Shining from Within.

Late last night, I was woken up by a dream about my childhood friend who I'm no longer in touch with. I felt an urgent need to talk to her but stayed away from my phone. Don't you just hate it when a certain sporadic incident brings back every happy memory you've shared with a person you no longer want to see ? The clock said 3.06 and I knew sleep had sold me to insomnia. I switched on the lights and stared at myself in the mirror, typical, I know, but can't help. I looked funny, with my hair exploring all possible directions, but nevertheless, it was a cute sight. Strangely, I never find myself pretty when I doll up.

I sunk back into bed and lamely started thinking about what qualifications does one need to be called beautiful. Yesterday morning, I had seen a woman commit suicide because her husband constantly butchered her self confidence by criticizing every part of her physical being. The show was 'Satyameva Jayate' and before everything else, I'd applaud Aamir Khan for his bold initiative. That woman's face popped up inside my head again and again and I couldn't help but wonder, what kind of a man would do that.

I don't have silk threads on my head and its a rare in a million chance that they decide to obey me and stay where I want them to. Teenage has left its footprints on my face. I'm an average 5'3" and I bite my lips whenever my mother is out of sight. Does all this make me less of a person that I want to be ?

Isn't it all about what you're wearing under your skin ?

I am She.

This post has won the second prize in the Stayfree's 'Time to Change' contest.

Note : Every word written in this article is close to my heart because I, like every other girl, have been a victim myself. Forgive me if my views hurt you in any way.

She was groped in a train when she was 11. A middle aged man pushed her aside while entering the toilet and squeezed her butt. She ran to her mother and never left her side for the rest of the journey. The pain vanished in a couple of minutes but the after-effects did not.

The bus was crowded, little could she do about it. She got in somehow, amidst the valiant touching and staring of the five men standing on the footsteps. A round of hi fives is heard. The old man couldn't keep his itchy hands in his pocket and made sure he pressed himself onto her whenever the driver applied the brakes. She got out at the very next stop. She bathed thrice and felt like she'll never feel clean again.

She was walking her way to the gym and two boys in their late teens brushed by her side on their bike. One of them even took the liberty of touching her breasts inappropriately and then smirked in the delight of the new found information about how 'cool' he is. Before she could understand what just happened, they were out of sight. She turned around and silently headed home, her body felt violated.

She was felt up her school skirt in lure of the conductor pretending to help her get down the bus. Not a word of this was ever spoken to anybody.

In the close confinements of the auto rickshaw, he manages to get a hold and starts masturbating while shamelessly staring at her skirt. Her whole being seethes with anger and she shouts at the driver to stop. She wants to yell 'my dress is not a yes', but follows the road that is always taken and walks away. He smiles and counts upon doing the same to the next passenger. He won. And she lost. Again.

Sometimes I am cruelly put to death as a foetus and when I do get to live, I am expected to tolerate such filth without uttering a word of it to anybody. I have the qualification to earn for myself, I am raped and I am burnt. I am a woman of independent India.

I am She.

She burns with rage when the authorities refuse to walk that extra mile to help her and blame her assumed provocative clothing. She becomes the talk of the town, is discussed over kitty parties by wealthy socialites while sipping their tea, the paparazzi sleeps outside her home for days only to get a statement that can be blown off in the next morning's newspaper.

No man ever marries her and she is served the bitter taste of brutal injustice.

Call me a feminist or a sexist if you must, but being a girl in her early twenties who is not allowed to go to the nearby chemist shop all by her self for the fear of getting marred or molested by a stranger, I don't have a better argument for you. A man once waved a 500Rs note and signaled me to get into his car when I was around sixteen, I felt utterly humiliated and started walking faster towards home. Even if I step out in a burqa covering every inch of my exposed skin, I would be humiliated if those perverts catch a glimpse. None of the incidents mentioned above have been created by my mind, they are well read and make me feel ashamed of being a citizen of such a country. Complaints are written, signed, investigated and then filed away to bite dust. In severe cases, the victim is blamed and boycotted off the society. Nothing that I write here would make a change, until we get out there and try to raise a voice against it. Their temptation exceeds their sanity, but we have to provide proof that ours doesn't. Eve teasing has become a frivolous term now, it is more of sexual harassment, filthy remarks, lewd comments and obscene gestures, be it verbal or physical. Any woman who steps out of her private sphere does not invite this upon herself, as it is quoted. It is not common anymore.

Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandes are my heroes. Despite the apparent quiet of our youth, they fought against this evil act in Mumbai and were stabbed to death by the monsters. At least they had the heart to stand up and put up a fight. But it also plays with a lot of minds when they wonder will we also meet the same fate if we raise our voices ? After the recent twin rapes in Gurgaon, the police issued a notice telling women to stay indoors after 8pm if they don't want to get raped. It sure drew protests from across Delhi-NCR (or should I say National Capital of Rape ?) but to no avail.

If I could be the change I want to see in the world around me, it would be getting rid of this menace called eve teasing. As and how I'm growing up, I realize and understand why my father over-protects me. But I really wonder if that is the only solution ?

I very well know that a lot has been written and spoken about eve-teasing and sexual abuse, and a lot will still pop up on this contest as well, but since this contest came up at the eve of women's day, I wrote about the issue that is closest to my heart. I can never forget the humiliation that I felt when that note was waved at my face.

All the best to all those who are participating in this contest.

This post is an Official entry for Stayfree's Time To Change hosted by IndiBlogger.

Visit the Facebook page for further indulgence into Stayfree's campaign to bring about a change.

http://www.facebook.com/sftimetochange

'Down The Road' - A Book Review

This review is a part of Book Review program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books.

Evoked Déjà vu !!

Title: Down The Road

Edited by: Ahmed Faiyaz and Rohini Kejriwal

Publisher: Grey Oak Westland

Published: 2011

Pages: 225

Price: Rs. 195

Genre: Campus Fiction- Short Stories

Down The Road is an eclectic compilation of twenty eight campus tales by sixteen authors. Some writers, some bloggers and some even writing for the first time. A small bunch are still living their campus lives in different parts of the country right now and that made their stories a little extra niche above the others. The whole flavor of the book binds you and impatiently wants you to move to the next one in store. It couldn't have been titled more aptly. I finished with college last year and this book evoked waves of déjà vu for me.

Caffeinated long assignments, punishments, a look here, a smile there, jumping at the sight of food like you're kept starved at home, fighting, crying, laughing your brains out, breaking up, little sweet gestures and then patching up, bunking just because you feel like it today, that first porn video you accidently saw in your friend's phone, that first stolen kiss, ragging and getting ragged, dressing everyday like you're running to meet your biggest enemy, shopping all kind of crap, crushing over the disturbingly handsome programming professor, nudging him into a laughter, xeroxing notes, doodling little hearts all over his oh-so-pretty notebook during the lecture, studying a day before the sessionals, cheating, failing terms and still not letting them affect the next days plans, missing classes every friday to catch the latest, and not to forget, the lamest release, celebrating everybody's birthday with equal enthusiasm, you and your bff bitching evil and nasty things.


Heaven it was. Our very own.

Ahmed Faiyaz is a writer with substance and he has proved this time and again in this book. Its divided into sections for the reader to grasp its purpose more clearly. Although Knockout had a confused end for me but I praise Ahmed for the rest. But Paritosh Uttam stole the limelight for me. Sororicide was touching and showed that people may choose to show you one part of them but that doesn't mean they have nothing more to them. A young school teacher is handed a bunch of bratty kids to handle. Her awkward hands dangling by her side conveyed much more than Paritosh might have meant to. Although the books mentions that Between Friends has been repeated from Urban Shots but I don't see a valid justification there. The first section Attendance is Compulsory is more of a fun roller coaster which also contains the lovable Smells Like Home. Ira Trivedi's Rishi And Me was built on teenage betrayal and it turned out really well. I was sad and sorry for her characters. But then again, her second The Music Room was even better. Read this book for her if nothing else.

The unmistakable character description by all these wonderful authors was a high for me. The stories ranged from excellent to good to bad to boring but all in all I don't think I can complain. Remember Me ? is a mere promotion of Another Chance by Ahmed Faiyaz but then again he can't blamed for that. If, by God's grace, I get my work published someday, I know it in my bones that I'd promote myself shamelessly at any and every provided opportunity. The second section deals with much mature issues like Placements, Politics and College festivals. The Cafe With no Name was a mature innocent tale. It couldn't have been better.The Worm That Turned by Malathi Jaikumar steals the show in Lights Out. Fiction on Campus was not as good as it promised it to be.

All said and done, its a light coffee read and you won't regret picking it up.

My Rating: 3.5 on 5

You can buy it at Flipkart.com here.

Painful Escape

This is the diary entry of a 41 year old woman who wants to walk out of her marriage of 20 years, away from Tanuj, the man who never loved her, and into the arms of Akash, the man who acquainted her with true love. Her twin daughters have made it clear that if she does so, she will be a childless woman for the rest of her life.


Dear Diary,

I haven't written you in a long while now. and I've truly missed you. Its time, its time for me to make a decision. My stomach is clenching even as I am writing this, its like somebody is rolling a dough inside it. Its a hard dough. My girls, they are merely 19. Would it be the right thing to do at this time ? I can't afford to lose their love, their warmth, if at all they have some for me. It all feels wrong, and right, both at the same time. I have never been this confused in my entire life. And if I don't make a choice now, my heart will grieve till eternity. Akash has given me all the support and love I was expecting from Tanuj, I had rented my heart and soul to this marriage, but it just isn't working. You are such a patient listener. I wish you could drop a word of advice in desperate times like these.

Silence is engulfing me from all sides, its making me nauseous, its becoming hrad hard to write. See there, I made my first spelling mistake in you. Is this pen trying to humor me ? But I can't stop. It all has to escape my system and pouring it down into the depths of your diaphanous pools of white paper is my only rescue plan.


Last night Tanuj came to my bedroom around 1am. I was wide awake. I sat upright and he sat next to me cupping my hands in his. I thought he was going to lure me into staying or beat me into the argument 'How did you even think of such a thing' but his words were the last things I was expecting out of him at that hour.


He said 'When you first told me about Akash, I was writhing with pure rage. The man in me felt defeated, as if his manhood was being raped off and he could do nothing about it. My wife was falling for another man and I was just a spectator watching the proceedings. But I've been thinking about it since past one week and your facts still hold their truth firmly in place. Why did we never realize that we were falling out of love ? When did it happen ? We have been sleeping in different bedrooms since a decade now. I dismissed this earlier using the excuse 'Everybody needs their own space'. I was such a fool. Anyway, I came today to tell you that you shouldn't stay because of the fear of this society or our girls. They seem to have taken more from me, they will live. I have never given you the love,the care and the support a woman deserves from her better half. I've failed you miserably but now, when somebody else is making you happy, I will support your decision. I owe you that much.'


He said the last words slowly, meaning every syllable of it. He didn't wait for my reply and strode out of the room. I was left dazed. These words were as close as Tanuj had ever got to my heart in these 20 years of our marriage.


But as I'm writing you right now, Tanuj's words are making more and more sense. Why should I worry about this hypocrite society when they don't care one bit for me ? They don't know what I've been through. I dare them to walk a mile in my shoes and then return to have a balanced argument. I have lived 20 years succumbing to my parent's will and 21 years to the man who never loved me. If I have to make a decision it has to be now. Or never.


I'm leaving you unfinished today. The next time I write you, I will be a happy woman.
And by the way, my first wrinkle started to surface today.


Love.

I'm not that into chocolates

Really, tell me, why is that so much of an issue ? I so hate these stipulated standards. If a girl aged 21 does not like to nibble that dirty dark brown bar, why do people gape at her wide-eyed as if she just gave birth to a rabbit.


Little kids look at me in the face and I'm literally terrified that they would punch my fat nose any second screaming 'Why don't you like this dairy milk dammit, it's so fucking yummy !' Okay and this is not just about chocolates. Why should I like every other thing that appeals to you ? I hate furry soft toys, that sticky pasta, red colour ( 86% of the world's population includes red amongst their favourite colors, Of course that is true ) and orange candy as well. Not necessarily in that order.
I'm on the right side now, Oh wait, My bad, I have to back this up a little for you.


I saw a very interesting picture this morning and it set me pondering ever since. It displayed human brain divided into equal halves, just like the ones we used to have in our biology labs in school.


The left brain has a skin shade, almost colourless, just a red network of veins. It spoke I'm Logic, I'm Mathematics, Accuracy is my middle name, I'm a calculator, I'm a scientist, You earn big bucks and respect because I convulse in pain 24*7*365. A master of words and numbers, I know exactly who I am. I categorize and I'm always in control.


The right side was a riot of colours. Each oozing out of another. It yelled, I'm a free spirit, the urge to paint on an empty canvas, sheer pleasure of walking bare foot on beach sand, the thunder of the roaring laughter. I sense, I feel, I'm music, I'm sensuality, I'm poetry, I'm love, I'm lust, I'm all vivid colourful butterflies right there in the pit of your stomach.


And it's time, it's so time. To tail the right side now. Pick up its trails from the last 21 years and cluster them up together. Time to add a splash of that huge paint brush dipped in all colors. Damn. Do I want to be an artist ? 


Plus I've had too much of what people around me wanted. I expierence a change in my inner self. I used to lie to people sometimes about what I love and what I loathe, only to avoid their questionnaire. But my wit and sarcasm have never been so ready. Dare you cross question me, baby.

Breathe this moment. Enjoy the freedom. Get out of  the conventional cage.
Flutter and Fly and Dream.

And of course don't ever forget what Barney Stinson says - 'When I'm sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead' :) !

My heart - 'i want to write', My mind - 'you want to "what" ?'

So, I was staring at the mirror restlessly, fulminating against my fat nose for it stands out like a proud IIM MBA, amidst it's peers, expecting a seven figure job any propitious second. A sudden whisper caught my ears. I looked around my little purple room and found myself alone. Criticizing took a more serious turn as my flaws screamed at me holding strongly to their BFF- my brown outlined mirror. 

And the whisper had matured into a confident thunder by then.

It was my little thumping heart.

Yes it was.

Urgent. Firm. Strong. Clear as a crystal.

It announced 'I WANT TO WRITE, I MUST BLOG' ! My mind, the wiser of the two, kept it's engineering jitters away for a second, almost popped out of my skull, came eye-to-eye with my heart and counter attacked 'you do ?'

My heart, the merrier one, was experiencing an outburst of valiance by then. Dauntless ,as I will put it.

Yet Suave. Sober.

It replied 'Yes, I do'.

My mind - 'since when ?'

and my heart lost it's orientation at that,

 'Since like forever, do you mind springing back and minding your own business ?'

It was then that I had to interrupt. My brain went under lock and key with the key thrown away. (for the time being :P). And I had a nice chat with myself.

Long. Soothing. Tranquilized. As if unburdening a sac of emotional blur off my shoulders.  Almost like a newborn wrapped up in white cotton drifting away to dreams.
And being the spoilt pampered kid that my heart is, it got it done his way and here I am, flaunting it's toxic stringency.

I will write. I will blog. No doubt, I will. Not because I'm the mother fairy of words. But because it spells PARADISE. because it makes me feel alive. because it's the celebration of my heart's joyous triumph over my mind.

Have a spry,sleepy Sunday ! :)