance for me. I belong to the northern most part of India, spent almost first two decades of my life in mountains where rains mean heaven. The very thought of those big black clouds over the green mountains let me drown in a big ocean of nostalgia. I used to leave every important thing at home including the last day studies before my exam to just have a look of that heavenly sight. The pure rains, the mesmerizing fragrance of wet clay, the music of rain drops on our slanting roof, everything seems like my last birth.

And now when the first monsoon hit Nova Delhi, and I am sitting in a 4/4 cabin of my office in this huge building of this goddamn gigantic city, I can’t even feel it’s’ raining until I go out and let my hair and body drench with these little drops of showers. Oh I miss my home like heaven (can’t say hell here). I know this is a clumsy, crowdy and an emotionless city where the only quality time you spend is the sleeping time; but still when my olfactory nerves gets a treat with the fragrance of wet clay, It’s heaven (Bryan Admas’s style) here.

I was feeling bad because I could not complete this post on Friday which was officially the first day of monsoons but my melancholy got washed away this morning when it rained on my way to office. Wow! I love this city for the first time; people were going crazy in these morning busy hours. Motorcyclists were enjoying the beautiful bath with this cool breeze, couples on the bikes were even happier than me (come’on more than a Frog!!! Huh!!), and the kids, OMG they were getting their school dress deep drenched and I have no idea what they are going to do or on the other hand, what their teachers are going to do with them? I wanted to get inundated in rain like those kids on the street and didn’t want to come to this 4/4 cabin.

But then the very thought of money, career, job, and n number of complexities comes with unemployment kept me coming to the office and my romantic heart broke when I saw little rain drops falling from the window pane. I shut down the air conditioner of my room and let the cool breeze come from the opened window. It seems the wet birds on my window pane are teasing me of being a human being and surrounded by so many things other than happiness. Isn’t it true? We keep on ruining our moments for the years we spent and for the days yet to come. Life is simple but we have to make it intricate. I don’t know if it’s only my penchant but I tend to run away from complexity. Even if people call me a weakling, they say I deserve more than I have but I think if I am content with what I have, It automatically becomes more than suffice. See rains make me sentimental and keep on diverting my shrewd mind. I know life is full of unfair things, mean people, crazy relationships but nature and its bliss keep showering its surprises on all of us saying,’ Life is beautiful and it will remain beautiful if you keep enjoying it like frogs.’ So who cares of practical stuff in life as long as frogs like me exist in this world and continue to dance like a frog whenever rains come!!!

I want to write about the best mind ever known to Homo Sapiens

“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT’S relativity.”

I guess he was there in my mind even before I was born. In School, he was not only ‘My superhero’ but for every science student, he was the most common excuse to be dumb and still super smart. These things were then and there, and now when I wanted to write about him on this space, I rather see him ‘the coolest nerd’. You see his quotes and the way he used to live his life, it’s totally amazing and inspiring. His quotes are the real reflection of his wit and quirkiness. He used to say, “The important thing is to not stop questioning”. He never let that craving for curiosity go away from his life. Everybody knows about his contribution in physics and the every-day life we are leading right now.  Albert Einstein showed speech impairments until the age of nine. Imagine the person who shook the world with his wit and brains, once found it difficult to express his ideas, and had problems with spelling. The school wanted him to join some school of special kids as they have declared him to be border-line retarded.  He never has interest in the subjects except Math and Physics and his teacher used to call him ‘a lazy dog’. There is a misconception that he was once failed in a Math exam which I don’t believe to be true. As according to what I have read in his biography that during one entrance exam for a polytechnic course, he flunked in all the subjects except math and physics. He knew what he liked and what he loved to do the most. He was funny and full of witty humor in everything he used to do. If believes the sources, when Einstein wanted to divorce his first wife, Mileva Maric, he told her he would win the Nobel Prize one day and give her his future earnings if she’d give him a divorce. Maric accepted, but had to wait three years for the prize money.

In his last years of life, Albert Einstein knew he was ill and going to die, still he refused all treatments that would save his life. He wanted to be cremated so people won’t come to worship at his bones. He was such a genius that world was after his brain and the fact that made his brain so sharp once he died.  His brain was removed within seven and a half hours of his death. Things got especially crazy for Thomas Harvey, who performed the autopsy on Einstein in Princeton Hospital. During the procedure, he removed the brain to examine it, which is routine. But instead of placing the brain back in the skull, Harvey put it in a jar of formaldehyde to preserve it. According to Michael Paterniti’s travelogue ‘Driving Mr. Albert’ Harvey made a grand cross-country trip from Princeton to California donating the brain finally to Princeton Hospital. The brain had come full circle, once again ending up where it had begun its fateful journey.

Albert Einstein was so sharp and active that even after his death his brain didn’t stop moving and we still have to scratch our heads when comes to its uniqueness. Some of the coolest quotes I like from Einstein’s’ brain are

  • “I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.”
  • “If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research, would it?”
  • “The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.”
  • The secret of creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.”
  • “Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking”
  •  “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT’S relativity.”
  • “Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the the universe.”
  • “You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.”
  •  “I don’t know, I don’t care, and it doesn’t make any difference!”
  •  “I am a deeply religious nonbeliever – This is a somewhat new kind of religion”
  • “Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.”
  • “The hardest thing in the world to understand is the income tax.”
  • “To us believing physicists the distinction between past, present, and future has only the significance of a stubborn illusion.”

 The best one I like the most was

“If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z. Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut.”

I am Creative when my internet is not working!!!!!

So here it goes, it was Sunday. I was in my small but special village with no so called Wi-Fi (My Mom calls it Wi-Wi, like noodles J), my data card doesn’t work there. So I was without internet; though it was not the only time I was deprived-of this netoxygen (the new term for people for who take internet as their oxygen). I NEVER HAD IT IN MY SCHOOL NEITHER AT COLLEGE SO EASILY. I just got addicted to netoxygen after coming to this giant city. So, I sat down with my laptop in my lap near the small window in my room which opens into a big wheat field and start writing. I am writing or at least trying to write some stuff these days on a single topic. I was unable to write more than 50 words-a-day, when I was in city. As whenever I had something interesting in mind, a ping from a never talked-to classmate or a mail icon had knocked my lapi’s door (or windows whatever you ). And I was again busy checking my mails and responding to those stupid pings. If my mails spare me then I was always checking for good word I want to express in my piece. To my surprise when I was writing in my den I could write more than 3 hours until my laptop died of hunger for power. So I concluded, ‘I am creative when my internet is not working.’ So do most of us would agree? Internet has snatched the power of pure innovation brutally from all of us. I agree we do a lot of stuff easily now with internet than we used to do earlier. But things are same with writing? We are always reading from internet about others’ work and get inspiration for our blog or articles. If it is inspiration; its good but then we keep on comparing our work with theirs and we are never content with what we have done (At least I am not). But when you start writing with a blank paper and pen with nature where there is nothing for your inspiration except yourself; then you get what you actually want to. You think, you analyze, you innovate, and finally a well-written piece is in your hand and you are finally content with it because it is YOURS.

Marriages are made in hell..

I remember when I was young; I saw a Hollywood movie and witnessed the Christian marriage for the first time. The father at the church asks,’ Do you take her as your wedded wife or do you take him as man of your life?’ and they say’ ‘Yes, I DO.’ At that time, I was not mature enough to understand the love, the time taken to explore each other before those vows or the compatibility you and your partner share enough to take your relationship to the next level. Moreover,we have more of arrange marriages here in my country. Divorce is a thing which is a taboo for a well cultured couple. Sometime, it is an offense to the Indian middle-class society. You are not allowed to leave your husband, no matters if he kills you or the melancholy of a failed marriage kills you. I live in a society where the would-be husband decides what you are going to do, wear what kind of dresses, using social networking sites or not, being in a job or not or even live or not. What the fuck do our society, our culture, and our values bloody flaunt of, when they actually have nothing.  There is no love needed for marriage here. People decide on marriages as if it is a contract. If you can leave your job then we can get married, if you can stop wearing jeans then we are good, if you are not on any social networking sites, then we can marry. WTF all you guys think of a girl? Is she fucking dropped down from the sky? She has done nothing in her life. Her parents mean nothing to her or what? I love a man. I love him because he is he, because he does the things he loves to do. But he can’t love me for what I am. He needs to change me. He has also committed blunders in his life and I have accepted him with all of them; but no, he has to flash my small past mistakes and has to do it for our whole life until I commit suicide or his distrust and his family members’ continuous tantrums kill me. I had no intention to post something like this today until I heard that news which almost changed me as an Indian woman. My flat mate’s friend committed suicide day before yesterday or her husband killed her, nobody knows. I had known her through my friend only as she was her best friend. She was a girl full of life, fond of clothes, fashion, travelling and living her life on the edge. She has been suffering from a disease, very common in Indian society, the domestic violence. She was not a woman dependent on her husband for her bread and butter. Then what stopped her from leaving her husband and start a new life all these four years? I tell you, it was you, yes, you the common middle-class Indian. The Indian society and apostles of the domestic violence in the name of culture and values here killed her finally. It was you, who threatened her of divorce and the miserable life of a single woman in India. If a woman doesn’t want to get married or even she wants to get separated from her husband after marriage, then how many slurs our society would cast on her, we can hardly imagine. If a girl doesn’t want to get married, it means there is something wrong with her and her life. I don’t know who talks about the freedom and improvement of women’s condition in Indian society. I am sorry but apart from a handful of open-minded families, nobody is ready to accept this fact that GIRLS ARE NOT ONLY MEANT TO BE DOMESTICATED. In a society, where people and even educated, elite people boast of ancient customs like “sati where a widow throwing herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. This is disgusting and ironical also, because in my country I get everything equal to men, from education to jobs,  sometimes we have quotas also; but when I am married I suddenly become the HOUSE KEEPER. My friends, whether male or female are no more mine after mt marriage. I need to forget them all just like this. My family is history; I can’t go and see my mother without my in-laws permission. Its ironical that on one side my country MEN are supporting SONIA GANDHI, an Italian lady but an Indian daughter-in-law to become the next  Prime Minister of India, and on the other side, WHEN THEY COME HOME THEY BRUTALLY BEAT THEIR WIVES FOR NOT MAKING THEIR DAAL-CHAWAL PERFECTLY.

50 things i love

Have you forgotten yourselves in conference rooms, video conferences, meetings, arrangements, family problems, with fake smiles in front of people, melancholy of failed relationships? Seriously, if you have forgotten, then there is an idea of finding you, the real you. sit down for a minute, take a paper from the bottom of your xerox machine, borrow a pen from the colleague sitting next to you and start making a list of 50 things? list? list of what? list of things you love to do, places you want to go, people you want to meet , things you want to eat. But there is a bet!!!! Bet that you will complete this list in just one go… i bet you, you will rediscover yourself. You will meet a new friend inside you, knowing him or her better. well one of my good friend gave me this idea and I am spreading it for all my friends…

 50 things I love
  1. Dancing in the wee hours of Morning

2.  Orange Ice Candies

3. Watching Sunrises and Sunsets on sea-shores

4. Treating my olfactory nerves with the fragrance of wet clay

5. Walking on beaches

6. Day dreaming

7. Playing with kids

8. Making Faces in front of mirrors

9. Talking to old friends

10. Clicking pictures of people who think themselves ‘Beautiful’

11. Sleeping under the roof of stars

12. Cuddling infants

13. Dressing up my little 4 years old cousin in a ‘Sari’ (And she loves the way she looks then)

14. Smiling back to strangers

15. Standing on the mountain cliff where cool fast breeze penetrates your body

16. Listening to the music at its lowest volume

17. Sleeping with Maa and GrandMaa while at home

18. Reading Travel-Stories

19. My ‘Special Lemon Green Tea’ (Believe it or not, the world’s best Lemon tea is available in my Apartment)

20 .Rains in summer, in winters too; in fact 365 days of the year

21. My Home-town

22. Colorful birds

23. The sound of fast moving streams

24. Himalayas -My Himachal

25 Learning new words of different languages

26. Kenny G’s Music

27. Watching waters for long on breathtaking heights

28. Watching ‘When Harry met Sally’ AND ‘Dil wale Dulhaniya Le jayenge’ again and again, repeating scenes

29 .Getting Scared

30. Watching Dance-shows on TV

31. Winning a project

32. Boozing with Best friends

33. Writing new quotes everyday on my desk at the office

34. Colorful lights and ‘Diyas’ on ‘Diwali’

35. Playing Pranks on friends

36. Watching my mother laugh aloud

37. Going to my ‘old school’ in the evening remembering ‘the best days of my life’

38. Going to ‘Gurudwara’ with my room-mate

39. Having my ‘Sarson ka saag’ + ‘Hari Mirch’ + ‘Makki ki roti’+ ‘Lassi ka Gilas’ ANYTIME

40. Smelling the pages of my old text books

41. Long walks on unfilled roads of ‘Shimla’

42. A small Sun-Nap on the roof of my home in my village

43. Dark Bottle –Green Colour

44. Eating ‘Parle-G’ in my office while starving hard

45. Visiting a temple, a monastery or a church very early in the morning

46. Beautiful Scarves

47. Moon! From New Moon to Full Moon, Every phase of it

48. Crying hard on somebody’s shoulders

49. Being my self

50. ‘Me’, the beautiful me, the sensitive me, the lively me!!!!

Honesty and Modesty : Values and Skills

‘Tell them a little lie’, yes, it’s absolutely fine. Why do you want to be an apostle of honesty in this dirty game of business? Everybody does it. Oh! Please don’t be a stupid. This is business and if you don’t take short-cuts, anybody can broom you away from the way to success.’ You get to hear all this stuff from your seniors, trainers, management if you are a Fresher and above all, an honest & modest person. Some would say, ok if you want to play modest, I don’t have any problem; but don’t dare to be too honest.’

But do people can actually pretend to be modest? Do traits like honesty and modesty are there to be fake around.  The answer is A BIG NO. You are modest, means you are modest. How can a person pretend to be modest? These are some of the lessons your and my mom has taught us in our kidhood. She used to tell us a story. A story about flowers and butterflies, Flowers are sweet and kind that’s why all the butterflies come to them and make them look more beautiful. Be a flower in business, be honest, talk nicely to people not only to your client, but everybody you find around.

Now-a-days, every market is niche and every company is specific. You get to meet same people in an industry, if you play smart with one client; you have to forego another, close to him for life-time. I know a person from one of my known organization, on the highest position in the company but a real gentle human being. He used to greet everybody from his office boy to the most potential clients in his own excellent modest way. He seemed to have a magic in his persona that attracted people, clients, investors. The Senior managers would take manipulated, fat pocketed clients to him for the final word and he would always had a fair and honest opinion for the client. Sometimes, all these jerk used to scratch their head and feel frustrated about these losses to company and of-course, their incentives. But the truth was, despite of all these jerks faking around in the industry, the company was all shining under his leadership. He had an honest reputation in the industry and he was respected for that. As soon as he stopped coming to the organization due to his old age and illness, the company suffered from a big disease called, dilapidation. Honestly, people like me, must be among the ones who would have left the company in first round. Everybody in the industry knew that the real magic is gone from the company, which was nothing but these two values of this gentleman. A person who is kind and honest is loved by his friends and family, the same way an honest and modest employee is respected in one’s company and industry.

We have a simple choice in business, either play smart, be-fool people, rise hard and fall rather harder or be nice to people, win their hearts and enjoy long and strong term relationships. choice is all yours!