widow.. window

I have been following the serial 'balika vadhu' thats quite a rage in India today. It traces the issues of child marraige and beautifully.. This one episode on the death of the a little girls husband has my brain cells at work yet again..
Why is it that widow remarraige is considered immoral in India? In earlier days a widow was considered an outcaste, so much so that her existence on any occasion was considered a curse. She was ostracised from the society.. With child widows it was worse. A little girl who didn't know the meaning of the word marraige was made to live a life of pain and suffering. In some parts of teh country the heads of girls were shaved off. If i do not mention the white sari, I wouldn't be doing justice to the description of a hindu widow.
As though the trauma of a life full of loneliness is not enough, the widow is forced to stay away from all worldly pleasures. A life of renunciation for no fault of hers!!
I remember distinctly my grandmother, a lady with radiant skin and the most beautiful wrinkles. Her hair as white as the snow, freshly fallen on the ground. Her face as fair as the moon and a cute smile. But it was the colour of her sari that always troubled me. "Why do u wear a white sari always"? i remember having asked her so often.. I also asked whether she missed my grand dad.. I had never seen him. Her eyes lighted up as she spoke of him.. and then i had dropped the question that had always haunted me.. "Eya, (thats what i called her) baba ki death kab hui? ( when did grand pa die) The question set her into a haze, her eyes moistened and then she got into her shell and moved towards the bed.
Evening came and with that the answer to my question, but from my dad.. "He died in the year 1959" he said... That made it 30 years!!!! God! 30 years of loneliness.. My heart went out to the woman who I always thought was a terror, trying to control our lives. I was 19 and would get married within a month.
I knew i had to make peace with the woman on whose lap i had spent my summer holidays. Whose stories sounded like lullaby's. Whose soft white sari was the perfect bed for me. Whose soft wrinkles and toothless smile made me smile. I saw her sitting near the window and went up to her. Not a word was spoken - we looked each other in the eye.. and after what seemed like forever, she smiled at me. I saw a flash of pain, joy and love in her eyes, all at once.
And there by the window, I was one with my grandmom.

it 's been a long day. didnt want to write but thought would write something. My paintings not getting into shape. I am at a standstill and dont know what more to do. The present scenario of paintings is vague and i'm still trying to come to terms with mingling my emotions into turns and curves. The great artists have inspired me to be me and thats what i intend to be. My knowledge of painting may not be vast coz i havent attended any art college, but i know it in my heart that colours are made to be mixed and matched to sooth the eye. The colour black is magic. white lively, green is glory, red- passion, blue- soothing, yellow- sun....

colours make my mind tick and they weave patterns in my brain. They touch my heart and make me alive. I look at the sun each morning and thank the it fr rising, fr making the world look like it does.

Slum'dog' millionaire

Writing had faded into the past. The layer of sand resting slowly to form a base for the mind. This blankness had given way to another stream of consciousness. My mind was full of colours which peeked for ways to flow out through the fingers onto the white canvas.

But, something happened.. I watched 'Slumdog Millionaire', a movie that stirred my emotions. The director like a true artist has managed to capture each scene with near perfect light effects. I was angered by the Scenes of poverty, soul less crimes committed by the criminals, the vast slums and communalism.. Why was I angry? The scene where American tourists were taken to the slums by the junior guide, to see 'The real India', and their 'See the true american' dialogue' had me in an outburst of "Saaley Umrikan... teri toh... teri maa ki...!!" and again the question of my anger arose. Why was I angry? I know why i was angered.. It was TRUTH that had taken me by storm. These scenes are a part of my daily life. i watch the beggars on the streets each day and shoo them away. The sight of them makes me irk. Have I thought of their lifestyle ever??!! no! never! communalism is at it's height and all I can do is watch news and sleep over it. Hindus and muslims, sikhs and Christians.. all at logger heads People die each day and all I do is NOTHING. Yes, the truth has changed my life.. Any Indian Director wouldn't have done such a stupendous job of the book written by an Indian. It's coz of an English Dirctor that we get an unbiased view of the real India. 'The real India' - this phrase chokes me each time I think of it.. The second half of the movie however has hope and Jamal's 2 crores is received with an euphoric India.. Each person in the Country is happy..

I walked out of the theatre- a changed person.. I will adopt a child's education.. a small beginning.