One of those days...

For normal people the cause of depression will be, maybe a heart-break, fight with boy friend, parents divorce, friends betrayal…but not for me. For me the cause of depression last Friday was a PRESS CONFERENCE. Yes, as weird and impossible as it may sound to you, it is very much true, and possible with my fate. The fact that it was not one of ‘the best days of my life’, might have had something to aggravate my depression, but nevertheless, this can not undermine the role that PRESS CONFERENCE played in bringing out those watery captives from the prison of my eyes.
It was on that fateful Thursday, the 11th of this month. I got up and realized I was too lazy to boil water, which I have to do because I am too lazy to go and buy a rod (also the fact that I am concerned about my electricity bill, now with standing). So, I took a bath from chilling tap water, for those of you who don’t know, I stay in Delhi and Delhi in winters is like a Harry Potter land where there is a constant presence of Dememtors in the area.
So, after cursing the place, god, my landlord and my office, I set out for my office. One of the most irritating things about Delhi is, that busses don’t stop at the bus stop if there is no passenger who wants to get down or else you are not literally standing in front of the bus, waving your hands high up your head, creating a doubt about your sanity in the minds of those who are not used to this kind of humiliation and are not aware about the limited viewing capacity of the bus drivers.
So, while I was waving my hands like I am trying to catch butterflies in the middle of the street, five bus drivers decided that I was actually doing that and ignored my pleas to stop. Finally, at 9:50 (my office starts at 9:30) a buss driver decided to show some pity on me and stopped the bus. It was as usual stuffed with legs and hands and sweat. I didn’t even bother to try to get past these as I knew I will only be beaten up by the crowd. So, I was standing right at the edge of the bus. A word of advice for those who plan to follow my example, DON’T DO IT. The drivers not only lack visual capabilities, but are completely ignorant that they are actually carrying a bus full of people, most of them hanging on others and bits of metal for dear life. So he made sure that I was swinging like a pendulum and hit each and every part of my body, with either a person pushing his way to get down or from the many rods in the bus.
Finally I arrived at Nehru Place and by them I assure you every joint in my body was paining and screeching for a massage. Thinking about beautiful resorts and spas, I made my way to my office building. I missed the lift and had to wait for some five minute before another arrived. Some how I knew that my day has just started, and was I right or what? The lift got stuck at 3rd floor (my office is at 4th) and after five minutes of everyone in the lift trying their hands at the panel, the lift started juggling upwards and stopped at the 10th floor directly. I rushed back down and slipped, making the two very executive type (good-looking though) men almost giggle. They offered for help but I was too embarrassed to even look at them, so I nodded my head and said something about water on the stairs (it was as dry as an autumn leaf) and left. I kept wondering all the way to my office that why does it so happen that whenever some good-looking man passes me, my life becomes a horror story. Meeting good-looking men is jinxed for me I guess.
So, after reaching my office, I asked for a cup of tea as usual, which I have become quite addicted to, and my brain simply refuses to work without it. Guess what? My tea machine was broken and I couldn’t get any. Typical na? So, I decided to order some tea and biscuits from down stairs ‘chaiwala’. However, before I could even complete this thought, I made the suicidal mistake of telling my boss that there was a press conference of Microsoft today and before I could complete even that thought (which was of not going there) my boss requested (which as an employee when came down to me looked like an order) to go there. I went to see him and told him that I didn’t think it was wroth it. Only that I didn’t say it that way, I said “What do I do in this press conference”. Yes, I know it sounds like the fish is asking how to swim and the reaction you would have given your employee was the same that I received. Which was a blank look and a repetition of the same question in a half-irritated and a half-awed voice. After repeating after me, my boss said I know there is no news there, but go and make contacts at least. I agreed to do the same, for which I paid a heavy price I must say.
I was supposed to go to Taj palace at Sujan Singh Park. I am fairly new to Delhi and haven’t really got a chance to explore the place. And honestly, I am so bad with directions and remembering the name of roads and places that I wouldn’t have been able to tell the rikshawala directions as and how. So, when you have my sense of direction, you have to depend on the rikhshwala to know the place and trust him completely. That day, I asked five rikhshwala to take me there and all in turn asked me if I knew where it was. So, I gave them the look my boss gave me and went ahead to look for another one. Finally, I got a guy who agreed to take me there, however the person who got off the rik before I got in went to some office in the interior of Nehru place, as he forgot his money and had to borrow from someone. This whole process took some 15 minutes during which time the rikhshwala and I were waiting for the guy the come back. After that he drove to Taj at such an excruciatingly slow and cautious way (I am so used to fast driving in Delhi), that I almost dozed off and was rudely awaken by him. I paid him and entered the hell hole (Imagine paying to go to hell!).
I must mention here that the press con was supposed to start at 11:15 and I was dot on time, considering all the odds. However, it is a cardinal mistake to expect a press con to start on time. All though I was expecting an half and hour delay for the proceedings to take place, what followed was unacceptable. There were no chairs to sit on and because they had five laptops and smart phones they wanted to give away to people, who win a very idiotic game I must say, there were flocks of journalist pilling up in that room, which was half the size of a big classroom (the other half was occupied by their banners and laptops for groups to play). Everyone knows that Vista and the smart phones by Microsoft aren’t doing well, so it was basically a promotional strategy. They had set up some laptops in various colors, blue, green, etc and two people were standing around it, making us understand the so called ‘new features’. The lady at the podium started the meet by 12:30, which means that that for nearly a hour and a half we were simply standing and looking at strangers , and as the AC (in winters) was on full blast, our legs were shivering from the effort of standing and bearing the cold as well. That lady herself was smiling like a maniac (literally) and speaking of oceans and skies at a Microsoft Press con. Go figure! Even the PR guys I later heard were flabbergasted by her lack of intelligence. Even for a Marcom person, she was dumb.
We were sorted out in groups and after listening to that lady go on and on about describing the various colors (in which we were sorted), we were sent to laptops under each color platform and were educated about the features. The features were not only old and nothing extraordinary, but also the people talking about them looked like they were being tortured by having to handle us. Lame jokes and scripts that they had prepared (friend-talking-to friend act) added to our misery. I remember one man in particular, who was telling us about this new feature in MSN (which is owned by Microsoft) where one can customize their smiley. The smiley he chose to customize as an example for us was the kissing one. A middle-aged man kissing on a chat box, which fills up completely with his cracked lips, in a press conference, is not a pretty sight, trust me you. While the rest of my colleagues were smiling or looking at their feet, I was openly gaping at the man.
Also the mad lady on the podium was counting down to 10 in every few minutes and pressing the buzzer until she saw some ear bleeding. After that I didn’t have the heart or sense to take in the rest of what went on.
The reason I went there was to meet Hemant their new Joint MD for online and marketing. He was sucked in from Bharti and I was told to make ‘contact’ as is necessary in our line of business. He came around one and addressed the meeting for some 10 minutes. In fact I think those 10 minutes was the only worthwhile period of those three hours I spent there.
However, he came by 1:15 and the whole circus, with the games played and stuff, was done by 2. By that time we all had been standing for almost three hours straight. By now, most of the journalists were sitting on the floor completely exhausted. Luckily there was a rug and they had the comfort of knowing that their asses wouldn’t freeze, like their legs had.
Before they announced the winners, they requested us to join them for lunch. Most of us have our food by 1, so you can imagine how hungry we must be by 2. I, for one left office without having anything so I was famished. However, the line was so big and people so hungry that I didn’t really get a chance to eat properly. Also the fact that the whole set-up of the stalls was done in a space of 3 foot, didn’t help the situation. By then I was done with the whole thing and left on the verge of tears. I reached office, abused everyone and everything, bitched about the whole damm press con, cried a bit (as I was in office) and had momo’s (veg one’s).

When Mumbai got raped once again

27th November, it was the day I had to go to Jodhpur for a press conference. My flight was at 12, so I was peacefully sleeping. At 8 my friend called me and gave me the news of Mumbai terrorist attack that happened previous night. I will very honestly confess that I heard the news half asleep, nodded my head and went back to sleep. I will not get into this whole discussion of how numb and selfish we have become. It is a reality lets accept it. Yes, we have become numb, because we are not left with much choice.
Should we blame the government and the security lapse? I think we should and we have to. We pay taxes heavily for our security and anyone who is even a little interested in the finance world, will know that every country keeps the maximum and a flexible budget for security of the country. Should we blame the politicians? Yes we should, because their job profile clearly states that they are responsible for our safety.
And last but not the least, should we blame our selves? Yes, we should. Not only because we have become numb, but also because we are not joining politics and making a difference. I read a post by Khusboo, a very dear friend of mine on face book, about five minutes ago. And God, was I frustrated by that post or what. The reason I avoid reading opinions in newspapers because it tells me things I already know. The post like many of that same nature spoke a lot about how we are realizing the impact of “terrorism” because it’s happening in our own backyard right now. Sorry to say but it was always happening in our backyard, it’s just that now we have forums like facebook and blogpost and everyone has decided to start writing on these subjects.
I do not want to say here, that the writing in its own effect was bad or wrong. No, it was not. Although I do feel that it did not ask the basic question, which I would like everyone who reads this blog to ask themselves at least once. Why did a 25 year old man become a terrorist? What has gone so wrong with the world that people are ready to kill themselves and others for absolutely no rhyme or reason? What is it that we as individuals and a country can do to save these self-destructive people from themselves and others from them as well?
I have a few theories on what can be the reason for all this, which I do not claim to be an absolute truth. As mentioned it is a theory and I would like everyone to look at them that way. Now, as to why a person picks up a gun, there are multiple reasons behind it. They are brain washed by a few leaders who want political power and their own pawns in the system being the most logical one. Although I don’t think that these leaders are the main problem. They are simply playing the old game, which has been a tried and tested formula for every leader, but with new weapons.

The mail focus for me, is that individual and his issue with the system that makes his mind so vulnerable to such manipulations. He could be poor, or an educated engineer with no work or someone who has been fooled to believe that the rest of the communities are being unfair to his community or religion and he is only reacting on their behalf. In all these cases, it is the collective responsibility of the state to take care of that individual. To make sure that none of these reasons rise for some 25 year old to pick up arms.
Looking at the second question, I would say that the thing wrong with all of us is that we have simply forgotten the importance of being personal and everything is too mechanical and technical these days. It has led to a lot of insecurities popping up amongst the common man. We are so engrossed in our own lives and computers, we simply forget to even look at what our friends or family or even a neighbor, is going through. It has kind of made us blind to their problems and issues. And here I am talking about ‘terrorist’ who are not living in the Kashmir’s of this world. They are in fact a part of our neighborhood in Delhi and Mumbai.
Terrorist living in remote areas have different things working for them. Things like poverty or an Afzal Guru scenario, where a person is forced to become a terrorist by holding their families hostages by these so called leaders. In these areas only our leaders can help them by empowering them with a job or security for their families. Or else one of us can join politics. And yes I am thinking about it myself.
So, should we kill these terrorist. Maybe yes we should. But will this solve the problem of terrorism. I think not. What we have to tap at is the root cause of all this. One of the very obvious of which is development. And here I do not mean making flyovers and dams. Development is changing the attitude of the people. India is a developing country where people earning lakhs of ruppess pee on the road. I think this statement should make you stop and think.

Also, we have to learn ourselves and educate those around us that religion is a personal faith and if somebody tells us that their religion is better than ours we should simply keep devotion to ours and not start reacting to it. As this is what the religious heads do to poke at our most sensitive and intimate belief.
Secondly, please let’s get out of our computer mode and take some time out of our busy lives for our friends and family. How long has it been that you have called one of your closest friends who are not in the same city? Or met those who are in the same city. How many of us take out 10 minutes out of our busy schedule to talk to our parents or siblings or kids or spouses? To know what is it that they are going through or maybe just to know how was their day. It might sound very naïve but this is the only way to make sure that a kid is not lured towards extremism because he doesn’t have parents to talk to at home and seeks solace in god and these so called religious heads to get close to someone.
Yes, we can protest and wave flags, but if we do not even communicate personally with our own selves, the cause is effectively lost.

My anthem

There are words everywhere
Words of hope and despair
There are voices screeching away from the enclosed darkness of our homes
And there are voices singing them from the yellow of the sun
But when they enter the walls of my mind
And make themselves comfortable in the corners of it
They squeeze their colors which reflect in me.
Then are all those colors yours?
And am I simply a painting made by you
I think so not
Because in your voices these colors rot
And smelled of the putrid past or
Tasted of the rush of the future
I plucked them from their backyard of past
And caught them while they ran on the path of future
And planted my dreams and hopes on these seeds
Those seeds might be yours but the dreams are mine
The thought might be yours but I am the one who has made them flourish with the water of my reasoning and interpretations
I am not blind and should I choose to see from your eyes,
The choice would be mine
The repercussions will be mine
For, only I am the sole reason for making me
And none shall ever blame thee
For who I am and what I shall be.

A day in my Life

I live alone in Delhi. No big deal, a lot of people do. So, don’t worry this is not another run-of-the mill piece where I am wallowing in the hardships of living alone. I actually quite enjoy myself. But this isn’t about my oh-so-perfect life either. Actually, it’s a part of that perfect life. It’s about one of the most enjoyable and unforgettable day of my life.
Yes, so I live alone and although I love being by myself, having my family around is more than pleasurable. So, on Friday after convincing my dad that he can survive alone, my mum came down to visit me, ignoring the killer looks and heart-burn of my grandma (she personifies Shashikala's character of that typical Hindi movie mother-in-law) and many hints from my dad about his plight (For the life of him he can’t cook and actually I don’t think he should try either because nothing will be left of the kitchen if he ever attempts that feat). So, on Friday my mother and I had a very enjoyable evening wherein we went to Lajpat Nagar market, gossiped about our relatives, had an ice-cream and a gola and bitched about my relatives some more.
Next day my sisters (I have two elder sisters) were going to visit my place. My mum got up at 6 in the morning (thanks to my dad, who simply does not allow her to sleep after 5 because he goes to yoga at that time and obviously my mum has to do everything right from getting his clothes to making him tea, because as I mentioned earlier he is completely lost without her and cannot manage to even comb his hair on his own), and was tossing and turning on the mattress (I am a bachelor, I don’t have a bed!). No, I did not wake up because I am a sound sleeper and the world can crumble around me with cannons going off and aliens riding down with really noisy spaceships and I still wont get up! My mum tried sleeping till 7, gave up the attempt at 7:10 and then went to take a bath. She washed all my clothes (most of them did not require any cleaning according to me but she cleaned them anyway, out of boredom or because she was disgusted by my effort’s of keeping them clean, I do not know). She was done by 8 and by then she was fruitlessly trying to wake me up. Then by 9 she was done with making the breakfast and cleaning the house (my mum is a neat freak and cannot stand a dirty house). Although I said that even cannons blasting cannot wake me up, my mother washing dishes can. The clanking of the plates and cups were enough to wake the dead. So, I was very unceremoniously woken up and had no choice but to try and pick my body up to the bathroom (It often happens with me that when I wake up, although my mind is in my bathroom brushing my teeth my body simply refuses to make this surreal situation real). So after fighting the resistance that my body was offering ,I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and washed my face. I then came out and had my breakfast .
Till then we didn't know if my sisters were coming home or not. As they have husbands who will simply refuse to take the responsibility of the kids until and unless it is thrust upon them.
But somehow my sisters managed to convince their husbands that the kids wouldn’t really blow off the place and try and kill them. So being relieved of this temporary job of a jailer they were to come to my place. To freedom at last! But well, one cannot expect exemption from all their responsibilities and roles. And the role that they simply couldn’t shake off was that of a cook. They had to cook food for their family which is nothing short of an army (joint family you see) and can definitely give the appetite of an army a run for their money (or machine guns, have your pick).
As my sisters were supposed to cook for their family, I had to cook for them. No big deal you would say, but what if you have put all the masala and are almost ready to cook your Dal when you realize that the valve of your cooker is missing? It means your cooker isn’t working properly. Did we panic? No we didn’t. I cooked in it and left the rest to god. Apparently it turned out to be just fine. The utensil in which I was to make sabzi for us was too small to hold sabzi made for four people (I guess it never occurred to me and my parents while buying utensils that I might have guest some day at my house or that I will ever cook for them. My relatives really do not believe me when I say I can cook, including my parents).
I managed somehow and it was also quite ok and eatable (I am quite good at cooking actually. And I personally believe that self-praise is necessary at times).
So, with these minor glitches I finished cooking. However, it was 1:30 and my sisters were no where in view. So, I called up their place to find out if they have left or not (both my sisters are married in the same family).
Here I would like to mention they have two phone lines, one upstairs and one down and both are interconnected. So I called them up and guess what, everyone in the house decided to pick up the phone (the attention that you get form your family!). I first spoke to my sister’s mother-in-law but I could not do more than exchange a few pleasantries with her as my oldest niece (14 year old) snatched the phone from her hand, she apparently wanted to talk to me about something but could not because before she managed to take my name, her brother (8 year old) took the phone from her. After this it was a complete chaos! My younger sister’s kid’s (3 and 9 years respectively) picked up the phone from upstairs and all four were fighting on the phone, while in the same house! Yes that’s my wonderful family for you. And what was I doing the whole time? Trying to catch their attention and worry about my prepaid acc getting over. But alas! I failed to make my voice hear over their fighting and was completely denied my existence on the phone by them. Then my brother-in-law came on the phone, and wouldn’t you expect a grown man to sort this mess out? Well, with my family you cant. Instead of telling them all to shut up and keep the phone, he joined in the fighting and in fact started fuelling the brawl. As optimistic as I am, even I gathered that this is not getting me anywhere and I kept the phone without even bothering to say good-bye.
After that we had no option to wait for my sisters to turn up soon. You must be wondering why I didn’t simply call them up on their cells. They are completely technologically challenged and I did not know if they would have got their cell phones with them, which they don’t most of the time. Also, as everyone in my family is partially deaf and cannot hear their mobiles, even if it’s shouting on top of its voice (again and again) and craving for their attention, I knew it was pointless calling them.
It was almost 2:30 now and I was dying of hunger. Finally at 2:40 I decided to have my food as people who know me will tell you that I do not like to ignore natures call (yes of all kinds).
Luckily before I could attack my food with the knife of my hunger, my doorbell rang and my sisters were there. No, I did not get angry at them or greet them, but told them to join me later as I simply couldn’t wait anymore to eat (I could imagine the food begging me too). My sisters joined me before I could manage to get the first bite in (thanks to my super fast mum) and we had a very hearty and enjoyable lunch spiced up with lots of gossip, family and otherwise.
Then we decided to go to Chandini Chowk, as my mum and sis both wanted to buy saris and suits. Most of you must be aware that in India, once married very few ladies wear jeans and t-shirts as their husband’s family isn’t really comfortable with it. Same is the case is with my sisters. So, my younger sister decided to wear my jeans and t-shirt (my elder one didn’t as my jeans couldn’t fit her). Even my mum, who never wears anything but sari, was wearing a salwar kameez.
So, after this makeover was finished we went to catch the rickshaw. Riding on a road of jokes, laughter, light conversation with many bumps and a driver in a lot of hurry, who did not think of us more than human luggage and whose conscience did not screech at him when he drove too fast and nearly hit every vehicle on the road, we reached our destination.
We shopped for nearly two hours and had walked the length of the Bazaar. The crowd was unbelievable and there were enough people there to create a whole new state. The place itself was full of dilapidated shops, and here is where we see irony which can be only found in India, that these shops did a business of more than a crore every year. I imagined the place without the smell of the sweat and the voice of a person and shuddered involuntarily.
I was suffocating and not just by the crowd but from the way the shopkeepers where throwing the exorbitant prices of the most ordinary stuff at us. The fact that people where actually buying them (including my sister) now withstanding. You see I have recently started earning and have suddenly realized the importance money holds. However, the smiles of the would-be brides and their expectant faces along with a pout of a child and the stubborn argument of a girl to buy only the most expensive dress in the shop with her father, were enough to offset the otherwise glumness of the place.
We did our shopping and were ready to go back home. We didn’t find a rickshaw for nearly an hour. When we finally did, we went to 3C’s (a restaurant) in lajpat nagar to eat. My elder sister and I left my younger sis and mum to choose the dinner while we went to the loo to freshen ourselves. After looking at the prices of food items there, my mom decided that we better go to some other place. So, we took a bottle of water (paid more than the MRP, but didn’t really have any choice as we were all dying of thirst) and went to Haldiram’s. Although the prices were no less, my coupons (which I get from office) worked here (We Indian’s can spend 5000 through coupons but 500 in form of cash seems like a lot to us!)
By then my brother-in-law was begging my sisters to return as my niece’s and nephews had fought and blood was shed on both sides. My sisters were ignoring him and I was convincing him to make the kids have haffem (drug) and put them off to sleep.
Although this did not really convince him, he did let my sisters stay as it was already 8:30 by the time we finished with dinner and being the paranoid that he is, he didn’t want them to travel back home so late.
So, after doing a quick jig in Haldiram’s and entertaining people, we went back home. We all changed into my many ‘ghar ke kapade’ (night suits and stuff), we had a cup of tea while watching old songs on my cable TV and some more discussion about my unique and weird family.
Later that night we watched ‘Singh is King’, with special comments from everybody, making the movie 10 times funnier. Had tea at 12 in the night and went off to sleep while talking at 2 in the morning.
That day I did not dream because no dream could compete with the day I had just lived in real life.

A Wednesday

I saw A Wednesday last night. Finally! I had heard so much about the movie that I was extremely excited about it before it even started. I must say that I made the cardinal mistake of expecting a great movie from a good script. Alas! I was profoundly disappointed in that area. It was a good movie, yes. However, I think it could have been better.
Let me first say what I found good in this movie. The best part about this movie was that Nasserudin Shah’s name was not revealed. The reason that by revealing his name his religion would have also been revealed, was something that made me think that if Neeraj Pandey (writer and director of the movie) learns the finesse of film making, he can create great cinema. Secondly, I think that this movie raised a host of questions (for me) which are extremely important for us to understand and ask ourselves.
First, how little do we take into account the meaning of the word ‘life’, whether of a terrorist or a common man? It doesn’t matter who is killing or who is dieing, the question that is left to be pondered upon is that before killing do we even consider that a ‘life’ is been robbed away from a body, which can be the embodiment of so many relationships and emotions. Those relationships and emotions lost in the void forever, never to be formed again, leaving not just that person dead, killing a part of those connected to him or her. How is it possible that these thoughts never occur to those who indulge in this heinous crime?
The feeling of numbness and hatred that is being planted in the minds of the common man is something to think about. The fact that this man, who doesn’t have any direct link to violence per say, doesn’t hesitate in killing those terrorist was something that made me shudder. Imagine the kind of numbness and emptiness, that man would have felt before doing exactly what he was against. It shows that when such crimes are committed, they simply do not take away the life of people, but passes on that evilness to those who have survived it. And we are being thrown into a situation, where we become the monster that we set out to destroy.
Another thing that the movie was quite successful in portraying was the threat that the technology is posing to the world. I work for an IT magazine and I know that computers, although have replaced our best friends can be our worst nightmares as well. As was quite apparent in the movie.
There are multiple reasons why this movie doesn’t become what it should have been. First and foremost the script could have been crisper and tighter. Unnecessary scenes adorn the screen. The actress who plays Nina Roy looks good in an item song, but as an actor she ruined the movie for me. Whenever she was on-screen the only thought that crossed my mind is why in the name of god was she chosen for this role? And please do not insult my intelligence by telling me that a reporter, not even a hot-shot one, can take a camera-man and a van and roam around the city without any consultation with her editor. Only a Barkha Datta will be able to do a fete like such and Nina Roy was no Barkha Datta. The idiocy of our media is well-known but can be please have some sort of reality about how it works seeped in as well?
Secondly, the character of Jimmy Shergil was not explored the way it should have been. Yes, don’t give the guy any dialogue and let his body speak for him. But in that case also some sort of a background, the reason he became the most feared policeman, had to be shown. Also, the character's should have been explored rather than making them a simple accessory in the movie. Which didn't make sense any how because the central message of the movie was how the common man has set out to kill these terrorist before they can kill him. So, these terrorist need to have a character and not just a body and a name. If the director would have gone even a little further in establishing the reasons behind why and how these terrorists are made, this would have been a fabulous movie.
The scene where the terrorist is reminiscing about his childhood fell flat on its face. Was it written to supply as a support to the dialogue later by jimmy or was it written to make the audience understand their psychology? The message was lost on me. A lot of such senseless scenes are there in the movie which should have been deleted from the mind of the writer the moment he thought about them. But alas! He didn’t do it and ruined the effect that this movie could have created.

The stranger in the night.

It was raining heavily that evening. She was standing at a bus stop waiting for her bus, cursing the rain that had rendered her wet. Her long open wet hair were sticking to her neck and back and felt like thorns penetrating through her dress. She was feeling extremely helpless, as she couldn’t fight her black.
As if her hair wasn’t causing her enough problems, the rain was fighting its way down to earth as warriors with arrows on them, shooting madly at anyone and everyone. She sighed and accepted defeat. It seemed as if the forces of nature have come together to make creases appear on her forehead.
She was looking around, as she didn’t know what else to do, when her eyes fell on a long figure looming towards her. He looked like a mass of darkness to her hiding behind the veil of rain, which had by now wrapped the black of the night around itself.
The man didn’t even notice her and went a little ahead; spread his arms, tilting his head upwards and started revolving slowly on the spot, with a huge grin on his face. She looked sideways and was surprised to find no camera or movie crew around him. She was a little taken aback by this erratic behavior.

But then she looked at his peaceful face, which arouse this sudden urge in her to join him in his solo act. Suddenly, he looked at her and asked, “Do you have face wash on you”? She was so taken aback by his question and the suddenness of it that she merely gaped at him and after a moment said “What”? “Face wash! You know the thing that cleans your face”, he said. “I know what a face wash is!” she said. “Then why are you gaping at me like I am from mars and I have asked you why do you have two eyes on you?” he asked. “ a) I am not gaping at you and b) you do look like you are from mars”, she replied. “Why because I am enjoying this beautiful weather the way it should be?” he asked looking quite amused at her stunned reaction. “No, because I think you are just trying to get some attention by acting like this. It's not necessary to go all Bollywood to enjoy rain”, she replied.

“Do you realize your nose is too long", he said. “What?” she asked again. “Is that your favorite word or is it that your dictionary isn’t comprehensive enough?” he asked smirking. “No, it’s just that when I meet people like you my intelligenece fails to understand such giberish”, she retorted turned away from him.
“I like your hands”, he said staring at her fingers. “Would you like me to choke you with them? I am capable of doing that”, she replied still looking on the other side of the road.

"You should have bought that chocalate that you wanted so bad. It's very rare that you get a chance to have what you want in life", he smiled at her. She turned around and looked him in the eye. The intensity in them threw her a step back. “How do you know I wanted a chocalate? Have you been following me? Are you a mugger or a stalker?” she asked, her voice betraying her fear. His eyes glinted and he replied, “Naw even better. I am a rapist”, he said and started moving towards her. Two things hit her at the same time. First, that he might just be the person that he is claiming to be. Second, somewhere in the last two minutes the black of the night and the balck of his eyes had amalgamated into one.

He was close enought for her to smell his cologne. She could not say if it smelled like roses or lilies or wood, but her nostrils were pleasantly surprised to know that it smelled good. She tried going back but her legs were temporary paralyzed from fear. Or maybe it was excitement. She didn’t know which. Her ideas told her that she should be scared as she didn’t even know him and he was going to touch her without her permission. But a part of here wanted to feel what he could do to her.

Was she actually going to let this man touch her? How could she? What was she, a bloody whore. She don’t even know him. How could she fantasize sleeping with him? The image of her father came into her mind and she shuddered at the thought of having him in there along with these thoughts. She feared her reaction more than his actions. She feared that she might actually enjoy this.
At that moment, he took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely and forced her to let him enter her mouth. She did. He then stopped abruptly and moved away from her. He started going the other way and then turned back and smiled at her, “I don’t think I will ever taste anything so sweet ever again". He turned on his heels and left.

She stood there looking at this stranger who gave her the taste of her first kiss. She wasn’t bothered about his name or his face. He was just a moment and the best moment of her life.

Life goes on…

I was reading about the stampede in the Naina Devi temple, in Himachal Pradesh, which caused 145 lives. One of the devotees, namely Ram Prakash, said, "It's a question of faith. The tragedy does raise a question in your mind but faith is supreme. Life has to go on”. Life goes on…this is not the first time that I have heard this sentence being used after such tragic incidents. I have been hearing them for quite some time now. Being from Mumbai, this theory or philosophy has more or less been a part of my personality. Actually, it was made to be a part of my personality. There is a blast, don’t stop for a moment and think about it, start moving about, after all, life goes on. I am on stage and not feeling well, but I have to act, after all, life goes on. There is riot going on in Virar and I have a meeting in Andheri, I can’t get scared and stay at home, after all, life goes on. I had a heart-break, but I can’t moan it, come on yaar, it was just a crush, move on; after all, life goes on. Sister’s cancer, brother’s feud with parents, professional and personal insecurities, cutting through all these, life goes on.
But can we pause for a moment and think where exactly is it going on. If there was a rumor in the Naina Devi temple that there is a landslide, because of which so many died, who started these rumors and why? What happened to the victim’s family? Are they aware of their loss yet? What about those who were injured? Are they all right now? And what about the fear that must have been imbedded in the next set of devotees due the next day. Why can’t they take a day or two and realize the loss of others and their good fortune. Why do they want to be numb and move on when there is so much left to do in the past? Why don’t they help others and realize that a tragedy has occurred, and not just dismiss the dead as mere numbers. Why not moan for a while for the lives that were lost and families that were destroyed?
We always do this to ourselves and others. I remember that day when the serial train blast took place in Mumbai in 2006. Remember it like it was yesterday. Four trains left churchgate station that day, out of which three were blasted into oblivion. I was luckily in the fourth one, on which a bomb wasn't planted. Although, I was suppose to be in the one that was blasted first. I used to catch that train everyday for more or less two years then.
That day also I sat in the train, but was somehow unsure of continuing on it. I was hungry, but also wanted to reach my house on time and this being a fast train would have help me reach my place as fast as possible. I was undecided and almost ignored my stomach cramps and the seducing smell of the kathi roll from the nearby food junction.
However, my hunger won in the face of my willingness to sit comfortably in that first class compartment, and reach home quickly while catching a nap in between. I jumped from the moving train and went to buy my roll.
When I came back the train was obviously gone and there was one slow train for Borivali and one for Andheri. As I live in Goregaon, it was obvious that I should take a Borivali slow, otherwise I would have to change another train if I took the latter. But somehow, I landed up in that Andheri train, which I wasn’t suppose to catch and saw the Borivali one pass by, regretting my decision of not catching it and wondering why I didn’t? In fact I had half a mind of jumping from this train as well and catching the Borivali one. But something pulled me back and I didn’t. Wondering all the way up till Dadar what was it? That is when lights in my compartment went off and my train stopped with a sudden jerk. It was raining heavily outside and no one knew what was happening. Suddenly an SMS came to a lady sitting next to me, who informed us that a train has been blasted. We dismissed it as a rumor and sat tight in the train hoping it will start soon. It didn’t, and the rumors started getting wilder. It seems now there were three blasts. I got scared and started calling up my family and friends. I couldn’t get through and by then I was seriously panicking. I got out of the train and ran out of the Dadar station. I went under the pull right outside the station and went straight to a PCO. Now for people who haven’t been to Mumbai, Dadar station in one of the major connecting points of the city, and is always crowded no matter what time of the day you decide to go there.
But on that day, it seemed like half the population of Mumbai was there on the roads. It was jam packed and mostly with men. I must admit that seeing so many men together intimidated me a bit. I had no clue where all the women where, but at that point apart from a few here and there, I was the only one. I dashed towards a PCO and tried calling home again. By then, it was raining cats and dogs and I was completely wet ( I never carry an umbrella with me). I couldn’t get through as phones were jammed, which we came to know later. I asked a man standing there, what was happening who said he had no clue. No one knew what was happening and everyone was stranded on the road hoping that the trains will start soon.
However, I decided that I will take a taxi and go home. I beckoned a taxi who refused to go. Another one wasn’t interested either and his feelings were passed on to the next one. I was soaking wet and my books, which couldn’t fit in my bag, were falling out of my hands and were almost ripped apart. Finally a taxi guy took pity on me and saved me from getting desolved in the heavy rains. By then it was confirmed by our radio jockey’s that indeed trains were blasted, and many have died. That explained the dead phone lines and abandoned trains on the platforms. I was anxious to get back home and be with my parents. Blasts were always somebody else’s tragedy and were never a part of my life. But now, it had touched my life, allthough not in a big way, but it still had. I was concerned about my friends and didn’t know if they were safe or not. Suddenly two girls and one woman, who I vaguely remember as seeing on the same compartment as I was in, came in front of my window and pleaded me to take them in. I did and the four of us, who weren’t aware of each other’s existence till then, embarked upon a journey to safety.We didn’t talk much and were only concerned about getting to our respective houses fast, praying that all was well with the rest of the family as well.
We sat quietly, trying to get our mobiles work every now and then, got frustrated when they stubbornly refused to and cursed the mobile companies in return . Finally, I got through my place and the relief in my father’s voice was an indication of how worried he must be. The way my mother was giving me instruction of how to come home straight, without stopping anywhere, showed how nearly in tears she was just moment ago. Voice of my brother from behind enquiring about me, showed how he must have been trying my number every two minutes, praying that it will ring and I will pick up. I was just assuring them that I was ok, when the phone went dead again. But at least my parents knew I was alive.
One by one all the other occupants of the taxi left and I was the only one riding it. Suddenly, in Jogeshwari, a mob of men attacked my taxi and were trying to stop it. The taxi driver and I were scared to death, but didn’t have an option, but to stop. I wondered if a riot has broken out and wether these guys were fanatics who wanted to kill me. I am not a religious person, but at that moment, I think I would have flaunted my religion, in case those people belonged to the same community.
However, they were locals helping the many stranded on the road, by forcibly stopping the passing cars and taxis, and making them take the people who didn’t have a mode of transportation.
They were having an argument with the driver of my taxi to take a few with him, who was refusing stubbornly saying that I have girl sitting in my car and I won't allow any unknown man to come in. Finally, one guy realized I was sitting inside looking extremely pale and scared and he stopped the others from arguing. He got a really ageing man and told him to sit beside me. He then came to me and said, “Madame he is also going to Goregaon, please take him with you. We are sorry, but you know the trouble all of us are in and we have to stand by each other”.
I smiled at him and said it was no problem at all. I dropped that uncle at his place and went home. I reached my place at 10:30 that day and my parents have never been so happy to see me. I ate my food, called all my friends to make sure they were all right, and went to sleep.
Next day I realized, it was not an off and we were expected to go to our college. My dad was paranoid and refused to send me anywhere. He was abusing Deshmukh, who was talking about ‘Mumbai spirit’ and how ‘life goes on’ and how we should ‘move on’ and not let the terrorist think that they got us.
But the terrorist did get us. And I think I deserved some time to get over the fear of that evening. And many others who lost their loved ones needed time to moan their death and realize what has been done to them. But no, we were and are, not allowed to feel or think of what is happening. After all, life goes on…

Dreams

I had a dream last night about a puzzle,
With too many A’s,
And strawberry cookies on silver tray’s.
A man made of wood,
With a smile etched on his face,
A silver dress made of liquid blue diamond,
With blue and black laces,
Shoes made of glass
And a carriage that can fly,
Little fairies in my hair
And their enchanting smile that is sly.
I dreamt of Ice Cream Mountains
And chocolate on trees.
Of little kids with squatted knees
I dreamt of flowery packages
With little pink bows
And happy birthday songs
With toothed smiles
Smiling across the rows.
I dreamt of palaces and flowing gowns
Of knights in shining amours
And of horses white and brown
I was dreaming a dream of stars and a flowing stream
When my alarm went off
And I had to pull my socks and walk back into the real world
And let my dreams linger on my smile and forget it for a while.

My golden haired choclate boy

I was watching ‘The Departed’ last night (for the second time), and a thought suddenly came to my mind, while Leonard was exploring his insecurities and frustration with his job, with his shrink, whom he secretly likes. This flustered man who looks much older than his age, is the same who played the perfect lover in ‘Titanic’ and was a part of many dreams for many nights.
I must admit that before ‘Titanic’, existence of Leonard Di Caprio wasn’t known to me. And when I first saw that movie, I was much taken by his oh-so-typical-chocolate boy- looks than his acting skills. I was much younger; barely a teenager and my newly developed interest in the opposite sex demanded my ultimate devotion. So, you can understand why I wasn’t much interested in analyzing the acting skills of this golden haired boy, and drowning in his baby blue eyes was much more appealing to me.
However, over the years I have seen a lot more of Leonard and this time I have meticulously observed the various dimensions and layers that he possess as an actor.
Right from the street-smart yet naïve boy in ‘Titanic’ to a cocky smuggler in ‘Blood Diamond’. He got everything right in these movies. From the accents to the body language of the characters that he played, who were as different as a nut and screw. In ‘Titanic’ for example, he was sweet boy whose only possessions were his smartness and his integrity.
In ‘The Departed’ he was an insecure cop who doesn’t know what he is doing and why, but still has faith in the legal system of his country. In ‘Blood Diamond’ he takes us on a journey of a South African mindset and frustration with the system of justice and his distrust in it.
He has not just played these parts but he became those parts. He doesn’t just relate a story; he makes that story an experience which we live through.
On my personal ‘acting meter’, Leonard rates quite high. And I hope he continue to. After all, good looks and good acting skills is a combination hard to find.

Shame, Shame, New Yorker!

I remember a scene in Parzania, where the American who was friends with the Parsi family in the movie, which is caught in the middle of the riots, is sitting at his desk, frustrated with the religious hegemony politics going on around him. He then starts writing in his dairy, all that is wrong with India. Of course, the problem that tops the list is that, “this is a country where people are waiting to kill each other in the name of religion”.
Well lets just cut the, ‘this country’ part (Which I have some major problems with, by the way) and re-write this dialogue. ‘Any country that allows its people to follow different religions, people there are waiting to kill each other in the name of it”.
To explain my statement I shall refer to the latest cover in the New Yorker, which features Obama in Muslim garb fist-bumping his wife with an Afro ,and a machine gun. Although this isn’t like really killing Obama in the name of religion, I personally believe that stunts like such are a way to murder his character, spirit and ideas, much more worse that physically killing anyone.
The New Yorker is reputed magazine known for its rigorous fact checking and copy editing; its journalism on world politics and social issues; and its famous, single-panel cartoons. Therefore, it was blaspheme on its part to allow publication of such a cartoon on its cover.
Though it’s a common knowledge that every media house does support one or the other political party in every country of this world, maligning the opponent’s character in such a way is simply unacceptable. Religion and ethnicity are two things that have unfortunately come to define our personality and role in the society. They have become reasons for enduring ridicule by many and has won undeserving honor to others.
In today’s world, our monitors have replaced our companion’s face and the impression of terrorism so embedded in our senses, that we trust no body . In this volatile world where we cannot trust ourselves, religion and ethnic connection are two things that have made people create a bond of illusion with the mentors, to feel some sort of connection with someone. However, often these leaders promote such ties for their own personal agenda.
And when you have personal agenda in mind we coin cliches and stereotypes. Like after 9/11 around the world this myth has been created that Muslims are terrorists. Also whenever we have to show barbarians, Africans top the list.
It is therefore, the duty of the people on whose shoulders rests the responsibility of the fourth estate to make sure that such clichés and stereotypes are not re-imposed on the masses and is neither used by certain elements for their own propaganda.

Ek jane pehchane naam ne,
Zara rah main rukane pe majboor kar diya,
Gujara jo aankhon se saaya uss naam ka,
Toh muskurane ko majboor kar diya.

Right...

I have very recently entered the world of journalism, and therefore I like to keep myself updated on the happenings around me. I generally read ‘Tehelka’, as I find it giving me information on things mostly missed (an oversight or intentionally, I do not know) by the mainstream media. Also I personally believe that ‘Tehlka’ does ask some basic and fundamental questions, which the mainstream media hell-bent on making a fool out of itself almost always refuses to ask. So, a victim of my habit of getting the most accurate (I think and hope so) or at least the most sensible information, I once again logged on to Tehelka’s official website. The cover story this time was about the case that in my opinion should win the ‘most- blown- out- of- proportion-not- even- that- high- profile- a – case’ award. Yes, you have guessed it right; it’s the Arushi murder case.
When I saw Arushi’s face smiling down at me from the cover picture, I groaned inwardly. My first thought was, Oh no! Not again. I expected better from you ‘Tehelka’. I expected you to give me other important news which is being blatantly ignored by our mainstream. I expected you to tell me about something on Naxalites in Bihar or some other tragedy like the water problems in Bhopal, which are not even considered to be news worthy anymore by our so called national newspapers and news channels. But alas! You have also joined the popular bandwagon and are out with your own theory of the murder.
It’s not like I had any issues with Arushi. Hell, I wasn’t even aware that she existed. That is until a month ago, when suddenly every news channel was talking about the cruel murder of Arushi by everyone and anyone. The way the police was accusing people left- right and center, and the way the media was coming up with its own theory, it seemed like either Arushi was this super-girl and was attacked again and again by the evil lord, as she just didn’t die the first time she was attacked, or else she did die the first time but the father, the compounder, the servant didn’t realize and went again and again to kill her.
If any mainstream media person is reading this, my dear sir, this ridiculous interpretation is what I came up with, from those absolutely ridiculous reports that you, without an iota of evidence or basic common sense put up on your channel.
And by the way, with the entire circus around this case, no one even bothered to talk to her friends or extended family, or ask the police about the three glasses in the drawing room or why didn’t it dust the house or at least her room for finger prints and what the hell was the time of the murder?
All we saw and heard was how she was a characterless girl desperate to sleep around with any goddamm man! “She was found in a compromising position with her servant”; “She used to chat with boys”. Firstly, was anyone present there to see how and with whom she was found in her room? Or was that servant even there in the room to be in a compromising position with her? Secondly, if a 14 year old does not talk with boys or for arguments sake (although no one has any proof) flirt with boys, who will? I mean she was a teenager. And that’s what teenage is all about. Crushes, boy friends, flowers, chocolates, rains, holding hands and blushing furiously if a boy/girl the one you like, even just smiles or turns to look at you. That’s the age when we all have crushes, which are taken so seriously by us, that we think that we are the Romeo’s and Juliet’s of this world. So even if that girl used to flirt or go out with boys, what’s so scandalizing about it? And how the hell is she characterless by doing this, when we all go through this wonderful stage called the teenage?
So, you can understand my exasperation with the whole case. Initially I ignored the article and went ahead to read about other things. However, my curiosity to know what ‘Tehelka’ has to say about this case, got better off me and I clicked on the story. Reading the first paragraph itself made me realize that finally I will know what exactly is the case all about. I shall proudly pronounce that my faith was not shattered, and the feeling of disappointment not allowed to take over me.
I came to know a lot more about the girl Arushi and not just the victim. Her relationship with her parents and friends were explored in a delicate yet detailed manner. Her social life was discussed, but not to malign her, but to add a personality to a mere name. And finally the basic questions were asked and the protectors of justice were called upon for a much needed explanation.
However when I was reading about her father and the relationship she shared with him, I was reminded of my own father. My father loves me and he completely spoils me by fulfilling all my wishes before they are even out of my mouth. He just can’t say no to me, no matter what my demands are. Even if he says no, all I have to do is bring a few tears in my eyes and he simply won’t be able to stand his ground, and say yes immediately.
Arushi’s father according to the report was the same. I then started thinking, how can he have killed her? I know my father won’t even allow a fly to hurt me, let alone he himself being a source of pain. No matter how big a mistake I have committed in his eyes. Then the images of her father being held by the police and all the accusations made on him by the police, media, my very own friends and family, started forming in my head.
I was scared. Scared because it suddenly hit me how quickly we judge people without even giving them a chance to defend themselves? How we always try to put another person, any person in a bad light and stand up as the wiser, morally right and the protectors of justice. How we are so damm insecure that we will try and put absolutely any random person on the slaughter table, without even knowing what their crime is, and persecute them using our weapons of suspicion.
Isn’t it a fact that the middle-class is enjoying itself splashing mud on this family because they will hate it if there is no scandal involved in the case? Because scandal will mean having a person or two who have a dark side to their personality, and then everyone can feel good about their much flaunted morally right and “good” side.
I wonder will we ever be able to get over this insecurity and start accepting things the way they are and looking at situations from all the aspects and in a way that they deserve to be looked at.

My Palace.........

Sitting in a comfortable room,
On a chair beside my Barbie doll window,
With the sun making my face aglow
And the moonlight making it bright,
I used to write poems of love and hope.
When I used to feel the hand of sadness closing in,
I used to rush into the arms that were always open for me.
I used to cry in them, complain in them,
Leave the weight of my heavy heart and again move in
My world, created with a rubber protection around me.
I used to bounce back into those warm and soft eyes,
Whenever, the evil or the harsh used to stare at me.
And then I used to again sit by my window,
Reminiscing about the shadow of darkness,
And write about the different shades of black.
I was wise then, maybe even understanding,
But never did I realize the magnitude of the world outside,
I used to look out of my windows,
And only see shadows,
Of the world beyond my own.
The one in which I lived and the one that I owned,
I was confronted by those shadows once in a while,
But was never consumed by them.
I did recognize the shades of dark,
But was never a part of them.
And then one day, the protection gave way and a crack appeared in my palace of glass.
I ran away to another room, but the mirage broke apart.
It gave way to another world, a much larger one,
I realized I had many elements which were combined into one.
All my pieces fell apart and they created their own world in many different parts.
I found a new palace in various places,
The walls of which were painted in different colors,
Colors which were not blue or black,
But a blackish blue and a bluish black.
They reflected differently in different lights,
Sometimes glowing in the harsh sun,
Sometimes becoming dark and dank
and losing all its shine in the rain and the dark.
But it was still a palace nevertheless,
One in which I grew much bigger than my height,
And shrank smaller than I ever might,
Have done in my glass palace.
I am still creating such palaces,
In different worlds that I live in,
They are still made of glasses,
But glasses that are much stronger.
Although they are delicate and might be broken by the stone of grief,
But my hands of faith will make them again,
And my mind will always go back to the pages of memories written in that palace,
And will remember the time spend, however brief.

Colors

Looking at the sky today,
I felt like reaching towards it and touching it.
Then I looked closely
And wanted to take away the colors that it displayed,
The purest of white,
The grayest of grey,
The black of the night
And the blue of the day,
I wanted to touch the softness of the orangish pink,
And drink in the lightness of the grayish blue,
I wanted to snatch the colors away from the sky,
And drown in them, having absolutely no clue,
Of tomorrow or today,
Of the night or the day.

Main

मैं.
एक अनूठा अनोखा शब्द “मैं”.
कभी मेरी सक्शियत को सवार्ता,
कभी उसे दूसरों से जुदा करता है यह "मैं".
कभी ख़ुद मैं इतना घुल जाता की
ख़ुद से हे डर जाता है यह "मैं"।
कोई इसे मेरा स्वार्थ कहता
कोई इसे मेरी अस्तित्व की पहचान बताता
मगर इन सब से जुदा है मेरा "मैं"।
यह एक साया सा है,
अपनों को पराया करता,
और परायों को अपना करता,
शायद एक माया सा है.
मैं ख़ुद भी नही जनता की "मैं" क्या है।
अकेलेपन का डर,
या उसका एक अंश.
भीड़ से अलग एक पहचान बनने की कोशिश,
या उसी का हिसा बनने का प्रयत्न
बस इतना जनता हूँ की मेरा हमेशा साथ देनेवाला साथी है यह,
मेरा आनेवाला कल और मेरा माजी है यह।

A Childhood Destroyed

Picture this. A 12 year old girl is sitting and watching TV alone at home. The shadow of a man falls on the wall opposite her. Her body tenses and she sits up a bit straighter. She prays it isn’t a repeat of last night. It felt like her body would explode and she wouldn’t be able to get up again. She starts crying and begs God to make her mother return at that very instant, but her father has already begun to unzip her dress.
Incest between fathers and daughters is far more prevalent than most middle class Indians would care to admit. The word in the popular mind might suggest consensus: the more accurate meaning in these circumstances is the rape of innocents in your care.
“A 16- year old girl child was being abused by her own father,” says Father Edward of BOSCO, an NGO dealing with street children. “An NGO member came to know about it and had the child agree to file a complaint against her father. When the family came to know about this, instead of helping and supporting the child, they deserted her. Similarly in another case, seven boys abused a 15-year-old girl child after giving her drugs. When we contacted the family, the members refuse to either talk about it or file any complaint.” Child sexual abuse according to him is a growing problem and a concern.
Child Abuse: India in 2007, a report prepared by the Department of Women and Child Development defines sexual abuse as inappropriate sexual behavior with a child. It includes fondling a child’s genitals, making a child fondle adult’s genitals, intercourse, incest, rape, sodomy, exhibitionism and sexual exploitation. To be considered child abuse, these acts have to be committed by a person responsible for the care of a child (for example a parent, baby sitter, etc.) or related to the child. If a stranger commits such acts, it would be considered sexual assault.
According to the report, 53.22% of all children in India were sexually abused. Andhra Pradesh, Assam, Bihar and Delhi reported the highest percentage of sexual abuse among both boys and girls. As many as 21.90% of child respondents reported facing severe forms of sexual abuse and 50.76% other forms of sexual abuse. 50% of the children were abused by a person known to them or in a position of trust and responsibility. Most of these children did not report the matter to anyone.
In a study conducted on the same issue of child sexual abuse by Anita Rattan of Samvada, an NGO, she notes that 47% of the respondents were molested or experienced sexual overtures, 15% of whom were less than 10 years old. 15% of the respondents experienced serious forms of sexual abuse including rape, 31% of whom were less than 10 years old.
Says Father Edward of BOSCO, “We don’t have data to prove this. But out of 4,500 children that we get every year, 60%-70% of them are sexually harassed. Street children, mostly girls are more vulnerable to sexual abuse. Although, boys are also not free from such abuse.”
“The people the children trust the most harass them, for example father, mother, tuition teacher, a close relative, neighbour, or just an older friend.” He continues, “In case of street children, the younger kids gets sexually harassed by the older ones. For example, a child who comes to Bangalore from let’s say Mangalore. The child will befriend some older kids, who will gain his trust and then after a few days will start sexually harassing the child. These kids live on railway stations, bus stations, etc. This is the problem that exists in society. The physiological and physical health of the child is not considered in face of the social stigma that will be attached to the girl if the word comes out about her sexual abuse.”

According to a report in citizenmatters.in, Dr Shoiba Saldanha, a gynecologist and counsellor by profession, who is active in Enfold, a Koramangala-based NGO creating awareness of child sexual abuse, says that 30%-40% of the patients who visit her are sexually abused children. Dr Shekhar Seshadari of the National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences, Bangalore, in a study conducted in the late 1990s on 146 boys found that 15% had been sexually abused by family members, friends or neighbours and the abuse started as early as at 6 years of age.

In an article on Boloji.com by Aditi De (and Nazu Tonse), who set up Askios, a local self-help group for woman survivors like her in Bangalore says, “I don't remember most of my childhood, except for brief flashes of when I was about three. I blocked out the experience of abuse, as many survivors do. I was 13 when I spoke to my parents, who got upset, made sure the perpetrator didn’t visit us any more and told me to get on with my life,” she recalls. “It was only in my mid-30s that I found it impossible to ignore the sexual abuse I had undergone as a child. In about the year 2000, a psychotherapist in Bahrain worked with me for almost two years to help me to heal.”

According to a report by United Nations Children’s Fund or Unicef on child sexual abuse in South Asia, in India victims of sexual abuse were abused by family members, relatives and close friends. Says Binoe Manuel, a social activist working with Save India Family Foundation, “I had a case where a divorced mother of an 8 year old daughter remarried. This girl was excellent in her studies before the marriage, good at elocution, extra curricular activities. She was the life of her class. Then she started lagging behind. Her attitude towards life changed. She even tried to commit suicide. When counseled we discovered the reason for the sudden change was the sexual advances by her stepfather.”

He adds, “Sexual harassment is not restricted to girls, even boys are victims of such abuse. I had another 10th Std student, who was brought for counseling due to numerous complaints of his sexual advances towards the girls in his class. We discovered that he had been forced to have sex by his paternal uncle’s wife.”

According to a report by UNICEF, sexual abuse of children severely undermines the notion of ‘personhood’. Its psychological and emotional impacts include depression, fear, mental disturbances, sleeping problems and low self-esteem. Says Mr. Manuel, “The child looses confidence in everyone after they have been sexually harassed. The child then just stops trusting anyone and everyone. Kids like such, lose faith in wholesome relationships. They find it extremely difficult to believe that people can actually like them for what they are, and not seek any sexual pleasure or don’t have any ulterior motive behind their actions. However, if counseled properly, they might be able to get over their past.”

We believe that our children are our future, so how can we allow so many of them to tortured in this way? Says a victim, “I want to challenge this world and ask people how they can continue to let things like this happen? How can they allow children to live unprotected while those who commit violent crimes against them go free? How will the world take the responsibility for children and protect them from violence, sexual abuse and exploitation?”

Before the meeting...

A few days ago, I had my first meeting with my editor, with three other new recruits. One of them was a friend….no an acquaintance, and the other two completely unknown to me. We were sitting in a close room which looked like a typical cabin in a typical corporate house. The walls were white in color; the door made of light steel, a light shade of grey, with ‘Conference Room’ written in white, on a dark blue board. The room itself was not big. It was one-half of a long room, and was divided by a partition of sorts. It had a wooden table in the middle of it, which looked like someone got bored while in the process of making it, and therefore decided to leave it half-way. The result was it could neither be called a long table, nor could justice be done to it by calling it small. It served the purpose of both, depending on the role it was called to perform in different situations.
There were five seats around it. Two on each side and one on the far right of it. The seats were in blood red color and black handles, which rounded around them on both sides. They were the typical corporate sorts, which gives your back a very good reason to complain about the discomfort it endures while sitting on it. Also, when the message of such sorness is sent to your brain, it helps it in revising all the forgotten notes it took in profanity in your not-so-classy circles.
There were large windows in the room, on the left hand side of the wall, and were hidden behind shades. They were fitted in and therefore could not perform their duties fully, adding to the expenses incurred by the company on electricity bill, as the sole savior of the people in the room was now an A.C. The A.C also was not an ordinary one. It had a mind of its own and I think that it was tired of people asking for its services too often. So it switched off the moment it saw that the people in the room have stopped wiping the sweat from their foreheads and have just started heaving a sigh of relief.
The four of us took our seats, two on both sides. Whether, it was the conspiracy of the forces of nature or the company’s unconscious effort to balance out the different temperaments, I don’t know, but it so happened that there were two girls and two boys each on either side of the table that day. The boys were being chivalrous (quite surprising as most of you will agree with me that finding chivalrous boys these days is like finding a pin in a haystack.),and remained quite for most of time.
Now, Sneha being a shy girl isn’t really comfortable talking to guys. And I, although the word shyness rarely ever crops up in my dictionary, wasn’t left with much to say, as I was surrounded by people who by the looks of it, had sworn never to open their mouths ever again. So all of us were left to dwell on random deliberations that came to our minds as we were not forced to stir our thought process in a specified direction.
So, I started my favorite activity. Observing my colleagues. I love observing people. It’s so much fun to just sit quietly and see how people react to their surroundings. Saurabh, one of the boys (the more chivalrous one) and the quietest of the group was sitting on the edge of his chair. He appeared to be devouring an article in the ‘TOI’. His position was quite precarious and a sudden movement or a frightening ‘boo’ from behind could have landed him right on the cold floor. I imagined his embarrassed faced on the floor and a clumsy effort to get up, and silenced a giggle that was threatening to come out any moment. I looked at his hunched shoulders and his extremely formal attire (very much unlike me) and thought about this t-shirt I had seen the other day in ‘Westside’. It read ‘Be nice to nerds, they can be your future bosses’.
Now I shifted my gaze to the other character sitting next to him. It was easy to recognize that he was the extrovert and the outgoing one of the duo. He was comfortably seated and was half-spinning in his chair. Although he was wearing formal clothes, he was wearing it with an air of a person who was used to wearing casuals more than formals. Therefore the formals that he was wearing transcribed its basic nature of authority and discipline into a relaxed and laid-back one. He looked like a guy who was uninterested in any kind of sermon to be given to us by our seniors or the editor. One peculiar thing I noticed about him was that he was mostly always smiling with his eyes half closed. It looked like he was a saint giving gyaan to his disciples about the various complicated situations that one faces in his or her life. I was quite amused by him and smiled at his laid-back attitude, not unlike mine.
Then my attention turned to Sneha, who was sitting right next to me, I was pretty sure worrying about anything and everything in this world. She was quite unsure about meeting the editor and this was written all over her face. I could actually see her mind racing, thinking about thousand different things. What will the editor say to us? Why are we here? What will he make us do? I don’t know anything about technology. What if he asked me something about some latest technology? How will I answer him? What will these guys think? They are surely more proficient in this subject that I am. I knew I should have read more in the technology. I wonder how I will catch up with all this tech jargon and latest tech news. I also wonder whether this will help me if I want to change to mainstream. Will the mainstream guy’s prefer me if I come from such a niche background? But GP sir said they will. So, maybe they will. I hate the food in my PG. I would like to have some north Indian food. I wonder why these guys took up this job. Are they interested in the mainstream? Maybe they are. It’s quite late now. Where is our editor?
I was enjoying myself seeing Sneha play with her hands on her lap and her body stiff with tension, when the door opened and a kind smiling face entered the room. I turned my attention to our editor and like a good gal ended my interesting journey, where I so unceremoniously threw my fellow colleagues into my own imaginative mind-reading fantasy.

Beyond factual imagination

Sheer boredom and nothing else would have prompted me to check random profiles on orkut. I already had three cups of coffee , was done with the little work assigned to me to make sure that I deserve some of the huge amount given to me as a salary (you see I am still in my training so am still ‘learning’), and Harry Potter fan fiction stories were finally looking naïve and juvenile to me.
Spinning around in my chair had also given me a headache, so I decided to give my head a rest by not using it for a while. And that’s how I ended up reading random profiles on orkut. I must admit orkut is one place which if not cure your boredom, can definitely reduce it. I am a member of the Ayan Rand community on orkut. So I decided to have a look at my fellow members. While browsing through some boring, some weird and some really hilarious profiles, I came across this profile of a guy who’s about me was really interesting (Yes, I am not shallow like most girls and don’t just look at photographs of men. I read their profiles as well. At least sometimes.) So anyway his profile was very interesting and so were his testimonials. His friends really had a high opinion about him. I saw his profession, engineer, not bad, our choice of books and music was almost similar. By then I was so impressed, I wanted to know where he is from.
I checked his location and paused. Literally I mean. He was from Pakistan, Lahore to be precise. To tell you the truth my first reaction was surprise. My mind forming images of all the news clipping about Pakistan’s internal war, a Quran, a bearded terrorist with a gun in his hand standing alone in the darkness , brownish mist all around a mullah, who was standing around ruins of old buildings and had a long dark beard and beads in his hands wearing a long and very loose light grey kurta and even more loose dirty grey pajama with closed boots with heels, he was talking something rapidly in Arabic. I could feel the gaze of that mullah on me. The intensity behind those kohl lined black eyes stirred something inside me. Something that could be called fear.
I snapped out of my stupor and felt absolutely stupid and shallow. Of course Pakistan wasn’t all about poverty and terrorism. Of course there were people who had a normal life like me. People who laughed when they heard a joke or cried when they their heart was broken. People, who fretted about their exams and enjoyed family dinners. Youngsters, who played cricket, and felt butterflies in their stomach when a smile played on the lips of a secret crush. They spent more time in their college canteen, than in their classroom. And of course their mother’s shouted at them when they come late at night with a vain attitude and a silly excuse. They ate and slept, and read and smiled like us. They even spoke like us. Using the same lingo and expressions.
I felt embarrassed for being so small-minded and sent this guy a friend’s request. He accepted and we started chatting on g-mail. I was eager to learn about Lahore and Pakistan and his views over politics and Islam. He listened to everything patiently and answered all my questions with such clarity in thought, that he might as well have been a professor in a university explaining in detail, things that his excited student knew and understood little. And he was my age! He didn’t discriminate people on the basis of their religion and was quite open about subjects like sex and girlfriends. He was sure he was going to have a love marriage and didn’t believe in the alternative. He had a girlfriend in the past with whom he broke-up recently. But he was still hopeful about the existence of love and was ready to take the jump when he met the right person. He had just taken a trip with his friends, whom he absolutely loves and was preparing for his final engineering exams.
Later that evening, while walking back home from work, I asked my friend if she could imagine a Pakistani engineer, she also paused for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to imagine”. I smiled and said I met one.

Numbness

An empty cup on the working table,
And a few pages of thoughts strewn around.
A lone hand on my lap, waiting for someone to hold it and turn around,
My fate from this dreadful numbness,
Numbness that is thick and dense like fog on rainy days,
Numbness that takes me to a land where only dead reside,
Numbness that has withheld within itself all my emotions,
And thoughts that it stole from me.
I have been robbed off my feelings,
Robbed in a ruthless manner by this cold numbness,
My head aches when I think,
And my mind buzzes when I hear,
Voices, meaningless voices,
Screaming my name, calling for me,
I don’t know who they are,
Or what they want but my numbness doesn’t allow me to get up on my feet and move.
But this numbness feels good.
It’s deeper than anything I have ever experienced.
It’s cold and bottomless, and makes everything else shallow.
It makes me more independent as I don’t have feelings anymore,
I can now look at things and not feel anything and so I can look and think about people and situations, which had me crying at the mere mention of them.
I can now close my eyes and not dream or have a nightmare.
Maybe I am not happy, but I am not sad either.
It’s simply peaceful in here.

Random

I was walking down a street which was dark as sin,
I didn’t know where it ended neither did I know where it began,
It didn’t seem so bad in the start, but then I wasn’t sure when this mirage would blow apart,
I thought I saw shadows of friendship in a semi-dark lane,
But as soon as I was put under a spot-light, the shadows would disappear in the veil of fallacy and behind it, they lain.
Sometimes I thought it was a nightmare and sometimes I thought it was a dream,
Sometimes it made me lonely and sometimes queen of my realm.
I used to fear loneliness before, but later it became my friend,
It was the only thing constant in my life and something that stuck with me till the end.
A ghost of a smile would linger on my lips when people around me would pretend,
Their pretense seemed so foolish when I looked at the darkness within,
This darkness which I had accepted was what they were running away from.
But this darkness was a friend and not a foe as they thought,
This darkness did not seek for a source of light,
Neither did it require one as it was soft like velvet
And when it engulfed me, my life looked more bright.
They were afraid of losing themselves in this darkness,
While I danced around in it, extinguishing every source of light.
As it seemed like it was not illuminating my darkness but rather penetrating it with its harsh notions of truths and lies.
I didn’t want any myths to be a part of this stretch of soothing darkness, which was devoid of any notions of truths and deceit.
It only understood and responded to emotions and only them did it wish to receive.

Only for a moment.

“Lets make a night to remember….”, was playing on the radio that day.It was raining; she had a cup of coffee in her hand and was waiting for the bus. The dual effect of the rain and the song opened the door of her favorite fantasy. Tom cruise singing this number for her.

And then her eyes fell on him. He was dripping from head to foot. Wearing a white shirt with blue jeans, eating American corns from a nearby shop. Hmmm…he doesn’t look bad , she mused. Although I prefer fair guys, his skin tone is quite nice. A bit too tanned maybe. Also I wish he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous earring. I mean what’s this entire theory of metro sexual men anyways?

All these thoughts were swirling inside her brain when suddenly he looked up. Oh my god! He has brilliant eyes, she thought. Neither brown, nor black. A color that will change according to the will of its owner. I wonder what his smile is like? Is it as cute as him? If I marry him, will he live alone with me or will I have to live with his family? Does he have a joint family? How will his mom be? I guess we will have two kids. One girl and one boy. Oh hell! What am I doing? I am literally drooling on this guy. Don’t I have absolutely any dignity left? Staring at strangers like that. And where the hell is this bus? It just had to be late today.

Then suddenly he started walking towards her. A hundred thoughts started attacking her at the same time. Oh man! Why is he coming here? How do I look? Will he try to talk to me? Will he like me? What will I say if he tells me to come and have a coffee with him? I think I will go. But should I? What if he is a thief or a hooligan? Or worse he is a rapist? Maybe he is that murderer I read about in newspapers today. The one who woos women with his good looks and then kills them. Maybe he is a psychopath. Why isn’t there anyone here? This bus stop is usually so crowded. Over-crowded infact. I don’t even get bus at times. Oh Christ, he is here! Shit! This dammed rain must have washed my make-up away. Why is it raining today anyway? I know why. Because god hates me. He just won’t like me to look good on a day a handsome guy is standing next to me. I know this is his way of telling me that I can look at a pie but cant have it. Hell, why am I so NERVOUS?

The guy by then was standing next to her and eating his American corn, waiting for the bus. He looked at her and thought, hmmm not bad. Casual dressing sense. I like her t-shirt actually. And she is wearing my favorite color. light blue. She has a good figure too. Very curvy. I like her hair as well. Long and wavy. Her eyes are very pretty too, jet black. Her hands are beautiful. They look so soft and tender. I would like to hold them. And kiss them. They will handle a man with care. She looks like a good girl. Doesn’t look dumb either. I hope she is easy to talk to. I hate girls who cant understand cricket and don’t know that formula 1 is a racing car. Should I try and talk to her? I can ask her what time it is? No, god! that's so lame. How about starting any general conversation. Maybe I can talk to her about how heavily it’s raining today. Then I can offer to drop her to her place. No, she looks from a good family. She might just get offended. Or maybe she has one of those over-protective brother or a father who will beat me if they see me with her.

But she does seem like a nice girl. Her lips. Wow, they seem to be…well…sensuous. I want to know how they taste. I think they will be a bit salty, a bit sweet. Her neck, its really beautiful as well. It’s so thin, and looks so vulnerable. It will be like holding a precious wineglass. I think I will talk to her. I want to know if her voice compliments her body. And who knows, I might get lucky.

He turned towards her and asked, “ Excuse me what time is it”?
Honnnnkkkk………..just then the bus comes and the girl gets on it and says, “5:30”.
“ Thank you”, the guy replies. She smiles and the bus leaves.
' Her voice did compliment her body'. ' His smile was as cute as him'.

a few of my thoughts

Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.
Shayad kabhi pura na ho,
Ya shayad kabhi pura na karun,
Par har raat uske saath mera ek rishta ban jata hai.
Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.
Jane kuyn isse bhula nahi pate hum,
Har baar iss hi gunguna jate hain hum,
Aab sapna nahi dost ban chukka hai yeh,
Haton main lakeeron ki tarah zehan main bas chukka hai yeh,
Ek sapna jo mujhe raaton main aata hai,
Har subha apni yaadon ke saath mujhe bandh jata hai.



Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.

Rooti hai aankhein raat main,
Kuynki har waqt khud ki tareef sunnane ke liye
Har shabd bolti hai yeh zubaan.
Jise nafarat se mehsus karti hai har waqt,
Ussi ko mukurate dekhane ke liye bolti hai yeh zabaan.

Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.


Dassti hai yeh logon ki aawazain
Aur gumname meri dil ki khamosh baatein.
Jo kehti hai ki chod de saare bemaiyne rishte
Aur tode har khwahishon ki buniyadon par bane naate,
Par inhain chupakar har baar ek naya bematalab rishta aage badhati hai yeh zuban.

Kuch sochti hai par kuch bolti hai yeh zaban,
Dil ke har raaz ko dil main rakhakar
Awaz main jhoth gholti hai yeh zaban.

Welcome Kosovo.

The world witnessed birth of a new state on Sunday. Kosovo after demanding independence for nearly three decades will now celebrate its independence day on 17th February. Created out of the ashes of Austria-Hungary's defeat in World War 1 the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes - changed to Yugoslavia in 1929 - was in theory a single autonomous state, but ethnic tensions were not far from the surface. After invasion and a series of overlapping civil wars in WWII, a lid was kept on national aspirations by the creation of a federation of six nominally equal republics. In Serbia, Kosovo and Vojvodina were given autonomous status. But from 1991 Yugoslavia fell apart.
A series of splits saw the bloodiest fighting in Croatia and Bosnia. Kosovo become a UN protectorate after inter-ethnic fighting and Nato bombardment in 1999. In 2003 Yugoslavia disappeared from the map of Europe. Replaced for a short time by the looser union of Serbia and Montenegro, the latter broke away in 2006. Two years later, Kosovo's majority ethnic Albanians declared independence from Serbia.
However the international community did not recognize its independent state. On 17th February 2008 the international community accepted the autonomous status of Kosovo. According to a report in BBC, Serbs and ethnic Albanians had vied for control in the region throughout the 20th Century.
While Serbs latterly only made up about 10% of the population, the historic and emotional importance of the province for them was enormous. Serbs consider Kosovo the cradle of their culture, religion and national identity. Another report in Washington Post says that, when Milosevic the Yugoslav President, harnessed resentment over Kosovan influence within the Yugoslav federation. At the same time, Serbs were complaining about persecution by the majority Albanians.
The ethnic clashes between Albanians and Kosovian Serbs, during the Kosovo war, made the intervention of Nato inevitable. The fight for independence in this state that has a majority of Albanians in it was continuing till the 17th of this year.
BBC reports that although the Serbians are upset about Kosovo’s moves any major variance between the two countries is not on the cards. However local conflicts are unavoidable.
Germany, Italy, France, UK, Austria, US, Turkey, Albania, Afghanistan have all recognized Kosovo as an independent state. Russia has warned that the move endangers international stability, while China has expressed its deep concern. Apart from Russia and China, Spain, Romania, Slovakia, Cyprus Spain, Romania, Slovakia, Cyprus are some of the countries who have refused to recognize it. UN is still confused about its view in this matter.
According to AFP, Russia also says that recognition of the province's independence could spark violent separatism elsewhere in the world, including in the Caucasus, where several conflicts simmer. Some European Union countries, including Spain, have expressed similar concerns.
Russian-backed separatist leaders of two enclaves in Georgia -- Abkhazia and South Ossetia -- released statements Sunday saying that they would soon seek recognition of their independence, citing Kosovo as a precedent.
According to Antoaneta Bezlova a analyst working with Inter Press Service (IPS), What Beijing fears is that the immediate recognition granted to Kosovo by major European countries and the U.S. may lead to Chinese minorities such as the Tibetans and the Uighurs in Xinjiang province pressing for greater autonomy. By casting a controversial vote to secede from Serbia, Kosovo is threatening to set up a precedent for China’s 56 recognised national minorities that occupy more than half of the country’s territory. In addition, there are special administrative regions as Hong Kong and Macao and the territory of Taiwan, which in theory have the same relationship to Beijing as Kosovo has to Belgrade.
Serbia on the other hand is very upset over this new development and still considers Kosovo a part of it. It has also declared that it will make it impossible for Kosovo to be a part of the UN council or any other international organization.
US on the other hand is supporting Kosovo and is looking forward to increasing its ties with the country, reports Washington Post. EU is going to send its troop in Kososvo to ensure stable situation in the country. It is also going to help it decide its constitution and help sun the country for some time. EU has in fact said that it may even consider offering Kosovo a European union membership.
Everyone is supporting or turning hostile towards the new independent state for its own personal interest. The world is divided in its view of this new country. Whether this opposition will sound the death knell for this country or the support help it in emerging as a strong economy remains to be seen. Kosovo meanwhile is moving ahead by the philosophy that "The past should not be forgotten, but it belongs to the past and should be forgiven," as reported by the newspaper Koha Ditore.