Nirbhaya

I don’t know her name. I know her as Damini or Nirbhaya, the name media has given her. She was 23, as old as me and maybe similar to me in many ways. And now her battered and tormented body is a testimony to all the faceless and nameless women who were raped and left to die, who are nothing more than mere footnotes in the left-hand column of the newspaper.

Often when we talk about the women in India, we speak in shorthand. The Park Street rape case in Kolkata, The Gurgaon gang rape, The Bhanwari Devi case, Pallavi Purkayasth murder case. Each of these women and places, map a geography of pain, of unspeakable and unimaginable damage inflicted on women’s bodies, on the map of India, where you can, create a constantly updating map of violence against women.

For many of these tormented women, amnesia becomes a way of self-defence: there is only so much darkness you can swallow. And then the tipping point comes, and there’s that girl. For some reason,  she got through to us. My heart shrivelled in the face of what she had to go through. The mental agony, the trauma she had been subjected to by the six men travelling on that bus, who spent an hour torturing and raping her, savagely beating up her male friend. Horrific, brutal, savage—these tired words point towards a loss of words, and none of them express how deeply we identified with her.

She had not asked to become a symbol or a martyr, or a cause; she wanted to lead a normal life, practicing medicine, watching movies, going out with friends. She had not asked to be brave, to be the girl who was so courageous, the woman whose injuries symbolised the violence so many women across the country know so intimately. She had asked for one thing, after she was admitted to Safdarjung Hospital: “I want to live,” she had said to her mother.

 Some cases stop being cases. Sometimes, an atrocity bites so deep that we have no armour against it, and that was what happened with the 23-year-old medical student, the one who left a cinema hall and boarded the wrong bus, whose intestines were so badly damaged that the injuries listed on the FIR report made hardened doctors, and then the capital city, cry for her pain.

She died early this morning, in a Singapore hospital where she and her family had been despatched by the government for what the papers called political, not compassionate, reasons.

The grief hit harder than I’d expected. And I had two thoughts. The first was: enough. Let there be an end to this epidemic of violence, this culture where if we can’t kill off our girls before they are born, we ensure that they live these lives in constant fear. Like many women in India, I rely on a layer of privilege, a network of friends, paranoid security measures and a huge dose of amnesia just to get around the city, just to travel in this country. So many more women have neither the privilege, nor the luxury of amnesia, and this week, perhaps we all stood up to say, “Enough”, no matter how incoherently or angrily we said it.

The second was even simpler. I did not know the name of the girl in the bus. I don’t need to know her name now, especially if her family doesn’t want to share their lives and their grief with us. I think of all the other anonymous women whose stories don’t make it to the front pages, when I think of this woman; I think of the courage that is forced on them, the way their lives are warped in a different direction from the one they had meant to take. Don’t tell me her name; I don’t need to know it, to cry for her.

The Battle Within...

"Put the gloves on otherwise you will cut and scratch your hands", says my mother. I do as I am told. Its a fine day. The sky has little wisps of clouds and there is a distinct chill in the air. I am standing in my garden helping my mother to remove the weeds. Besides me lies my weapon- its like a curved spear, almost the same size as the butcher knife. Its called a sickle. The object of my attack is right there in front of me- my garden.
I immediately bend down and start my battle with the weeds. I start remove them among the plants and the grass. I do this for quite sometime knowing that each plant I remove will die in a day or two. Suddenly a question pops into my head- Am I doing the right thing? What we call a "weed" is, in fact, a species which is trying to survive, a species which has taken Nature millions of years to create and develop. The flower was fertilized by several insects. Then it was transformed into a seed and scattered by the wind everywhere and because it was not planted in one particular place- but in many- its chances of survival are many. But all the effort put in the survival is cut short by my sickle which is mercilessly cutting the plant, uprooting it from the soil.
Why am I doing this?
My mother created this garden. It is in perfect harmony with the nearby tress, birds and the insects. My mother had thought long and hard and she knew what she wanted when she planned this garden. She tended this place for so many years. But she thinks the weeds spoil the beauty of her garden and destroy all her plants.  Should I respect my mother's choice or should I just accept the survival instinct of the weed?
I continue my war with the weeds. I pull out quite a few and toss them into a pile. You might think I am thinking to much, unnecessarily. But, then, every gesture of man is sacred, and that makes me think even more.
On the contrary, these plants have the right to live anywhere they want. But if I don't destroy them now they will destroy the other plants. In the New Testament, Jesus talks about separating the wheat from the tares.
But the Bible doesn't solve my dilemma. I am faced by a concrete question always faced by man - How far should we interfere with nature? Is our interference always negative or does it yield positive results as well.
I set aside the sickle and to give more thought to this question of life and death.
In the end the Bhagavad- Gita comes to my help. I remember the answer Krishna gives to Arjuna, when the latter loses heart before the great battle, throws down his Gandiva and says it is not right to take part in this battle because it will only result in the death of loved ones. Krishna says," Do you really think you can kill anyone? Your hand is My hand and it was already written that everything you are doing would be done. No one kills no one and no one dies."
Encouraged by this particular passage, I pick up my sickle and attack the weeds again. This experience taught me one lesson- when some evil or undesirable grows in my soul I ask God to give me the courage and strength to mercilessly pluck it out.

What Love taught me..

5 years in Pune has bought a tremendous change in me. This city has changed my thinking, my perceptions, my views and to some extent it has touched my life in many significant ways. Pune has given me the best and the worst to cope. It is in this city that I fell in love for the first time and this thing called LOVE taught me a few things about life and myself. It has not been a very pleasant experience but love helped me to know myself better and I am grateful.

It is possible to love someone who doesn’t love you back. It is painful and makes you sick. It makes you feel incomplete. But its very much there. Unrequited love is one of the most strongest yet the most painful forms of love I have known.

I have always been told that I have to love myself before letting anybody love. But I don’t agree with this notion. There are times when I hated myself beyond anything and there was still someone who loved me in spite of that. But it’s not healthy. Its not the best kind of love I feel.

Love is like a drug. Its a fixation. A fixation burrows into your heart and mind. Its stubborn and won’t give you peace and Love is the worst kind of fixation.

Its painful to have loved someone once and never again. Sometimes you regret it and wish that it never happened.

One of the most important things love taught me was that you can never love someone quite the same way you did the first time. For me that is a painful thought and something that I have to live with for the rest of my life.

Its a beautiful feeling when you realize that you are worth loving.

Sex and love should never be confused. Sometimes sex just brings out the weaknesses in the relationship.

Someone you love may betray you. Its the law of life and everyone has to go through it.

You cannot force yourself to love someone. If it’s not there it’s not going to happen.

Love is not always exciting. It can be felt subtly on a lazy Sunday afternoon when you are sitting with someone silently. You look around for  a second and realize that you can never feel safer or happier anywhere else.

Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone wants to feel wanted and relied upon. For most people its like Achilles heel. I am no exception.

Finding love is the most conscious motivator for a lot of things we all do. Love is the reason why we work out. Love is the reason why we want to look good, no matter what. Its why we talk to strangers in the first place.

If you love someone today there is a chance that you might hate that person someday. Yes it happens.

There will always be that one person who will stick in your mind. They will feel like a perpetual ache in your heart.

Love will bring out the best and the worst version of yourself.

Love is the reason why we are all here.

How I Miss You

Yes I do miss you. So much, that it breaks my heart. I don’t know whether you miss me as well. I stay up late at night so I can speak to you. Your voice is the last thing I want to hear when I fall asleep so that it goes deep into my sub-conscious and stays there forever. It’s painful to miss you.

 Sometimes I want to isolate myself, physically. I want to lock myself in a room and limit contact with you and the rest of the world. I do it because I have to, because today I need to find myself. I want to remove myself until I am lonely, until I can’t stand to stay away longer. I need to do this because everything I do and everywhere I go feels like a prison cell.

Or maybe I should remove myself, mentally. That’s the hardest thing to do. I want to challenge the distance between our minds. That’s exactly what I am doing since the past one month- picking up an empty argument , refusing to yield to any solution and looming in the void you have created, harping on the memory of certain days, days that are long gone. Those few days I spent with you are like summer. The walk in the rain and the evenings in your flat are etched into my memory in black ink. I remember all the things you said, I remember the gentleness, the urgency, the rain, the wetness and the cold and I miss you.

I have taken inventory of my life and I know what’s gone missing. The easy company. The long talks. The secrets. Your voice. Your presence. These are things I now know exist but had never taken special notice of before. Now they’re showing up to make me realize that I am never going to find them in someone else. They are my joy and my happiness comes from them. Now they are out of reach because you are withholding them from me.

I want to regain what I have lost but I have trouble expressing myself. I try to talk normally but I end up choosing all the wrong words, “I am busy”,  or “How was your day?” or “I have been reading this fantastic book” but all of the sentiments just scream out of my mouth as “I miss you.” Every gap in the conversation simply says “I miss you.” And the worst feeling comes when you know all about my pain but you refuse to do anything about it.

I want to miss you until you come back, or until I come back, until your absence in my life becomes something to be avoided permanently. I will miss you until it feels like you never left. Or I will miss you until you can’t anymore, until the things I miss are identified as things and not you, until I can find a way to figure out how easy company, long talks, the secrets and your voice and your unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find me again the way they did at the first time. 

Soulmate

I have never been in a serious relationship. Love has always eluded me. A year back I met this guy who I thought had to be “the one.” He was smart and older to me. His eyes were sharp and twinkled when he smiled, he mostly listened to soft rock and jazz. Plus he was my senior at school but we didn’t know each other during that time. We got along well and I thought “Yes that’s it. Now I have found someone, I don’t need to look elsewhere.”  But then he backed off, because he couldn’t handle the distance between us. I moved on. I met a few guys after that but the fire was never kindled.

Though I am the only single person in my group of friends I have never really felt lonely. But the person I’ve been in a relationship with for at least 19 years, who has always been there for me no matter what, is my best friend.

Meeting your best friend feels like going on an awesome first date every time you guys talk or hang out. It seems like momentum. We finish each other’s sentences. The rhythm of our conversations is speedy because our brains are working so fast to keep up with the other. Over the years we have watched each other cry, smile, grow and we are proud of each other. Sometimes I can’t believe I even been friends with her for that long. 19 years. In that time I have grown to love and treasure her. It feels as if she is a part of me. She reads my mind. There is nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding someone else. The memories we shared, our inside jokes, the laughter and the tears live inside me. These are all traits we look and hope for in our soul mates, but the truth is that you can always count on your best friend to be your soul mate, even if all of your other romantic relationships fail.

There’s no such thing as “the one.” Ideas about “the one” are probably the biggest myths that our culture teaches us from a very early age, which is why a lot of us get brainwashed into looking for “oneness” in all of our lovers. The obvious truth is that there are so many different kinds of people in the world that over the course of our lives we will have many “ones” — the one we think is the one because he or she likes the same things we do, the one we think is the one because they are exactly our type. Life is never fair and we are always going through a lot transitions. And that’s why your best friend is your soul mate. No matter where you go in life, no matter what you do, no matter where you are, across countries, cities, or through different career paths, your best friend is the person you can meet up with in person for the first time in weeks, months or even years. A best friend is there for all of your heartaches and joys. He or she will listen to you go on and on and on about your problems and will give you their honest take on the issue. Your best friend will listen to you talk about your dissertation project and eventually they will know more about those things than you do.

Sometimes people cut their exs out of their lives, even when they have been together for a long time. I can understand that bad things happen and heartbreak never fully heals. But that’s probably the main reason your best friend is your soul mate because he or she is not going to break up with you.

BLACK ROSE

Taking my face in your palm,
you whispered my name and love.
The scent of your breathe,
the whisper of your voice
and the velvet of your tongue
reminded me of the rose.
You were my black rose
the rarest of the rare.
Strange and irreplaceable.
Unreachable, yet I was
lying in your arms.
What a thorny embrace it was.
You were my black rose,
with your brooding black eyes,
whispers, delicate touch, musky smell,
and the satiny lips caressing
every pore of my body.
But you were the black rose,
thorny, cruel and black.
And as the rose withers
so did you.
Going far, far away,
making me fade into oblivion.

Silence

Yesterday while cleaning my cupboard I found my old diary. I had forgotten about it's existence. The cover has faded and it smells like dust. The writing inside has faded a little but I could still read it. I found a bundle of your photographs stacked inside. All the memories came rushing back. I was wondering what you look like now. I t has been a long time since I saw you.
I don't know whether you are dating someone. I wonder whether our relation meant anything to you or did it just turn into random Skype sessions with a girl you had met on the bus.
I still wear the nose stud you liked so much. I still tie my hair the way you liked. I still can't walk past Gloria Jeans coffee shop without thinking about you. I always see us sitting on that same table drinking cappuccino and eating blueberry muffins, looking out of the glass at the passing traffic.
The color navy blue reminds me of you.
I have always liked long distance relationships. I know you don't. You never asked why I liked them. Trust is the foundation of a relationship. If you can trust a person who lives thousands of miles away, then that's beautiful. Yes, we never got to kiss and hug a lot but we did get to talk, see and hear each other several times. It was amazing when we met each other. We fought less and laughed more. It was beautiful.
I respect anyone who is in a long distance relationship. They are harder than a lot of things but they are worth it in the end.
I kept all your secrets and I still think you are hot even if you haven't got those six pack abs.
I think about the bus journey, Limca, the sugar packets, the coffee, your smile, the hug, the silence and you.
When I run into you someday can I ask why we stopped talking?

Without You

One you said, "you are my world".
And I replied, "I am only a part of your world".
Today when I remember it, I realize
how right you were........
for without you I am left without  a world..

A Requiem

How indifferent we are today!
That a day we were one,
seems to be a dream.
I colored myself in your like,
you took on the colors of my imagination.
Now with a shroud on me I lie
in the coffin of our heart.

The Khan Khan Dance

The other day I going through the newspaper with my usual evening cuppa when I came across a news about our King Khan. SRK was detained at the White Plains airport, near New York was almost 2 hours. He had been invited by the Yale University to deliver a lecture and had arrived by a private plane with Neeta Ambani on Thursday. Ambani and the others got immediate clearance but Khan was detained for 2 hours. He was later freed after the Yale University officials contacted the homeland security and the custom officials. The detention obviously sparked of an angry reaction. "The US should stop this policy of detention and apology", said an angry SM Krishna. The External Affairs minister asked ambassador Nirupama Rao to talk to the highest US authorities. The diplomat from the US embassy also apologised. In short it was a big fuss.


While reading the report and the reaction of our government I experienced irritation about the whole fuss. Its annoying to read how our celebrities go abroad and throw tantrums when they are questioned by the security agencies. What is more irritating is the reaction of our government. The alacrity with which the government reacts and the way politicians express their indignation at the insult to our celebrity and by extension to our great democracy is simply stupid


Shah Rukh Khan was detained for 2 hours and let off. Big Deal! Whats all the fuss about? It happens to many people all the time. USA is a nation which has faced a major terror attack and it is very strict about security. If they have a name on their list which matches the name of our superstar, they would do their job. I think we should be grateful about this as they are doing it for the security of millions of people. This has become a part and parcel of International travelling and there are many stories about various celebrities being detained and questioned at length. How often have you heard of any such stories about these celebrities and their countries reacting angrily and making a fuss out of the whole thing?


SRK is neither Abdul Kalam or any top government official who is travelling abroad on the behalf of our country. No doubt he is a superstar but unfortunately the US officials are not going to fawn over him like people here in India do. If he is interrogated, he has to fight it, which I believe he did and once they were convinced he is no ordinary Indian after having heard from the Yale University guys that he is indeed a famous Indian personality, they let him go, with an apology. What’s wrong? Why does the government have to jump and demand an explanation? Where was the need for the Indian external affairs minister S M Krishna to ask the ambassador to the US to take it up with the authorities? Doesn't he have more important matters to attend to?


In the recent IPL game in Jaipur SRK walked into the stadium, with his pack of cigarettes and smoked openly, in full view of public and was shown live on TV. Why didn’t the govt act with the same alacrity then and haul him up?

After reaching Yale University, Shah Rukh said "Whenever I start feeling too arrogant about myself, I always take a trip to America. The immigration guys kick the star out of stardom”. Wouldn’t it have been great if the security men in Jaipur too had kicked the ‘star out of stardom’? Wonder how the government would have reacted then! 
Our government should get a life and concentrated more on public welfare issues and the eradication of corruption rather than these mundane things.

A Reverie

What is Present?

It is just an oppurtunity bestowed on us to recall the past and plan the future. This oppurtunity due to this presence of the past and the future deprives us from realising and enjoying the present. It is only after the present becomes stale that we take interest in it to interpret what had once happened in our life. But at this juncture we interpret everything that has happened in a subective manner. It is through our personal perspective that the past evolves. Unfortunately it is not to understand the past properly that we interpret past, moreover we intrepret past to justify our own behaviour or as an evidence of what we have gone through. Then what happens to the truth that has been revealed itself at that time? As usual it gets buried deep down waiting to be explored . How tragic that truth has to live such a prolonged life and how tragic will this human life will be which is asked to remain close to the truth. 

Simplicity At Its Best

I love reading. I read when I am alone, I read when I am sad, I read when I am happy. It gives me a strange pleasure to open a book and read what the author wants to say. It lightens my heart and cheers me up. I do not restrict myself to a particular genre because then I feel I am being unfair to myself, that I am denying myself so much wisdom. Therefore, I have treated myself to a plethora of different genres. Currently, I am reading a short story collection of Ruskin Bond named "The Night Train at Deoli and other stories".

The book contains some 30 short stories. All these stories are set in the beautiful valley of Uttarkhand, where Ruskin Bond has made his home. This is one of the main reasons why I am enjoying this book. I have an unexplained affinity and love for the hills. One can learn a lot from them. The Hills teach one to remain firm and face all obstacles and challenges in life. One experiences a calmness of the mind by just looking at the hills. The stories in this book give a warm and intimate portrait of life in the Himalayan foothills. The book portrays delightful satires about village officials and small-town braggarts. One of the best features about this book is that Ruskin Bond writes about people who unconsciously or discerningly need each other: people in love or in need of love, the timid lover and the lonely adult. There are stories which mourn the dissapearing beauty of the mountians and the people who live in them. There are stories about love, loss, regret and lonelinesss.

I experience a refreshing change while reading this book. For a change it is not about pychopathic killers, impotent war-heroes, emotionally tortured film stars or some secret agent. This short story collection is about people one confronts in daily life, it is about places where has gone or where one longs to go. The stories talk about, love, longing, about something left behind but still close to the heart. There is a good deal of romance in these stories which makes the reader connect to the theme. I always think that one can't really write unless one is in love with the subject. The romance in this book is associated with trains. People are always travelling in trains and going places, but just occasionally two people meet and their paths cross and they become one or they might part but their lifes have been changed in some unexplained way.


The Night Train at Deoli is my favourite story in the collection. It is a beautiful story of unrequited love which I am sure all of us have experienced at some point of time and I am no exception. Its a poignant story which touched my heart. The story is narrated in the first person by a college boy. The boy is travelling by train to Dehra Dun to spend his vacations at his grandmother's house. On its journey up the hills, the train stops at Deoli, a lonely station.'Why it stopped at Deoli I don't know. Nothing ever happened there. Nobody got off the train and nobody got in. There were never any coolies on the platform. But the train would halt there a full ten minutes, and a bell would sound, the guard would blow his whistle, and presently Deoli would be left behind and forgotten', a simple yet beautiful description of Deoli.
There the boy meets a girl selling baskets and is smitten by her. He cannot forget her and looks out for her during the return journey. He is thrilled to see her and she is happy that he remembered her. But now it is time for the lovers to part.'I felt the impulse to put her on the train there and then..I caught her hand and held it.."I have to go to Delhi", I said...she nodded , "I do not have to go anywhere"..the guard blew his whislte..and how I hated the guard for doing that...poignant and touching line. It is my favourite because the story is about longing. A longing for someone who is out of reach. The longing after something lost.

The tales in this book have given me a new perspective. They help me to understand people around me and they accompany me sometimes when I wish to go back to my soliterary moments of lonliness.

Musings Of a Young Citizen

26th January 2012
Enough reason for us to feel patriotic and pround. Enough reason to feel the need to do something for our country. I am no exception. Today i also felt the need to voice out my opinion on the significance of Republic Day. Its a small contribution since I am definitly not planning to get all sentimental and emotional today.
First and foremost, I am writing this only for myself and not to shove it down anybody's mental esophagus.
 26th January 1950, the day India became a republic, the day Indian became free in the true sense. We were free to form our own government, choose our own representatives and free to form our own policies and ideology. Many things happened. High strung government tensions, wars were fought, emergencies declared, governments came and went, people were assasinated, population exploded, India became global, naxalites attacked, tsunamis hit us, earthquakes moved us, students went abroad, missiles were made, our country formed associations with the biggest brains and wallets of the world, but people still continued to live.
Yet somethings is missing. There is an abyss, a void which has to be filled. Do you not feel it?
I feel it everytime. While walking on the road I see the big hoardings loudly proclaiming 'Bharat Mata Ki Jai'!
I see the processions on the road and the youth screaming their guts out, declaring the glory of their country. And then suddenly I see an overflowing garbage bin and next to it an old, frail man selling flags. He is not celebrating. Ah! Right in the middle of the road a car comes zooming, and the driver spits and rolls of. Yes right in the middle of the road!! A happy Political party waving their flag around and campaining. The sorry sights are not quite over. There by the alcohol shop, a group of youngsters are preparing for tonights party.

And now comes the day after, 27th January. I have seen enough of these days to predict what happens. The banners and the flags are wrapped up and stored for reuse. Else their fate lies in being lumps of paper in which food or other sanitary materials should be disposed off. Or sometimes they are just thrown on the roads finding their way under cars and trucks or a cow might try digesting them. SAD.

If this was not enough here are a few things to ponder on. Why do the cheers of 'Vande Mataram' resonate louder during cricket matches than on such days which we should cherish? Why when everyday the anthem is being sung, there has to be one person in the crowd scratching his back? Why do the rich abuse their responsibilty? Why do riots break out at every 'implied' insult?  What went wrong?

There is no use in blaming politics and politcians. I am talking about US. The Citizens. I am not preaching. I am not going to join any demonstrations and I am certainly not joining politics. But yes, there are a few things I will do today. I will give atleast one needy person something to eat. I will buy a flag and stick it on my board and see it everyday and think about the country for a minute. I shall get back to work again because i wish to make my country proud. 
 Till today our great country has survived everything. It has survived foreign rule, internal violence, wars, terrorism, partition, surviving calamities sent by God and survived calamities created by man. And now its time to stop surviving and start living! Its high time now, INDIA, to live up to the hopes that were placed in u 62 years a ago. We have the strenght, we have the potential and we have the courage to dream.
65 years ago, it was a million tiny drops of blood, a million whispered words and a million hearts that gave us our country. And a million hearts, a million thinking minds and a million proud Indians today can build our country.