That sense of loss

When you see houses falling off into the gushing river, you can't do anything but stare at the videos in horror. The hills slid down, carrying with it the entire living world. I haven't lost anyone to the Uttarakhand floods, and yet the feeling of loss has me in a daze. The vulnerability of the people, who were there without food or water for many days is bound to shake even the toughest of souls. The thought that water, our lifeline, can kill people in one giant sweep has left the entire country in a new-found sense of disbelief -- The disbelief at the magnanimity of the disaster at a place considered sacred by the Hindus. People visited Kedarnath with a  faith that God lived there himself and would protect them. The wrath of nature has left them spell bound, homeless and in pain. The loss is irrepairable.

Oh! that feeling of loss. Everyone has felt it and yet the thought of losing even a small little piece of memory can be so painful. The thought of losing your loved ones leaves one with a sense of despair and if its unexpected, the grief is even more. Being caught unawares creates an impact that is unimaginable by a mind that has been tuned to complacency and the thought that nothing bad can happen to us. I remember I lost my children's clothes. They were all old clothes and the kids had outgrown them. I, however hung on to the memories. The red dress was worn when the kid was one year old and the blue dress was worn by the younger one when the kid had taken its first step. The whole bundle of clothes had been set aside and had to be kept in another trunk, but it didn't happen. The clothes were left behind, as they looked old. I still feel the loss. I had lost the memories and I do not have those precious things I can pass on to my next generation. The material things don't really matter. It was the love and smiles that were wrapped in those old clothes that made them so priceless.

Anyone who reads this would think I have lost my mind. I thought so too for a very long time. Today when I see people who have lost everything, I console myself with the thought that the people who wore the clothes are fine. The family and loved ones are safe and sound and that's what really matters.  

A little piece of cake

A man walked past a tall building and looked up to see the end of the building which seemed blurred. The clouds had covered the extreme end of the building. The evening was eager to turn into darker shades of grey and it seemed it would rain. The man took out his umbrella which was a combination of the brightest colours, all attached together and shone in all its brightness. The man walked at a fast pace. After a little while and a few kilometers of walking,  he thought he heard footsteps following him. He stopped and turned around to see who it was. There was no one there.

He went ahead, pacing his steps as he felt a tinge of fear. His could hear his heart beat as he ran. Rain drops poured down heavily and the sound of the footsteps ran with him. "Who is it?" he asked, but, there was no reply. He thought it was his imagination playing games with him. "But, I did hear footsteps", he said to himself. He looked around and saw a shop keeper shutting down the shop. Across the street, a couple, huddled under a lone umbrella, walked by. There were a few workers down the road, all ready to leave for home after a hard day at work. Somewhere there was music. It sounded so familiar, the man wanted to sing. He tried to sing but the lyrics were hard to remember, so, he just hummed and walked on. He had to head home as everyone was waiting. He had to get home as it was his son's birthday. His one year old boy, who had just started calling him 'Papa!"

The child had brought about so much happiness in their lives, he wished his days would last forever. He had never been happier in his life. He was almost home and could see the light from inside the house. He also saw lots of people in his house. He didn't know why they were there. "Oh! that must be for the birthday party", he said to himself. He almost rushed. He could hear his excitement as he ran. The rains had stopped and he hadn't realised. He was home. He opened the gates of his house and called out " Meera!" . There was no reply. There were so many people she mustn't have heard, he thought. He shouted again.

It was then that he realised people were sobbing. Why were people sobbing on his son's birthday? why? He thought. He moved steered himself across the room to the place where everyone was pointing. He reached the place and saw a man lying there. "Who could it be?" he asked himself. He went ahead and saw a man -- the man looked like him. He turned to the lady standing beside him exclaimed "Who is that?", but, she didn't seem to listen. So, he yelled at the top of his voice. No one listened to him. He saw his father and brother carrying that man away and tried to stop them. No one listened to him.

He wanted to meet his son, so he walked into his son's room, where the child sat staring at the cake that he had to cut. He wished his son. The child blinked his eyes, smiled and looked up at him, then crawled toward the cake and put his little hands on the cake and scooped out some of it.

realisation@life

I realised I can't run anymore.. I  CAN'T RUN!! I really can't run!!



What happened? When did life fly by? And, I was so caught up in flying, I forgot how to RUN!!



Today, I have a date with the treadmill and sincerely hope it can carry my weight..

Morning chime..

Mornings are for walks! Well! Apparently for some people, they are. I happen to be on the other side of the fence. I believe mornings are to sleep. But, there was a phase in my life when I managed to walk the roads with the saffron rays of the Sun glowing on my face.  Pulling myself away from the inviting coziness of the slept-in bed was a struggle but I would be successful in changing into a fresh set of clothes and shoes and off I went. The Sun would still be in its slumber, but I would be wide awake.


The fog in all its whiteness would greet me and I would jog off. The waves lashed at the rocks and water splashed on my face. The last bit of sleep would vanish from my face when this happened. I would finally smile and be happy about the morning. The whole world seemed bright and joyful. The sea on one side seemed happier to see me ( so I felt!!) It would be so welcoming that I felt like diving into it. The Sun would rise lazily, yawning as it rose, like it wanted to go back to sleep and wasn't too keen on rising. The saffron light came first and then shone the tiny curve that engulfed the giant ball of fiery orange.When the first light of the Sun hit us, with the waters of the Bay of Bengal shimmering in the backdrop, my heart would nearly stop. I wished I could capture that moment somewhere, but then the best moments in life can't be captured by the camera. They are stuck in the mind and heart and can be cherished in solitude.



All kinds of people -- old , young, students, men, women were on the streets in the morning. It was a wonderland, as everyone was busy preparing for the day. One old man had the habit of rotating his hands as though they were a swing. I wanted to warn him that his hands might just fall off his body some day -- I didn't. I did try it myself (jut once!) There was this young -fat guy who thought he was moon-walking. He swayed his body to the tunes of the music that was being played in his ear-phones. Another guy was on the road just to show-off his well-sculpted body. There were women too. One, a girl in her mid twenties, jogged   in such style - she almost made the world stop and stare at her as she passed by. She, I later came to know, was a model. Another lady, in her early forties stomped in her black tracks, wishing secretly that she would be noticed. She seemed so conscious of herself, she tripped almost every now and then.


 Kids skated on the roads, each trying to outrun the other. Each one dreaming to go on to win the Olympics. (One little girl from amongst them has gone on to become a National Champion.) There were a few kids who, like me weren't too keen to prove anything to the world. Their parents coaxed them on and they skated like they were doing people a favour by skating. There were some tourists, mainly from Bengal, who were busy shopping while the kids caught on with the horse riding and eating. The Kali temple at the beach road was abuzz with activity early in the morning and the pandit, who knew me would set aside some prasad for me. I would take it and sit by the beach and gaze at the waves. The waves are different in the mornings. They are more like a kid who has just learnt walking and falls every time he/she gets up to walk.



I wouldn't do justice to the walkers club, if I don't mention them. A keen group of enthusiastic people had come together to form this club and would meet at the beach road and have lots of discussions and plans for the city. However, there were a few old men who preferred to sit and stare at everyone that passed by (They stared at everything female!!) There were groups of dancers who practiced their art and there were also some artists who sculpted on sand. The sand- wonders  usually made it to the pages of the newspaper and were well appreciated. The morning would hurry to catch up with the day I would head home. There were people who were still waking up or so I thought. It was actually the fishermen returning after a long night at sea. The sea would be dotted with white sails. Back home, a steaming cup of coffee and the wind chime that sang sweetly in the sea breeze would usher in a new day.

Speak up..

Someone once told me my feet aren't pretty. "In fact they are ugly!" she shrieked. I wanted to turn around and tell her that my feet were prettier than her face. But, I stopped myself. We do these things. We stop ourselves from saying we really want to say. All that, as we want to prevent unnecessary drama in our lives. There are however, some people, mostly relatives, who don't think for a split second of what effect their words would have on the other person. If the people are in-laws, well, words flow. The veil of respect is torn aside and hurting with words becomes a way of life. The hurt is covered with a veil of ‘frankness’ or ‘openness’. But, people term it as acceptable and in turn expect tolerance  from the person who has just come into their lives.

The line between being caring and showing that you care can be defined even by a kid. When a person really cares, they don't need to show the world and when a person doesn't care, he/she tries to show off to the world, for whatever reasons. when people care, they try to make others happy and politely say things that they feel isn't right. But, when there is no concern or respect for the other person, people take to a franker tone of speech. Being frank, (read rude ) is a premeditated act  by people who think they are powerful and the feeling of being powerful comes from being the boy's parents (esp in India). The fact that society approves of the grooms parents as being a notch higher in the society, gives them certain liberties, which they flamboyantly exhibit. This error in judgement by the society has given rise to a dowry-prone, rape-victimised, female- infanticidal, patriarchal society.

Why are people frank with some people and careful with others when Frankness usually ends in someone being hurt. I have encountered many a frank souls in my life who had an opinion about everything I did or was about to do. Walk like this - talk like that - your parents don't know - you are slow - raise your kids like I did - feed them like I did. Comments on everything one does can lead one to a point of snapping. Even to the point of losing one’s mind. We are in a culture that tells its girls to respect elders. So much so that the girl loses track and forgets she is a human being too. A woman doesn't realise when her life gets abusive and disrespectful.

  

What does a woman trapped in such a situation do? Does she just lie back and listen to everything and then commit a crime against herself by hanging herself from a piece of cloth that should've adorned her? Does she complain? or does she just bow out of the marriage and deny herself the little pleasures of a happy family life? It is absolutely important that a girl speaks up for herself and in time. If she speaks up when it’s too late, her pain will not affect anyone. Questions will be raised about the timing of her outburst, as it will be just that – an outburst. All the grief that’s bottled up within her would just blow the lid off one day. And, it’s important that her near and dear ones believe her and take action against the people who belittle her dignity. The society may blame her, as the 'society' needs to talk about things. She however mustn't forget that she is a part of the same society and she needs to change the place and make it better and respectful.

When I was in such a situation, I bore the brunt for twenty years. I did not speak up as the family’s pride had to be kept intact. On the first day after twenty years, I listened to myself and shouted out with all my strength. I was yelled at jeered, taunted, stared at  and then ignored. But, I was finally free..

Women can wait

When people have borne the pain of living in a place governed by an insensitive government, they revolt. In a democracy where people are given the right to speak for themselves, a few hundred people, mostly youngsters are embroiled in a sea of empathy towards a girl who was gang-raped in a moving bus in the heart of the country - the Capital of the country. There were cries for justice. On the first day youngsters protested peacefully and the anger of the of the protesters seemed channelized. The second morning massive police deployement at the India gate stopped youngsters from protesting there and the protesters were beaten up by the police. Young girls scuttled under the bus so they wouldn't get carried away by the police and the scenes which were captured on camera shook the entire nation. I cried. Who wouldn't?


The young girls who are harassed almost every day of their lives cried out for justice and bore the lathicharge bravely. Their resolve to fight for their rights was so strong that the momentary pain of the blow of the police lathis  didn't deter them. The water cannons couldn't douse the the fire that burnt within the protesters. Men and women  and children of all ages had been united for a cause -- a cause so just and yet so bitterly avoided(by the politicians). Women leaders from across party lines voiced their opinions at the horrendous act of the gang that had the audacity to rape and torture a woman. The surprising part was that most men preferred to keep their views to themselves. Men are clearly ashamed as they know where their thoughts move and at what pace!!


Peace marches ended and then a spate of comments from the likes of the RSS chief to Asaram  and a few like minded misogynists, who have forgotten they entered the world through a passage of painful convulsions. Oh! did I forget to mentionn Mr Mukherjee, our Presidents son (That's his only claim to fame, after all!) His comment managed to draw the media's glare away from the death of the policeman and the lies of the Delhi police. Today, the cries for justice have died down.. Life is back to its usual mundane self. But, the fear remains. The number of rape cases hasn't gone down. People have certainly taken it in their stride to be more aware and to help others around them. The government however, is busy -- in resolving larger issues like Kashmir and the economic dyamics of the country. The suddenness of the recent Kashmir issue has just ignited a flame of suspicion. Was it really Pakistan's fault? That is a question I'd rather keep to myself, for the fear of being jailed!! As for women..


Women can wait.

Main

Woh sadkon pe, galiyon mein, raaston pe aasani se chaltey rahey,
Main aaj bhi ghar ke kamron mein apne aap ko dhoondhti firti hoon..

To hide or to tell..

Early in the morning when the sun rises and birds begin chirping, I close my eyes and pretend it's night. I keep hoping the night would never end. But, the day arrives and so one has to wake up. I draw the curtains and the only thing i get to see are walls and windows of the other apartment. Ah! the luxuries of living in a metro! But, no, those aren't the only things I see from my window, I also see undergarments tucked on windows. The neighbour, a woman hides it from behind the curtain and everyone except she and her family are able to see the unseeable thing!!




It always happens that when we try to hide something, it bounces back and shows up at places that are beyond imagination. You try to hide from a person and in all probability, you are bound to come face to face with that person in a theater or the market (of all places). The recent example of the ministers in the Karnataka assembly is one such example. The three great men in their oblivious worlds, entertained themselves to some content that was not acceptable in a public place. The world saw them see the videos. Or for that matter, the entire Bill Clinton saga, that the world watched.




There can't be a single person who hasn't hidden something from someone. We, in our lives, constantly hide our emotions or material things and try to portray something that doesn't exist. Things that would show us in a different way. If one does not have a certain thing, he/she is scared they would be judged accordingly. So, the lies begin and to hide the lies, more lies follow, till one day things fall apart. All the lies lay scattered and everyone gets to know what really existed. Hiding isn't something one does intentionally. It just happens - like any other natural action. The reasons may vary. One may be hiding things out of fear while another may be hiding to protect their loved ones from pain or trauma. But then, there may be people who hide out of habit, which has been inculcated over time or one hides things out of sheer wish of doing so.




The only right thing to do is to-not-do the things you don't want the world to know. But again, if you restrain from doing the things you want to do, aren't you cheating yourself. Aren't you hiding things from yourself. Circumstances and places dominate how much of liberty we can exercise. In a democracy one can exhibit their emotions and get away with it. The same expression of emotions may not be acceptable in another part of the world. One learns to limit the emotions accordingly and the only thing that remains eternal is - to each his/her own.

Of brides and cheers

A girl in a saree hugged people around her and cried. People around her, cried too. But, then, something happened – A man who apparently happened to be the groom couldn’t control his tears and started crying too. No one knew what to do but the crying turned into smiles. The bride smiled too and the car drove away.
Bidai or Vidai is a word synonymous to Indian weddings. The girl – the bride, leaves her parents home and treads on a journey to her husband’s home. In the olden days, when the marriage ceremony was about to conclude, a palanquin waited to carry away the bride.. The palanquin bearers would sing on the way, but the girl cried her heart out . The grief of leaving behind her parents, brothers, sisters, and the numerous other relatives and the only life she had known until then overpowers her emotions. The thought that her childhood had been lost forever dawned much later. It was only after the constant sway of the palanquins had lulled her to sleep, would she realize that a new life awaited her. The excitement of meeting her new relatives took over the sadness and void created by the feeling of loss at leaving behind the only home she had known all her life. Brides were generally very young those days.

Those were the days when there was no appropriate means of communication/transportation. A girl, after marriage didn’t know when she would travel back to meet her parents. She didn’t know whether she would be able to see her old grandmother again. She wasn’t sure she would see her kid brother when he decked up as a groom and brought home a bride himself. She wasn’t sure she would see the house where she was brought up. The tears were a culmination of all these thoughts rolled into one. Tears were the only means of solace for brides of yester years.

Things changed a little when there were better means of transportation and the marriageable age of a girl grew by a few years. The brides, however, cried as usual when they left their parents homes. The love that their parents had bestowed upon them and the secure life given to them by their parents wove around them a safety net, which was hard for the husband-to-be to emulate; or so the brides thought, hence the tears. Tears are anyways, a natural element of emotion for all women folk! Brides of course, have a copyright over them. The young girls had apprehensions about their future homes as they knew lit le or nothing about their future homes.
A girl in a saree hugged people around her and cried. People around her, cried too. But, then, something happened – A man who apparently happened to be the groom couldn’t control his tears and started crying too. No one knew what to do but the crying turned into smiles. The bride smiled too and the car drove away.
Bidai or Vidai is a word synonymous to Indian weddings. The girl – the bride, leaves her parents home and treads on a journey to her husband’s home. In the olden days, when the marriage ceremony was about to conclude, a palanquin waited to carry away the bride.. The palanquin bearers would sing on the way, but the girl cried her heart out. The grief of leaving behind her parents, brothers, sisters, and the numerous other relatives and the only life she had known until then overpowers her emotions. The thought that her childhood had been lost forever dawned much later. It was only after the constant sway of the palanquins had lulled her to sleep, would she realize that a new life awaited her. The excitement of meeting her new relatives took over the sadness and void created by the feeling of loss at leaving behind the only home she had known all her life. Brides were generally very young those days.



Those were the days when there was no appropriate means of communication/transportation. A girl, after marriage, didn’t know when she would travel back to meet her parents. She didn’t know whether she would be able to see her old grandmother again. She wasn’t sure she would see her kid brother when he decked up as a groom and brought home a bride himself. She wasn’t sure she would see the house where she was brought up. The tears were a culmination of all these thoughts rolled into one. Tears were the only means of solace for brides of yester years.



Things changed a little when there were better means of transportation and the marriageable age of a girl grew by a few years. The brides, however, cried as usual when they left their parents homes. The love that their parents had bestowed upon them and the secure life given to them by their parents wove around them a safety net but grief caught up. The emotional dilemma is easily converted into the best thing girls know of. Tears!! Brides of course, have a copyright over them.


Today, girls are so caught up with careers, they have no time. No time for marriage. If they get married, no time for kids. If they do have kids, no time for the marriage.. It's a vicious circle but life continues. Tears will have to wait, there is no time for them, especially not when a girl is leaving her parents place. This is because, a daughter is a daughter all her life, a son is a son till he gets a wife!!

Chocolates

A boy woke up from sleep one day and saw a house full of chocolates. He slept again and thought he dreamt of it. He woke up after an hour and again saw his house ful of chocolates. This time he woke up and rubbed his eyes. He walked to the wall of chocolates and tasted one of them.

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He ate chocolates everyday but the chocolates always got replaced by bigger and better ones. It so hppened that he had to travel to his cousin's place, and he was worried about his chocolate house. So, he carried as much as he could in his bag. He walked for two days and all he had to eat was chocolates. When he reached his cousin's place, he was surprised to see just one chocolate in his bag. "Should I give it to my cousin", he thought, and then knocked at the door.

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He saw his cousin and hugged him. His cousin looked pale. "Are you well", he asked. "No, but I will be fine" replied the cousin. "It's just that I haven't eaten for over two days", he added. The boy didn't utter a word. He was overcome with a strong feeling of guilt. "But, how can I offer him just one chocolate", he thought, and looked for it in the bag. He found it there, the shiny wrapper waited to be torn open. He then looked at his cousin. "Will this single piece of chocolate fulfill his hunger" he thought. "No, i don't think so", his mind replied.


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He asked his cousin to fetch him a glass of water and bent down and gobbled up the single piece of chocolate. His cousin gave him the glass of water and he drank it in one gulp. He felt tired and wanted to sleep, so, he walked up to the bed and lied down. In minutes he was fast asleep. When he woke up it was morning and lots of people stood in the little hut. He walked up to the crowd to see what was happening.

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Something wrapped in a white piece of cloth lay there on the floor. His aunt wailed as she thumped her heart. He looked around for his cousin, but couldn't find him. He searched more but he wasn't there. He had to return that day. So, he walked up to his aunt and bid her farewell. She cried endlessly and told him to travel carefully. He promised her, he would be careful and he walked away. The only thought that kept disturbing him on his return journey was the absence of his cousin..