Sunday, August 09, 2015
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
Sunday, February 01, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
My friend was crazy about cricket and tried to sneak in a peak uring or hours.. problem was his TL never quite allowed them any fun time on the computer.
The team kinda got frustrated and used fake phone calls to send their TL on different errands.
The TL eventually got the idea and decided to follow the saying..'if u can't stop em...join em'
And since then they all pitched in for a recording device and kept a t20 match a day to watch during a 2 hour break time.
But yesterday's shootout dispelled all myths. Azad Yadav along with his friend Vikas shot their classmate Abhishek in school. The pain of Abhishek's parents cannot be understood how so ever much we try. Their anger or shock cannot be put into words. They lost a son and on an issue where such an outcome seemed outrageous. I mean who thought that a school fight, a common sight seen across generations, could lead to a cold-blooded murder.
But right now I want to look into a totally different aspect to the whole incident. There was an article that had come out a few days back on how video games and TV have started showing violent and sexual content thereby harming the mental growth of the youth today. Such games lead kids to believe that killing is an easy way to end misery and that it's ok to use violence to get one heard.
Seeing murder and sex on a daily basis has made them a 'no-big-deal' thing these days.
But then we can't just blame the generation alone it's the whole society now that needs to take the blame. Today kids are being subjected to a lot of pressure, be it peer pressure or pressure to out-perform everyone in every field be it education, sports or other extra-curricular activities. What they need is someone who can help them out without making them feel intimidated or disgusted (read molly-cuddling teachers or over-zealous 'councillors').
These folks need help but it needs to be given very subtly. Psychiatry or Psychology may sound as great professional subjects but not many in India like to visit psychiatrists/psychologists. The discomfort stems from the fact that people believe that these doctors are for the mentally ill or to be more colloquial 'pagal' people. What they don't realise that the guys are just regular doctors who need to be visited ideally on a daily basics. Like we have family docs in India, in the US and UK most families have their own psychologist. It's a must these days.
We should stop being so arrogant as to think that the people in our society don't need it and that those people out of India suffer such mental problems solely because they have a casual lifestyle unlike ours. We still love to live in that dream world where we live perfect lives of dutiful sons, daughters, fathers, mothers etc. Unfortunately the reality is far different. We are in as much need of these doctors as anyone else across the globe. Once we accept that a lot of such problems would cease immediately.
Now back to the shootout incident.
What was Azad thinking when he was about to kill Abhishek? Why didn't anyone send all the three kids off to counselling as soon as that physical fight occurred? Had they not seen the basic fact that a physical fight meant that things had gone out of hands of the school authorities and that merely calming them at that moment or handing out punishments would not suffice?
A lot has changed in a child's psyche from what it used to be in yester years. Today children have far more responsibilities and choices in life. They can choose from a million pathways thereby they either may attain worldwide glory or might end up as Azad did... in jail.
I dunno what I have inferred from all that. Just that I strongly feel that we need to realise that such incidence won't be stopped unless we accept the faults in our society. Yes this is a great nation but it too is made up of human beings and like I said earlier in today's life we need counselling to deal with the pace and stress that comes as an excess baggage.
A new mother...in love with her baby...she splashed pictures of the angel....everyone loved her...her precious lil girl...that was all she had wanted all her life....she was happy...her family was overjoyed and her friends both amazed and a lil envious...she knew that.....she understood...but she couldn't help showing her gorgeous cherub.
one day she too her for a bath...she had just bought a lovely pink dress...but her princess was very cranky today...she cried and cried...there was only so much her mom could take....
*DING*......ooooooooooo someone 'liked' her picture....she made sure there wasn't any soap in her baby's eye then ran off for a quick thank you.....
...her angel was crying...just 2 more mins...after all her mommy's gonna make her the most popular baby in her group ....
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Thursday, June 07, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
I was browsing through the web for a story on good manners and stumbled upon this link…
the name of the site..well I kind of saw that much later…but being as I am I felt highly offended of the fact that on an average the pronoun ‘he’ is used to describe an unknown person. But here, the writer kept saying she… for example (this is for those who won’t bother to go through the link)
- She should always be impeccably dressed, appropriate to the situation or place.
- She washes her hands before she eats and after she uses the wash room.
- She does not groom or style herself in public!
- She keeps her legs together when sitting.
- She leaves the bathroom as she found it.
Yes offensive isn’t it…but look closely you would find a reason for that. Nonetheless it seemed wrong..it took me back to the time when I read articles written in 1950’s across magazines such as Reader’s Digest which spoke about how a wife should conduct herself around people and her husband, in short it was an unofficial rulebook for women on how to keep her husband happy.
I know I am going of tangent and like I said the writer of the link I’ve pasted had a reason (psst..it is a website for women) yet maybe its my way of looking things..or it’s the years of grooming and believing that I as a woman or the female of the species has to fight against such instances to show that she isn’t any less. Or that she is equal to things.
In short, I feel like I have been conditioned across the years to feel a need to get disgusted at any time when I read ‘she’ written with anything derogatory or linked with basic or specific rules. Yes I am rambling but I wonder if these made any sense to the lot of you…
Although I must say am glad to once more start typing…n this type I hope my blog doesn’t catch any more cobwebs…
M back in my parlour!! :D
Sunday, May 08, 2011
I own everything i have to you,
Mother sweet mother of mine.
Mother of mine when i was young
You showed me the right way
Things should be done,
Without your love where would i be,
Mother sweet mother of mine.
Mother you gave me happiness,
Much more than words can say,
I pray the lord that he may bless you,
Every night and every day.
Mother of mine now i am grown
And i can walk straight all on my own,
I'd like to give you what you gave to me,
Mother sweet mother of mine...
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
“Panditji, this is taking too long can’t you speed it up a bit,” Shekhar yawned and managed to wink at me at the same time. I couldn’t help letting out a small giggle for which I got a light whack at my back by my elder cousin. We had been sitting for too long now, almost 3 hours. But then I was told that was how it was at weddings, mine was no different.
I was getting married to my college sweetheart, a love story been written to death by Bollywood directors. Boy meets girl, she doesn’t notice till some bad guys from the same college give her unwanted attention and well then comes our dear hero and suddenly the girl realizes how perfect the boy is. Yes, that pretty much sums up my love story.
I looked down to stifle my smile, knowing only too well that the sudden fits of giggles that usually rise up at odd moments are almost impossible to curb, which if tried too hard, came out as snorts. Now that sort of thing would not do especially keeping in mind that my would-be in-laws were sitting right in front of me. So I simply tried giggling softly, I called them whispered giggles, a technique I learned from my mother. And just like that I didn’t need to try anymore, the uprising had stopped as quickly as it had started.
My mother, the same woman who was sitting right in front of me, trying to catch my eye just like Papa. It was too late, didn’t they know that? They threw me away from them long before I could know I was no more home. I was their only child, the apple of their eye born almost 16 years after their marriage. I grew up with a smug knowledge that whatever I would ask for would be given to me without questions. I lived the dream every child has, of getting each wish fulfilled before I even form the right words. I can’t remember a time when my parents said no, and I think that’s why sending me away like that stunned me into silence. I never protested as they thought I would, I didn’t kick or scream or make a scene, no I was too proud for that.
I never wanted to leave my school, my friends and restart my life with strangers, but I didn’t have a choice. I knew as much without needing to raise my voice against the injustice of it all. They gave their reasons nonetheless, they thought I should learn the hard way, learn how to handle when someone said no.
They never heard from me again, my letters were never me, just some facts which we were forced to write to our parents every week. Those years were nothing short of hell, but they never knew. They even came to visit, but every time I went out into the city, carefully corresponding my outings with their visits.
My years in school were not the best moments of my life but it did teach me to be independent. With time I began applying for colleges, in cities as far away as possible and finally made it to Xaviers, Mumbai. My life kept going, but it seemed better, my friends were not so different from me anymore. There were times I felt I could move on in life and forget everything, and then when I had almost convinced myself that I could, I met Shekhar.
I wasn’t the most popular girl in campus or the prettiest, but for Shekhar I was nothing less than an angel, it was in his eyes. I’ve met men who look at you as if they could gorge you, but he saw me in a way that made me feel needed, wanted, something I realized I hadn’t felt in a long long time. We were the cute couple on campus for the next 5 years and before long, he proposed.
Like any other girl these days, marriage was a thought that I did not hope for till much later, preferably never. But then they say you can’t plan your life, so here I was next to a man I loved and sitting in front of me were those whom I should have been crying for like every other bride.
We finished the final phera and it was time to take our blessings from everyone. My in-laws hugged me tight welcoming me into their family. A hand caressed my cheek wiping away a tear I didn’t realize anyone could see. I turned hoping to Shekhar there but was met with old brown eyes that held back so much more than tears in them. And this time I could not look away.
How did she grow so old? Never before did I notice those wrinkles around her eyes, or those slightly crimsoned greys almost splattered across her forehead. Her hair was dying. What happened to those long tresses I used to love combing at nights hoping mine would grow just like Ma’s. She seemed so different, so helpless, and those tears? Many of my friends said they had never seen their dads cry, well my mom was the stronger one and not once had I heard her raise her voice or cry.
And then, just like that, we hugged. My heart soared and my mind went back to those carefree years from my past. They way she hugged me the first time I scraped my knee on my cycle, the day a boy in my class pulled on my pigtail and called me a sissy, when I got my first period, I even told her how my crush finally found out and embarrassed me in front of the whole class. She was the one who introduced me to music, applauding me on my singing and pushing me to competitions and being there each time I lost or won looking at me with equal amount of pride.
I missed her so much, her soap, her soft fingers now wrinkled beneath mine. And then it hit me. I won’t be with her anymore, I had asked Shekhar to take me away from India, somewhere far away from everyone. I won’t ever know what happened in those years I wasn’t there. I always thought I never wanted to hear their reasons, that I didn’t need to know if they had stopped loving me.
“Smriti beta?” an uncertain hoarse voice called me from the back. I knew my father well, he wouldn’t have called out again. Never before did I feel the urgency in his voice and neither do I remember having complied to his wishes so fast. Papa wasn’t an easy person to live with, he gave me all I wanted but I knew it came at the price of my mum bearing the brunt. He had certain rules I always felt obliged to rebel against and yet he managed to always have an upper hand. He was never comfortable with me being so feminine, my lack of interest in sports always amazed him.
The old man in front of me seemed no more than the ghost of the man I knew then. His eyes were covered with spectacles and he was using a cane to support his weight. The man I knew had scorned at these objects even when once he had come back from the hospital after a major accident which had not only temporarily affected his eyesight but had also left him with a weak limb. I suddenly realized where I got my strength and stubbornness from. I had always thought I was more like my mother, but had secretly always admired Papa for his actions.
I don’t know how long the three of us stood looking at each other, but no one seemed to be there anymore. I didn’t quite know what to say, there was no more any anger in me, it was long past that. What I had were questions, questions on why they sent me off to a boarding when I was just learning about life, when things were just making sense to me.
He seemed to have understood me, but left me standing there. “Don’t walk away papa,” but he didn’t stop.
“Beta, he wanted me to give you this, he loves you a lot you know,” handing me an envelope my mum looked straight into my eyes a note of hope in her voice. She then silently followed her husband.
And they never came back, not even when I was leaving and the rest of my family came to bid me farewell.
Throughout the journey Shekhar held me tight. For the first time I cried like a baby, those years of not knowing came out in tears searing a pain so strong in my heart I knew I could never be happy again.
I had read the letter.
You’re a married woman now, congratulations. Did you know you have always been our pride, our little miracle child? We’ve watched you from afar for many years now, I am sorry we hurt you so badly, you didn’t deserve any of it. You were everything we wanted and so much more.
I am writing this letter to tell you that you were loved. The last few days made me realize how much you needed to know that. Your eyes have been asking these questions without you knowing it. I always thought it was better you never knew, for then you might be able to hurt less. But then I saw you look at your niece in doubt when she held out her hand to you with so much of trust. I puzzled on it for so long, for even as a child you were the nurturer, the mother to those younger to you, you had changed. And as always it was your mother who bailed me out, made me realize that you may have doubts about your own maternal love, question it because of what happened to you, if it would be temporary for you too.
It is thus I have to tell you my child that we never left you. We have been there besides you knowing about you as a girl and a woman. There had been times we wanted to come out in the open to help you, especially when you lost to a far lesser singer at a school competition. We had seen you wake up early mornings to riyaz. It was so difficult for us to be away from you then but you were strong even when you were on your own.
We were living in the colony near your school and had told your teacher never to tell you all this. I have been ill for many years now, the day we decided to send you to a boarding was the toughest day of our life. I was to be hospitalized for a few months, you were too young then, we didn’t want to leave you alone at home. Our relatives were out of question because of reasons you have seen yourself when you were with us. I didn’t want you to waste your year just because of this, but we also knew that you would have never gone had we told you the truth, you’ve always been as stubborn as a mule. So we had no other choice. And then you never came back, we knew you avoided us but you were growing, learning. You were doing things we knew we could never teach you, had you been with us, your life would have been lived running between school and the hospital.
I hope I am not too late beta, to ask for your forgiveness. You’ve grown up to be a beautiful woman both from the outside and from within. May god bless you with beautiful children who would be really lucky to have you as a mother.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Psst....Visual Diary (VD) 1 hasnt been posted...I more or less copied from my previous post...
On a not-so-fine morning
VISUAL DIARY 2:
The withered leaves were crunching on the gravel as his footsteps got closer. I felt a shiver down my spine in this humid day in the month of April.
God help me! I wanted to itch so badly, but the silence was so deafening that I was sure if I moved, my scratch would raise the dead and then I would have to change my place.
There was heavy breathing accompanying the footsteps now. I peeked through my fingers to see a silhouette not far from where I hid. Against the sunlight it seemed he could almost vanish at will.
And then it happened. The damn wind came out of nowhere. At first it felt great and gave a cooling affect to my sweaty neck but then some strands from my hair band got loose and began to rustle across my nose, tickling me to a sneeze.
I really did try hard, but after all I could do only so much.
I sneezed and like a well functioning zip I heard heels of shoes screech to a halt right above me. He removed my cover and I had to shield my eyes against the sharp light.
Gotcha, he smiled.
But I smile back, now it’s my turn to be the hunter.
VISUAL DIARY 3:
The white wall was where they would stare at each other every day. The look in the eyes of the reptile wasn’t dainty in the least, it was obvious what it wanted, but the bee was too fast for the old bugger.
It was almost a ritual, as the seconds hand reached the 20 seconds place at 5mins past one you saw the bee buzz through the uncovered part of the wired white window and settle down on the wall. And as if in tune with the bee’s movements, the lizard comes slithering in to start a staring match which lasts till he decides to make a move.
He always looked at the bee with the same glassy eyes. No blinks, no shifting of the pupil. Just one straight constant stare.
The bee always knew when he came. For the faint buzzing sound that it emitted even while resting on the wall always came to a complete stop. The only thing that could be heard at that hour was the creaking of the old overhead fan and a faint noise from a distance of school bus arriving with the primary children returning home.
VISUAL DIARY 4:
He was cold and yet kept sweating, the fan was on the table. He reached out for the switch, first switching it on, then he turned it off and then on again. This went on for almost 20 mins. Then with a grunt and a huff he pushed himself to standup, taking a quick look in the mirror he decided his blue shorts and orange and black striped shirt would be alright to wear to the chemists shop. His face needed to be washed first though, there was a white patch right on his stubble under his lower lip.
Shaking his head he wondered how his ex-girlfriends could stay with him when he drooled so much that most of the pillow got wet the next day.
He took his first step towards the bathroom on his left. His feet buckled, and he tripped on his internets wire.
Shit! He forgot to turn off his laptop after chatting last night. The dim light from the screen could still be seen. The nauseating smell of last night’s dinner still lingered in the air. He should have thrown that too, it was beginning to stink, a faint hum of sour cheese could be whiffed out.
Strangely he found it comforting, he eyes began flickering again, drooping.
He knew he should get up. He lifted his hand once more and *CRASH* his hand fell on the side table. It hurt, a perfect excuse to take rest, he smirked and let sleep take over.
VISUAL DIARY 5:
She saw her watch again, it was a gift from her mother. It looked like it was made for the girl wearing it, it was just as delicate as the girl, white, pale enough to match her skin tone. The diamond that sparkled when in the sun was not unlike the girl’s light green eyes.
Sighing, she took out a cigarette and a lighter from the lower right side pocket of her polka dotted green dress. You could see from her clothes that she needed lots of pockets in her dresses to carry her smokes, chewing gums, and other knick knacks.
Her hand shook a little as she put the cigarette in her mouth and tried to light it with a lighter.
It wasn’t allowed there, she knew that. But her stomach had begun to clench which meant she would faint if she didn’t smoke.
She hated the acrid stench that came from the cigarette but she didn’t have a choice, she was wheezing now, hissing through her yellow teeth.
It was dark inside, she wondered if she might burn the closet, she had always hated those furry jackets anyways. But she was distracted by the ticking of her watch, it was only that she had wanted afterall.
VISUAL DIARY 6:
She sits, blankly staring at the cracked ceiling above, oblivious to the pain and voices around her.
The green blur makes no difference to her, her blank eyes stare at one place, with a far away look. They try everything to make her cry, scream, rant. Any noise to show she is not beyond help.
The clock keeps ticking and people by her door come in and out. The not-so-white walls with yellow patches stay hidden right in front of her eyes.
She hears, sees, tastes, feels nothing. She doesn’t cringe at the touch of steady, loving, caring hands that hold back a simmering anger as they feed her. Someone coughs, and a voice asks the person attached to it to leave.
Her father couldn’t stay in and was subjected to sudden unexpected agonising screams while holding a newspaper and the mocking picture. The man has been set free to hunt flesh again. The father was helpless, unshed tears mixed with the helplessness for his daughter and anger for the man.
VISUAL DIARY 7:
The tree stood in the middle of the road. It had a twisted bark which then grew as a green tip almost 8feet from the ground. It seemed to have no leaves, only very soft thorns slightly orange in colour.
As a car passes through the side of this strange tree it sways to the other side very slightly. If looked carefully you could almost see the bark bending.
The flowers are clustered right on the top of the tree, which have been forbidden to pluck, as said on the sign hung by a strong dirty white cloth around the tree’s bark.
The edges of these white flowers have begun to turn brown because of the toxin in the air. But no one wants to have it removed from there, they say that the light tangy fragrance emitted by these flowers keep the drivers happy and ensure that they drive safely.
No one knows how the tree came to be there, but its silhouette as the dusk sets in, reassures everyone in the town letting them snore in their beds in safety.
VISUAL DIARY 8:
There was still the packing to do, 30 mins, that’s all she had. She was no marathon runner but she had to do this, her plans had been made and couldn’t change now.
20 mins, she had to hurry now but her leg hurt, a sweat broke out on her forehead, will she be able to make it?
15 mins, the handbag was done, now the bigger one. The clothes were sprawled across her bed, her room smelling dusty already as if it doesn’t want her to go.
12 mins, almost done, but she has to go out of her room for a while, her stomach starts hurting, she has to eat something or else she would puke. The bitter-sour taste had already begun rising.
Ripping a packet of biscuits she had planned to pack, she munched four down in 5 straight seconds, the light outside was dimming she had to catch a cab.
4 mins, she whoops, she’s all set to leave now. She picks her bag throwing it across her shoulders. She sighs, and takes her steps towards a new journey.