Thursday, August 9, 2012

Cursing need for “Cursive Writing Notebooks”


Like any ordinary day, I met my friends and learned what happened in the neighbourhood.  I quietly consumed information in the form of gossip, pity and fun.  I noticed many a things and conveniently ignored it.  Not that it hit any part of my mind or body, it hardly did, as it used be a part of my “ignoring ordinary days”.  But there were amazing & intelligent conversations.  It indeed was interesting to hear strange stories narrated noon after noon of an ordeal that my good friend went through taking sessions at a Government School like lack of electricity, no sufficient benches to sit, no platforms, high strength classrooms, students who would not listen and so on.  On the brighter side, my friend’s daughter from her play school came back home and recited poems, practiced her alphabets and numbers.  She loved maths, period!

Apart from the regular gossiping, there is this new found social networking platform that we all are hooked on to.  We voice our grievances from politics to domestic issues.  We follow wise and vice people.  Like anybody, I also do the same.  I came across a tweet “need 30 frocks for 30 girls”.  That hit me hard, pretty hard.  I could not believe that the requirement was only 30 frocks.  I inquired, interacted and promised to give them the 30 frocks.  I have still not done it.  I have my reasons and the real reason is my disastrous bank balance.

Mahabadia, a small village in the district of Bhopal has a considerable population running their families working as daily wage labourers.  The families prefer to divide domestic work to the “girl child” forbidding them from getting basic education.  Ahambhumika, an NGO has had a significant role to play in convincing these families to provide basic education to children.  Over the last 6 months, Mahak, the informal literacy centre has been successful in teaching and training these girl children for two hours every day.  Hindi reading and writing plus Arithmetic subjects are covered.  Students show a very high level learning abilities and aptitude ensuing them to start teaching English reading and writing.  It becomes pertinent to increase the learning hours in a student apart from the time they spend at the centre.  In order to achieve that in them; and retain their interest levels, Ahambhumika provides “Cursive Writing Notebooks” for home practices.  

Cursive Writing Notebooks are required twice a month and it costs Rs.40/- per book.  There are 30 girls in the class.  Ahambhumika is not able to provide a sustained flow or support the activity month on month and have voiced their request through various forums from individuals / corporates / groups to support this activity.  The NGO is also planning to provide Computer Literacy programmes to the kids as well.

Actually in reality and honestly, all around us are very nice people.  We all sympathize, we all strongly protest any unjust happenings, we make some small gestures but still somewhere we lose out to see the holistic picture.  We do no approve of child labour, we do not approve of infanticide, and we do not approve of road side begging and so on.  But do we really do anything to help overcome or eradicate or at least ensure to pull down the statistics, the answer is a big NO.

Those 30 girls in that village wait for a courier to come by; that will perhaps have 30 frocks or some Cursive Writing Notebooks or some cheque for the literacy programme.  I will make my move, may be a little late or may be tomorrow but definitely I will make.  Just in case you can do it before me, it is a request, that you please go ahead and be the first and take that part from your “ignoring ordinary days” and make an attempt.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Shiva & the Ganges!

Get the hell out of me; Get the hell out of me!

Graciously, smoothly; get the hell out of me!

Hair locks were enough, for volume & ferocity;

Treading rocks and sand; get the hell out of me!

Eternal promise of this dance that you will be above me;

Flow and quench thirst; get the hell out of me!

Man is my name; I will tie you ever;

Descent to clean the sins; get the hell out of me!

You will arrive to meet me at the ocean

Dare you again not to save; Get the hell out of me!

Baby

Life starts here,
Sky ends here,
Air comes here,
When I conceive, Breath stands still! 
 
Belongs to me,
Avenges on me,
Womb pinching me,
When I give birth, Death stands still! 
 
Toy that was lost,
Joy that was enjoyed,
Poem that was lost,
When I lift, Fame stands still! 
 
PS: Breath (Love); Death (Labour); Fame (Mother)
 

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Temple, Fascinations and I

Slept embracing the sun, only to wake up with moon;

The showers demanded responses of this body too soon L

A mixed up heart & mind that started the spiritual journey very gentle;

Forced up to walk the lanes to a destination called Temple!

Acknowledging independence in mind and wishing this earth;

Showering greetings with chocolates few kids come forth!

Eyes visualised sensation that drowned ages ago;

Crushing cottons beneath the belt breaking the Virgo!

Honks disrupted the raising blood stream;

The bus drivers, conductors tempting me to scream!

At the abode of HIM; the mind wandered again;

This time did not spare HIM and the priest but in vain!

There was no dearth of conflicts and the more when echoed chanting;

Body reached raining the peak and the mind started resenting!

Collage of various postures swiftly into navel, lips and waist;

Yearned for the bones to break but the moment was best at waste!

So many eyes watching the bird so composed and sane;

Unknown to others that the ants consummating inside the sinful Jane!

Huge roars and bells sprinkled sandalwood on the altar;

Only to elegantly walk and consume the holy water!

A mixed up heart & mind that started the spiritual journey very gentle;

Forced up to return the lanes from the destination called Temple!

Disclaimer: The above is a personal view of the writer and anything offensive or hurting is unintentional.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

In conversation with Brigade Road :)

1999

23 running: I pass by and stand 100 meters away
Brigade Road: Ignores me L….(I do not exist!)

2002

26 something: I walk the way slowly
Brigade Road: stares at me….(OOH!!)

2004

29 losing: I pace my “soles” faster
Brigade Road: Glances at me for the first time

2005

30 right: Attitude me
Brigade Road: Starts conversation with me

2006

31 odd: Western me
Brigade Road: Welcome to the family

2007

32 & shining: Experimenting handsome shoulders rubbing me
Brigade Road: Pride and envy…looketh at me!

2008

33 at: Seasoned me
Brigade Road: Saluting me

2009

34 awesome: cross culture embracing me
Brigade Road: surprised!

2010

35 talking: Brigade Road…
Brigade Road: Yes Beautiful!
35 talking: Good Night and Good Bye…
Brigade Road: And why darling???
35 talking: you are not my types!!

I feel safe, I feel wanted, I rate men on the scale of 1 to 5, I call the shots and the part I enjoy the most is when I compete with men to hit on MEN ;)

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Incomplete 31 - Dedicated to love - Happy Valentine's

BIG Heart is BRAVE & LOVE is Truth.

Jesus and his abundance of love could make a dead man walking; HIS love for people was very dangerous. It is impossible to be Jesus but it is possible to be dangerous. As death is the only promise, love is the only hope.

Love in its capacity is doing what it is mandated to and over ages it has changed according to the convenience of people who handle it. It is eternal, magical, mystery, freedom, joy, ecstasy, pain, turbulence etc but no one can live without it. Love does not matter, it is people who matter.

Be a friend, be caring, be affectionate, be loving, be sharing, be a puppy, be funny, be stupid, be an insane, be possessive, be protective, be inspective, be intruding, be jealous, be a liar, be honest, be good, be bad, be temperamental, be intelligent, be a fool, be a pest, be suspicious, be normal, be kind, be sensitive, be empathetic, be a critic, be expressive, be subtle, be sexy, be smart, be stylish, be beautiful, be complex, be confused, be humble, be quarrelsome, be a kid, be a man, be a woman, be you, be I, be anything “only and only if in love” because it does not hurt. Dare not if not in love, not even for the sake or in the name of love.

Sharada exchanged and embraced her parents; offered a currency cover to Nirmala and Meera as a marriage gift; smiled at her relatives. She tread towards the door with her baggage, Jai, Madhuri and kids were already waiting inside the taxi. Sharada excused Jai over joining them back in their travel and hand-overed a book that titled “Incomplete – Murdered in love”.

Bidding a bye all, she walked the same lanes to catch her bus back. Long away in the bus, she spotted a mood of celebration at some junctions, a visible change, college kids were celebrating Valentine’s day.

Love has the strength; it can penetrate to a village much away from the west & the western culture.

Girls and boys were busy buying cards, balloons, chocolates etc. Couples isolated from the rushing world – some who were planning to plunge, some just in love, some going on for a long time and some already married. Love is in the air. There is no rule or advice for people who are in love, just fall in love and dare to fall because it’s very difficult.


As time progressed and the distance terse; Sharada’s working world became a reality. Her long list of “to do” had the first to collect her test reports.

It was 11 am, she with her journalist friend marched to the hospital. Her friend kept teasing her all the way; but deep down it really made sense. Joke is a joke but life is one. Love aside, one realizes how it is important to be responsible in life and precious it can get only if you have a healthy body and mind.

Her friend opened the cover and it stated “NEGATIVE”; Sharada was relieved. HIV Tests had a big window time and she was relieved that she had been responsible and committed. One need not hesitate to take a shot; it does not falsely indicate straying of a partner, it only reaffirms responsibility for oneself.


Sharada’s unending desire for a V-Day gift still remained but this time her “karivala – kanmashi – chandpottu” were replaced by grandma’s earrings.
(black bangles – black kajal – red sindoor)

Sharada and her friend joined another friend at a coffee shop watching all the celebrations around and their conversations continued; so did Sharada’s journey but this time not so much about “her love in her life” but about love that was around.

---------------------------------------------*0000*---------------------------------------------

Now about me, I am like any one of you, a daughter, sister, friend, lover, wife and now a mom. I am sitting in the same coffee shop where Sharada is. And I love her as much she loves my daughter Aadya.

When inquired on what my next book will be about, I said “About a couple and their visit to Taj Mahal”; my friends went red on face; well I had forgotten to wish them “Happy Valentines”

Friends, thanks a million for taking out your time to read my notes, till meet you all next, peace and love

Aadya’s mom
Feb 14, 2010 - 11.30 am

Friday, February 12, 2010

Incomplete 30 Murdered in Love 23

Present 2010

Forgetfulness’ and time are interdependent. It is important to forget and only with time it happens. Sharada encountered within herself that she had forgotten some parts of her journey. Jai and Anirudh had same impact in her life; but the intensity was different. One was rotten and the other fresh. May be after ten long years at 45, this will be just a matter of the past. Unlike Jai, Anirudh will not be anywhere in the vicinity. But they both stay as long as Sharada stays.

Like a trend, on a positive note what did they both teach or leave behind; one grew her up and the other grew up with her; transition of a girl to a woman, and then a woman to a mother.

In the name of marriage – so unfulfilling; in the name of love – so fulfilling. Yet so “incomplete”; married yet not legalized; love yet so fake; a mother yet empty. Sharada was complete yet incomplete. Jai, was an encounter with slow poison. Anirudh, an encounter with danger. Sharada’s murderous journey of love. Jai and Anirudh – Rest in peace for now.

Grandmother owned a “thodu” – a diamond earring (the only one she had) and had decided to pass it on to Sharada; on the condition that Sharada gave her a grandson or a granddaughter. It never happened. Sharada hoped if grandmother was around she could communicate her apologies for not bringing “it” out into the world.

Sharada, her window and the village; this time the temple bells quivered her thoughts. It was 5 am, “Shivarathiri” had started, like every other festival, this too had its significance and kids had started writing “om namaha shivaya”, chanting slogans and the village was loud in a celebrating mood. They had to stay jagran the whole night and Sharada heard them all discussing the plans.

But for the house it was the beginning of a 13 day ceremonial mourning time, some had to leave and some would stay.

Sharada closed her window for one last time, not knowing when it would be open again. She draped her grandma’s nine yard sari along the same poles and took bath, this time there was no inhibitions or fear of honor. As she pleated and arranged her sari, Jai entered the room; like old times he helped her with the safety pin and kept talking to her about his travel plans. He wanted her to join them as they returned back. Sharada agreed to whatever he said.

The bags were packed, parents and relatives continued with their duties; no pressure whatsoever, Sharada didn’t have the mandate to stay back. She entered her paati’s room.

She touched all the things she liked about her grandmother, especially the books Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagvatham, her glasses that she used only while reading, all the pictures which she posed right, her “madisar puduvai”, small telephone index, address book and a pen. As Sharada prepared to turn around, her sari stuck under the pillow, as she removed it, she saw something shinning, on a close look, she realized it were the earrings. Sharada recalled that grandmother had whispered something into her ears “thodu” “thodu”, she mistook it to “touch” and Sharada kept touching her.

Tears just rolled her cheeks; she held it and kissed them intensely.