एक लड़की जो अब भी लड़की ही है, बड़ी ही कब हुई ? पर अब माँ कुछ ज्यादा क्यूंकि जिससे वो रूठती मचलती थी वो अब नहीं है …..
अब उसकी दुनिया उसके बच्चे में सिमटी सी है …..
अपने बच्चे के साथ कभी माँ कभी दोस्त …..पर उसकी भी तो एक अलग दुनिया होगी कभी ………फिर?
हमसफ़र को आँखें अब भी तलाशती हैं ….एक गाना सुनकर धीरे से अपने आंसू पोंछना …कोई देख ना ले…..ऐसा हमसफ़र जिससे बेइंतहां प्यार था …
खुद एक नन्ही सी डरी सी बच्ची ….कुछ गुनगुनाते हुए …..एक पल के लिए ठिठक सी जाती हो मानो …कभी एक तस्वीर दिखाती है….” ये V हैं ”…….लगता है समेट लूं और बचा लूं हर दर्द से …पर दर्द तो मिल चुका है…..इतनी बड़ी चोट ….जिसे यूँ पाया , संजोया और खो दिया ?
ऐसे पलों में मैं अपनी आँखें चुराती हूँ…क्या कहूं और कैसे….?
…घाव अब भी दर्द देता है…..कई पल…अनगिनत पल जब वो कुछ देखते देखते खो सी जाती हैं …..ऐसे एक पल में आज लगा ….क्यूँ? किसने लिखा इतना दर्द इनके लिए? क्यूँ?
भगवान्… ईश्वर इन शब्दों से विश्वास उठ चुका है ……
गम सभी एक से हों, ऐसा ज्ररुरी तो नही, ये मै जानती हूँ
हर गम की अपनी एक दास्तां है कुछ मुस्कुराएँ हैं अभी- अभी .. फिर चौंककर देखते हैं अपना अक्स आईने में
कुछ सॉस लेना भूल चुकें हैं बस जीए जा रहें हैं… .
गम सभी एक से हों, ऐसा ज्ररुरी तो नही, ये मै जानती हूँ
हर गम की अपनी एक दास्तां है
शब्दों में डूबने उतराने वाली लड़की आज निशब्द है ?
हैरानी है खुद पर….. कभी मुस्कुराते हैं. कभी लड़ते हैं . कभी रूठते तो कभी मनाते हैं
दोस्त, हमसफ़र, माँ बाप एक दुसरे के सब कुछ हैं अब हम दोनों ..
आगे और जन्मदिनों के लिए…अनगिनत…… हंसी ठिठोली से भरे …..साथ-साथ …हमेशा…
उम्र बीत जाये यूँ ही, बस इतनी सी दुआ है…
और क्या कहूं ? शब्दों में समेटना नामुमकिन है…बस इतना ही…
For being my strength…
और इस बातूनी लड़की को निशब्द करने के लिए …….:)
Coz if you peep into my class you will be astounded. With wide, open eyes you might tut tut and call me names.
My heart is bursting with happiness and pride. Look at my baby chicks. They yearn to fly.
I took them on a journey I feared was too tough. Much too incomprehensible to them. But how they have travelled. I wish you could see.:)
We talk of ‘sati’ and they visualize. And visualize . And they shrink back in horror. Their faces betray the fear inside them. No gender differences then. No, ma’am.
We talk of ‘dowry’ and being ‘educated’ and being all ‘modern’. And they tell me what being modern truly means.
They want to tell me everything. All at once. Words piling on top of each other. The eagerness and fire to tell me all of it. How they feel. What they believe. Have now started believing. What they will change.
”But ma’am, it was……is so unfair! How could they do this?’‘
We talk of karwa chauth. The very word makes them giggle. The boys and girls. They are all children really. No gender differences. Not until now. How long will they stay like this I wonder?
But I am standing here. Between them and the rest of the world. As long as I am here, I won’t let you tell them.
”If keeping a fast for someone can make them have a longer life, why do we go to hospitals and doctors?” I ask them this.
More giggles. More titters.
But they understand. Are understanding.
Then I ask them. ”Why does all of it revolve only around women?”
Do you see? This is the crucial one.
We talk of patriarchy and feminism. and more. They don’t know the words for it. But they know it. Yes, they do.
You might think it’s arrogance that I write thus. That I show myself for the ‘ teacher’ that I am. Go ahead. Say what you want. Today, I am celebrating a small win. A moment I wish I could bottle and keep. Forever. More moments that are yet to come.
Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone. I am bringing about a revolution. The most dangerous one. The quiet kind .
My kiddos have started thinking. Would you believe?:)
I received a mail today. From a dear friend. Why are you not blogging? Don’t you miss blogging? Don’t you miss this world of words and thoughts ? Why don’t you ever open your mails?
I do. I miss blogging. I miss writing down all that I wanted to. I miss participating in discussions that would make me think and then think again.
And today as I looked at comments from the past year, I realised how much I miss all of you. These two (three?) years have passed by in a flash.
There’s a contentment that comes from being at peace with life. From meeting your soulmate. From knowing that this right here is bliss and not wanting to miss even a moment of it.
Don’t get me wrong. There is a fire in the belly. There is that angst at so many wrongs that are happening around us. But for now it’s all sunshine and moonbeams and starlight, star bright…. You get the picture.:)
I am trying to find my footing in this new role that life has given me. One of my own choosing.. It’s tougher than it looked.
I have realised that diplomacy is so not my forte.
I have realised that I am losing patience with those who are spending their life sucking upto those in power.
That I have a slightly tougher time trusting people now. So many say it’s a part of growing up. These doubts. The whys and hows. The ifs and buts. But who said I wanted to grow up?
Realised that I have absolutely no patience nor any sympathy for those who sit on the fence. Whose concept of self respect changes based on who is in charge.
I have realised that the more I cheese off those who call the shots, the more satisfied I feel for having stood up for myself.
That people judge you based on your ‘look’ on a particular day. More so if that is your ‘first impression’. I have tried this experiment and been disillusioned slightly (temporarily) by the superficiality of it all. Carried the experiment for a week and saw how differently people treated me.(more on that later. *sigh* )
I have realised that I am not okay with wrongs/superstitions that are being passed off as half truths (and sometimes complete ones). That I have reached my own beliefs in life. But I have reached them. On my own. That is the key word.
I have realised that I am an ambivert who can drive people nuts with my diplomacy and sledgehammer approach.
I will come back. More regularly. This I know. For writing. For meeting so many of you all over again.:)
It’s hard to say goodbye. That’s what most people say. To a place. Or to people. Those who wiggled inside that warm place in your heart before you knew it.
Now I know that its true. All of it. I dream of mountains still. Of blue skies. Blue like you wouldn’t believe. And crystal clear streams and snow clad peaks. And waking up in the middle of the night because he wanted to show me the magic of snow falling like gossamer on a moonlit night.:)
After six months…..seems like just a few days really…after six months we have settled down. House warming party thrown (a tad late though) …..all the knick knacks bought.
Back from the hiatus. And I feel a little lost. This was my home long back. Have to dust the cobwebs and settle down again.
The word makes me laugh now.
We are outraged.
We are outraged when terrorists attack us.We are outraged when little children fall into manholes because of civic apathy.We are outraged at all the corruption in our country.We are outraged at the abysmal poverty we see around us.We are outraged when foreigners click pictures of the real India wallowing in dirt.We are outraged when foreigners depict us in a less than flattering light in their cinema.We are outraged when a country flouting all civilized principles and rules sends us mutilated bodies of our men in uniform.We are outraged at the growing inflation in the country.
You see even under vastly different circumstances one word remains the same. Outrage.
The condition of the 23-year-old para-medical student, who was gang-raped by a group of men in a moving bus here, deteriorated this evening after which she has been put on “full-time ventilatory support”, doctors attending on her said.
We are a nation of outragers. We feel outrage at everything.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are a nation that has such screwed up priorities that it would take many, many lifetimes to straighten.
We live in one of the most misogynistic countries in the world. Deeply patriarchal. Deeply misogynistic.
Sexual assault is so common in India that news outlets often use a rubric to go with articles about rape, or reuse an illustration, photo or “bug” whenever a rape story comes up. Often these seem to have a common theme.
No, it’s not a gang of a dozen drunken men, grabbing a woman, as happened in Haryana recently, or one of men luring a little girl with candy to sexually assault her, as also actually happened, or even a more generic drawing or photo of a looming and lecherous man or group of men. Instead, almost inevitably, the art to go with a story about rape depicts a “shamed woman.” Sometimes, this woman also happens to be somewhat scantily clad.
We don’t have a glorious Indian culture. We have a glorious rape culture.
Some say it is about the new western influences. What is a man to do if not this, when a woman tempts him?
Ofcourse . The ‘tempted him’ theory works really well. What with all our apsara and rishi mythologies.
The ‘modern saints’ tempted by women of ’loose character’ to sin. That seems pretty rational doesn’t it?
You see he didn’t really want to. He is a good boy really. From a ‘good’, ‘respectable’ family. But she was provoking him. With her clothes. With a glance perhaps? With her voice. With …… Well. Just by being a woman basically.
You get it right?
Then there is the previous generation was better argument.
This generation has been ‘corrupted’ because of western influences.
But it used to happen four decades ago too. Remember Aruna Shaunbaug?
On the same day, at around 4.50 pm, Aruna came down to the basement to change out of her hospital uniform. There are two conflicting versions on why Aruna was changing clothes in the basement. One version says that she had ignored the advice of the hospital matron to use the designated change room for changing clothes. However, another version published in the Indian Express says that there was no place allotted for the staff nurses for changing clothes. Three months before the incident, the then security officer I C Sisodiya had written to the assistant dean and matron on making it mandatory for non-resident nurses to change only in nurses’ quarters, he said. “Non resident nurses would change in any empty corner of the hospital. Shanbaug and colleague Mary Joseph regularly used the basement unit, which would be empty in the evening and unsafe for nurses. Had the nurses been using the quarters, this would have never happened,” Sisodiya said after the attack on Aruna.
Sohan Lal was subsequently arrested from Pune and a police case was registered against him for robbery and attempted murder but not for rape or sexual molestation or “unnatural sexual offence” as hospital officials had deleted parts of her medical report that proved Aruna been sodomized. This was done to ensure that she did not face any ostracism after her recovery. Sohan Lal was convicted for 7 years in jail in 1974. It is believed that had he been charged for rape, he might have got a longer jail term (up to 10 years).
This logic also states covertly that it is the women who have been ‘corrupted’. Why couldn’t they stay at home the way they were meant to? Sure, getting a job was all ‘modern’ and all but couldn’t the job have been during ’decent’ hours? Shame. On the woman. Shame. Shame. Shame. And we consider ourselves better than this, this and this.
But ofcourse. All rapes take place during night. Maybe we should stay at home when dusk falls. We can lock ourselves up. Right after locking up the cattle.
Victim blaming. And the women indulge in it too. Does calling a rape victim names make us feel safer as a woman? Does it?
Here’s what I want.
1. Capital punishment for rapists.
And no, don’t give me the BS about a human life being so precious and castration ruining someone’s life. About how capital punishment should not be for civilized societies.
And then some more crap. That news anchors, very educated ones mind you, are asking. Even if we give capital punishment will it change anything? How can we change society’s mindset? When will men change their thinking?
All of it pure effing nonsense.
You know what will change a man’s thinking? A man who views women as commodity? As something akin to a box of popcorn? Hey! in the mood for a woman today? And then they prowl. Beasts on the hunt. Take the first woman whom they come across. Her fault? Because you see our society loves to ask this.
What was the woman doing?What was she wearing? Whom was she with? What’s her family background?
You know what will change a man’s thinking?
The terror. The mind numbing terror. The sheer terror that if he rapes a woman he will be given the death sentence and even worse that he will be castrated.
Why worse? Because in our effed up society where men view their manhood, their ‘ mardaangi’ in terms of sexual dominance, it will be the ultimate death.
Cut off the effing organ they are so proud of. Which defines their ‘manhood’ for them.
Because it’s not about a woman’s honour. Her izzat. It’s not about her family’s honour. It’s not about the ‘shame’ she has brought upon herself and her family because she ‘let’ herself get raped.
I want to make it about your ‘mardaangi’ and your ‘izzat’ you effing sick b******s.
I want a change in our laws.
With Dr Verghese Kurien passing away, you suddenly realise, the world you knew, is slipping away. The white revolution, Amul and Dr Kurien were part of my understanding of the world. They were……There. Not anymore. He’ll be in books now. Taught to children as, there ‘Was’ a Dr Kurien once. I don’t like this. I don’t like change….
Read this when I stumbled upon his words on a page.
A younger brother’s.
My heart broke a little. At the turmoil in his heart. When the world you have known since childhood breaks up bit by bit, it’s tough.
I want you to re- visit some memories with me. And know about a few new ones S. The ones you were too young to remember. You who pretends to be all stoic and what not……… when inside you are still the little gap toothed baby I and A love.
Do you remember how we would watch Duck tales and Jungle book? Do you remember Balloo, Uncle Scrooge and Mowgli?
More than that, do you remember how we would all sing along with the title track?
Zindagi toofani hai jahaan hai duckberg……
Jungle jungle baat chali hai pataa chala hai…arre chaddi pehen ke phool khile hai ….:)
Aaya aaya jhenu wale jhunnu ka baba ….potli baba ki?
Do you remember how you would watch the ek chidiya anek chidiya animation? Wide eyed . I and A remember your exact expression.:)
Do you remember Uncle Pai? And all the letters you would read in Amar Chitra Katha?
Do you remember Mahabharat and Ramayan and how we would watch it all huddled around the tv? But how can you…you were a tiny toddler fiddling with the knobs on the set…:) But we remember you so clearly. Mom, dad, A and I. A little imp dressed in a monkey cap and woollens. We were in Jodhpur then weren’t we?
Every few minutes we had to pick you up and bring you out of the tv’s range. You loved fiddling with those darn knobs. And you would give the most gap toothed grin I have ever seen.:D
Do you remember all the books we would get from the library? Enid Blytons or Archies Or Amar Chitra Kathas.
More importantly do you remember how we would furiously pedal our way to the library? How A and I would take turns to ‘lug’ you around on the bike’s carrier?:D
When we would give up in the middle of nowhere in blistering summer heat and the way you would look at us with a woebegone face?
Do you remember how much you loved that besan namkeen? But you don’t remember how you would ask for it do you? Ask mom.:)
Do you remember how all of us would spell out the words for eatables or anything at all so that you wouldn’t get to know?
We would spell t-o-f-f-e-e and ask mom. A little later you figured out that there was something fishy. So you started saying all sorts of gibber gabber that came into your mind.
So if you wanted toffee you would say a-q-r-t-n-d…in a lilting voice….anything that came into your lil head.:)
Do you remember when we would go to Mother Dairy and how you would always take the tokens because you were fascinated with how the milk would come out of that little spout ?
Do you remember how much you would cry when A and I would go to school and you had to sit on the boundary wall and watch us go? You would cry so much. With your tear streaked cheeks and two little ponytails.:)
Every day mom had to pack your lunchbox and keep some notebooks just so you would feel you were going to school. The first locked home she came across and she would say,”See?Your school is closed.”
You were much too young to go to school and much too enthusiastic to stay at home.:)
Do you remember how you would always want to sit in on any talks when A’s friends and my friends would come home?And how we would shoo you off?
And how we would scare you with tales of ghosts and witches and things that went bump in the night?:D
How we would convince you about the most absurd things imaginable?..:)
Why are we re-visiting these memories?
Because I want you to know.
I want you to know that your siblings will always be with you. Secret sharers. The same hurts.The same joys.
The hurts we gave each other.And how quickly we would forgive.
We could make you snort with laughter so hard that you would be choking on your food. And getting whacks from us at the same time.
How we would threaten each other about going to mom and dad with some secret about each other. But we never did, did we?:)
That was the unwritten pact of siblings. And we never broke it.
We all say a farewell to childhood at some point in our lives.
But not us. We three have our childhood alive inside us. In our memories. In our shared triumphs. In our secret tears. And secret fears. In our mischievous ploys. In the way only we ‘get’ each other’s jokes. In the way our humour is so much our own. In the way we stand up for each other still. In the way we would tear apart anyone who would even think of harming anyone of us. In the way we simply are.
Only the three of us remember where we have been. And all that it took. And we will be there on future journeys too. Noone else in our lives can ever earn that privilege. And that you see is why these memories are so priceless little one. It’s a precious kind of bond and a rare kind of love.
Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago – the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider…. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we’ve traveled. – Jane Mersky Leder
To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. – Clara Ortega