A letter to Bharat

Dear Bharat,

                              Who are you? Where do you reside?

Are you the politician who screams ‘temple’ in every speech, but stays silent when the temple of humanity is demolished? Or are you the celebrity who rants about rape on Twitter but promotes rape culture in his movies? Are you the innocent soul who walks on the road of danger with a burning candle in her hand? Or are you the journalist who is so immersed in his duty towards a political party, that he has forgotten what news is?

The nation wants to know,

Are you the parent who covers up your daughter to protect her? Or are you the one who doesn’t teach your son what it means to respect someone’s integrity? Are you the village elder who screams that rape mein ladki ki bhi utni hi galti hoti hai?

Are you a macho man or a crying woman? Is your forehead painted saffron, rainbow or tricolor? Are you the invisible eyes seeing the length of skirts and sleeves? Or are you the punctured humanity which walks the streets at night?

Oh my dear bharat,

Wake up. Ignite the candle of your thoughts, not of your social media posts.

You are strength. You are power. You are diversity. You are unity.

You are one colour, that is humanity.

Empower yourself. Educate both your sons and daughters.

And do it soon.

For your humanity is being raped, minute by minute, daughter by daughter.

Me-cut

As I came out of the salon, I was shocked. My stunning, silky shoulder brown length hair were all chopped off. And I was left with a ‘boy cut’ and some curly strands, which lingered over my forehead.

I had told the barber was just told to trim them, but he did this. And now when I look back, I realize how thankful I am to him.

From the next day, a new journey began. Many people, my close friends, some of my teachers and my parents loved the haircut. They said it made me look really smart.

But others had negative comments.

“Oh you look like a boy!”

“You looked so much better in your long hair!”

“They’ll grow back soon, right?”

“Poor girl, don’t worry, you’ll look pretty once they grow back!”

All these comments hit me harder than the positive ones. My confidence really went down initially. I couldn’t peacefully go for evening walks, or even to school. All those comments seemed cruel, and affected my confidence in myself.

But with time, it all changed.

I realized how important it is to believe in yourself.

It has been two years since I got this haircut, but I learn something new from it every single day. I never thought that something as simple as a haircut would teach me so much. The comments, the mocking used to really trouble me earlier, but with time my resilience has fought back. For me, it has never been a haircut. It’s a symbol to represent myself. And it’s a symbol for everything I stand for. Keeping this haircut for such a long time has taught me to fight. It gives me willpower to stand up for myself. Now, when I get those glares, those comments, I just smile. For I don’t care anymore. Infact, all those comments and mocks make me stronger. They give me the boost to stay the person I am, and keep believing in myself. The society wants me to be how they please, but I have learnt over time that its about you. Its about being the you who pleases you, and standing up and fighting for that You.

I am not a rebel, I am just another girl who wants to be herself.

I am not a girl with a ‘boy-cut’, for haircuts don’t have genders. I am just a girl with a ‘me-cut’.  I realize now that those tiny strands that linger over my forehead aren’t strands of hair. They are strands of every little ideal I stand for. They are strands of me. And nobody can grow or cut them. Except me.

Poison

Stranded in the vast,

Ocean of thoughts,

I am.

The boat of acceptance glares at me.

Attracts me to its comfortable,

Well-supported self.

The relaxation of not trying,

Just accepting,

Attracts me.

But fear overtakes desire,

And turns into a state of fascination,

As I see the thin white paper boat on my left.

Not strong enough to bear the ocean currents alone,

It strives to float somehow.

For its willpower is strong enough to stay there.

I swim to it,

Mesmerized by its simplicity yet strong demeanour.

As I lift it,

I see two golden words written there,

‘Be yourself’,

It says.

And it talks to me.

“Run away from the boat of acceptance,

For it will gulp your uniqueness.

Run behind who you strive to be,

Not who others want you to be.

Be the golden sunlight,

Or the dancing daffodils,

Be the fresh blue sky,

Or the grey clouds.

Be who you want to be.

Embrace your soul,

And don’t let the poison of acceptance contaminate your pure self.”

And since that day on,

I am me,

Uncontaminated by the comfortable acceptance.

The notion of ugliness

Who is ugly?

That neighbourhood bald uncle with a paunch?

That girl with unwaxed arms?

Or that acid attack survivor whose picture you saw this morning?

In my opinion, there are no ugly faces, only ugly thoughts.

I blatantly refuse to accept this whole concept of ‘ugliness’ of faces. Nobody has the right to term someone as ugly. The only people who term others as ‘ugly’ are the ones who are unable to embrace themselves. Ugliness isn’t about the face of the other person, its rather about the thought process of the person calling him/her ugly.

We all are ugly and beautiful. Everyone has beautiful faces and certain beautiful qualities. But everyone also has some ugly qualities. These ugly or negative qualities are the only ugliness of yours you need to worry about.

Having a pimple on your face or fat on your belly doesn’t make you ugly. But your impatience, anger, sadness does. Embrace that. Embrace your inner beauty and your inner ugliness. Work on it. Recognize it, realize it. The only person who has a right to call you ‘ugly’ is you. You are the person who knows you best. You are your best critic. Fall in love with those drawbacks, that inner ugliness. You may not be able to turn that ugliness to beauty, but once you realize and embrace it, you wont consider it negative anymore.

So love yourself for who you are, not what you look like.

The cursed tree

The noose of society was tight on her neck.

She hung on the tree of caste,

With scratches of discrimination on her palms.

The blood of her jaati still flowed in her veins.

The stamp of domination and authority was vibrant on her forehead,

And the mist of fear around her was still not clear.

The fasal of submission was harvested every year in her village,

And the hall of self-respect was used.

She didn’t even know what the tree stood for,

When she was hung on it.

The tree that shook when a new body was hung,

But it never fell.

In Search of the Cradle of Civilization: A book review

Once upon a time, the Aryans, utopian, blue-eyed and intellectually ‘superior’ beings of the West, invaded the Indus Valley Civilization, a peace-loving and serene settlement. Sounds like a short and simple story, doesn’t it? Unfortunately (or fortunately for mystery lovers), it isn’t that simple. The so-called ‘Aryan invasion’ has been debated extensively in the past century with various new theories coming up. Droughts, floods, massacres, diffusion of cultures are few of the theories which scholars have come up. The Aryan invasion has often been criticized citing ‘Western worldview’. ‘In Search of the Cradle of Civilization’ by Subhash Kak, Georg Feuerstein and David Frawley makes an attempt to erode the widely accepted Aryan invasion theory, and put forward the ‘Eastern worldview’ on the issue. The authors propose that the Indic and Vedic people were, in fact the same.

The book is divided into two parts: the first one elucidating the main argument regarding the decline of the Harappans, and the second one focusing on the spiritual heritage of India.

A great introduction to the book and the concepts keeps the reader gripped to the first part. The language is quite analytical, and forces the reader to question what she is reading, for every argument is unique and almost unheard of by most common readers. The first part describes the similarities between the Vedic and Indic cultures, the ambiguous definition of the word ‘Aryan’, the excavation of the Indic cities, etc. A perfect summary of the arguments is the last chapter of this part, which is named: Why the Aryan invasion never happened: Seventeen Arguments.

The second half of the book describes the cultural and spiritual legacy of India. Everything from spiritual heritage, Vedic psychology, astronomical basis of myths, and the birth of Vedic science is covered. This part focuses more on explaining the metaphorical aspect of the legends and writings, rather than the common literal aspect. Spectacular revelations about so many common legends are made, and they will leave you spellbound.

The book is quite well-written and an interesting read overall. However, it isn’t particularly neutral. It is quite focused on eroding the Western worldview, and emphasizes on this idea quite frequently. The reader, hence needs to be cautious. If you wish to read this book for research purposes, read it from a neutral point of view, without any biases. Do not get swayed by the Western view or the Eastern counterviews on the issue, rather study the evidences in both cases and come up with your conclusion. Forget the Eastern or Western worldviews, or any such other biases, and read the book from a state of mind which allows you to take in information and evidences, not opinions. The book is quite old, and a couple of theories put forward become either more substantive or unacceptable citing the recent discoveries such as Rakhigarhi or Bronze chariots. So, do not read blindly. Research, revise, understand, question and interact with the ideas in the book. That’s when it becomes fun.

What are you waiting for? Get that copy now and go on a horse ride with the ’Aryans’ to the ancient past!

A girl named Grace

That silhoutte. The perfectly curved dome-like structure on top, with the intricate carvings relieved her soul. The breeze from the windows in the chatri blew across her heart. Every evening, everything was the same, the same orange sky, the same black outline of the chatri, the same beautiful girl pirouetting to the beats of her ghungroos, and the same woman who came to see them each day.

She had been visiting the City Palace every evening since the past 10 years, just to witness the luminescent sun disappear into the folds of clouds, and to watch the rustic old chatri turn a dull black from the effervescent brown. The bright orange sky turned into a blinding black, just like jovial youth turning into the setting old age.

A girl as beautiful as Grace herself, came every evening to pour her heart out by swaying her elegant limbs. Her hands touched the wind as gently as a mother touched her child. Her feet, with the ghungroos, let out a sound as beautiful as Krishna’s flute itself. Even the dark setting sun, the radiance of the adas on her face shone as bright as Surya devta himself The tunes of her ghungroo, settled in her magn man, and her immersed soul spoke to her body through her dance steps. Her grace was immortal, timeless and ever-lasting. It would go on to stay in her soul forever.

The wheelchair creaked. The old lady was brought back to reality as her wrinkled cheeks became wet with her teardrops. Her grace persisted, but her youth had died. She was no longer her past. The girl dancing in the chatri every evening, was her, yet not her. Her physical beauty had now died, she could no longer sway her limbs and dance to the beats of her ghungroo. Her charming young self was now dead. Youth wasn’t immortal, timeless and ever-lasting like her grace. But she still came every evening. For she knew, that the girl only she saw every evening dancing in the chatri, was her. She may not be the luscious, enticing beauty she once was, but she was still graceful and dedicated. There were wrinkles on her face, but none in her soul. Her life was like a ghungroo, and its beads were now rusted. They were gradually falling off, taking a piece of her soul with them.   But she still remained the dancer she once was, and danced every single evening in her own thoughts.

She’s so girly

The jet black, silky hair trickle down her shoulders, and her dark black heels make noise as she walks. Her tight pink dress shows off her lean figure, and the pink lipstick on her soft lips makes her even more attractive than she already is. The kohl, kajal and eyeshadow make her eyes bright, but somehow hide the shine of her inner self. Her hands and legs have undergone the painful procedure called waxing. They call her a ‘perfect girl’. But the desire to do more makes her doubt how perfect she truly is.

There she goes. Her overgrown pixie cut hair lingers over her eyes, making it difficult for her to see the world.  The tag of her loose, plain white t-shirt says, Zara Boys-14. Her HRX running shorts end just above her knees. Her eyeliner-less eyes have a glimmer of unconventionality. Her purple Nike shoes, with her grey socks are a total fashion disaster! The hair on her unwaxed arms sways proudly with the wind. She’s been jogging, so her luscious pink lips have a mixture of Vaseline and sweat applied on them. They call her a ‘tomboy’.

For her, she as girlish as one can be.

Who is a girl after all?

Is being a girl about how one looks? She doesn’t think so.

For her, being a girl is so much more than that. Being a girl is about having the strength to define oneself. Being a girl is all about having one’s own personality, which is determined by one’s own thoughts, and not by what the world thinks of her. Being a girl is about being confident, strong and a fighter. It’s about fighting with one’s own muddled conscience, which sways between the thoughts of the world, and the thoughts of her soul, while defining herself. The world may dictate the rules and way of living to her, but she is one who breaks all these boundaries and creates her unwavering self, and moulds herself they way she wishes to. She doesn’t allow the views of society to contaminate her imperfectly perfect self. She just wishes to be herself.

A true girl is the one who dresses up and applies makeup to satisfy herself, and not to impress the world around her. A true girl is the one who understands how beautiful her soul is and embraces her true inner beauty. On the other hand, if a pair of boxer shorts and a pixie haircut make someone feel good about herself, then that is her ‘girlishness’ defined. Girlishness is all about feeling about who you are.

Over time, being girly has been associated with wearing pink, using makeup, dressing in skirts, dresses or blouses, taking an hour to get ready, and shopping. I really think that as the world around this is changing, the outdated and restricted definition of ‘girly’ needs to undergo a change. Girlishness needs to go beyond one’s appearance and its time that being a girl becomes something beyond applying pink lipstick and wearing a pink dress. Its time that being girly becomes about embracing one’s inner self.

Princess

 O my dear princess,

This isn't a fairytale,

This is life.

Your luscious blonde hair don't reach for your knees,

And your baby pink gown is seldom seen.

The only corset that binds you is that of society.

Your glass slippers don't crack, but your heart does.

No charming princes,

No fairy godmothers,

No magic.

Just you.

Each new day comes with a new challenge,

Not with a new dress.

Your weapon isn't your gullibility,

It's the sword of your robustness.

The witch of doubt arrives each day to haunt you,

And you fight back with perfection.

So my dear princess,

Be the warrior you are.

And fight your battle everyday,

With the world.

And with yourself.

The fierce eyes

An atheist. That’s who I am. I am the one who doesn’t pray or doesn’t like a tika on her forehead, or even the one who goes to pujas merely for Prasad. I never really question my judgment of being an atheist, for I never really feel any emotional or as they say “spiritual” connection to God, or rather shall I say idols of God. As a lover of history, I find solace and my emotional love only in historical monuments. I simply feel mesmerized when I go to any, and just exult and submit to even the not very attractive, but certainly the most beautiful monuments.

Its Navratri, and the festive season in India is in full swing. I am a huge foodie and usually attend festivals to relish the Prasad. My favourite festival of all times is Durga Puja. I have an affinity for Bengalis I guess. Be it their literature, their music, their culture, or even their food, its all a part of my heart. I go to Durga Puja every year to admire the gorgeous pandal and idol, and obviously, munch on the yummy Fish and sweets.

Every time, Durga Puja for me is about how delicious the Fish Fry was with the mustard sauce, or how the sandesh was super soft and simply yum. But this time, it was something beyond that. Something I didn’t expect it to be.

Everything was the same this year, the pandal, the food, even the location. I guess there was just something different about me. The idol, as usual, was surrounded by many other devis and our dear Ganpati bappa. When I stood at the door of the pandal, I could see just Durga maa and the devis surrounding her.

With a majestic crown on her head, and a garland of bright red flowers embellishing her neck, she sat comfortably on the fierce lion, looking stronger than it. Her ten hands each held a weapon, but the most powerful one was her eyes. Big, bold and vigorous, they stared at all who surrounded her. She didn’t look girlish, but she was certainly feminine. With her unafraid eyes, and her blood-like red garland, she merely gave vibes of female strength and power.

As I moved closer, I saw something new. A demon. Who was crushed underneath the mighty Goddess’ feet. He didn’t look afraid really, had a slight frown on his face. But Durga maa clearly overpowered him. I looked into the idol’s eyes. I felt afraid, to be honest. The strength in her eyes was penetrable even into the heart of a girl who didn’t believe in her.

I came out of the pandal and satisfied my hungry palate with a sumptuous meal of Fish fry, chicken biryani, cham cham, rosgulla, and sandesh. I enjoyed it a lot, as usual, but couldn’t get the stunning yet fierce eyes of the Goddess out of my head. I just couldn’t place what I could relate it to.

Well, it did strike me in the end. The mighty and vehement Goddess is a reflection of the women today. I have been reading a lot about the #MeToo movement in recent times, and am a huge supporter of the same. I realized that all the women standing up for themselves and protecting themselves against the hopeless harassers, are so much like Durga Maa. They have the power and the strength to stand up against all those who outrage their privacy, their modesty, their self-confidence. They have the guts to crush all the demon-like men under their feet. They are stronger than the fierce and rigid lion-like society, which attempts to overpower them, but always fails. They do sit on this lion, but with their head held high and their demeanor and willpower forcing the lion to retreat and surrender to them. That’s who Durga Maa represents now. The women of today. The women for whom fear in non-existent. The women whose ferocious eyes penetrate into the ‘physically strong’, but mentally weak hearts of the men who dare to confront them. Durga is strength. Durga is power. Durga is today. More power to the #MeToo movement. And ofcourse, Durga maa ki jai!

The stain of blood

The blood-stained cloth lay comfortably in her blood-clotted mind.

She lay restless.

And stared at the four unyielding pillars that surrounded her.

Society

Tradition

Impurity

And Guilt.

All gazed at her,

Menacingly,

And unperturbed.

Was she truly impure in these few days of her life?

Did all her serenity, purity and tranquility also leave her soul along with that hideous red liquid?

Did all her good vanish with that one drop of evil blood?

Was the red fluid what defined her?

She didn’t think so.

For her, red was purity.

Red was as tranquil as the red lehenga she had adorned on the pious day of her marriage.

It was as pure and powerful as Goddess Durga.

It was as feminine as she was.

She wanted the four pillars to collapse,

Along with the beliefs they encapsulated.

And she knew that only she could conquer them.

She stared at the blood-stained cloth.

She walked towards it.

She lifted it.

She looked at the one tiny door which stood amidst the four pillars.

She walked towards it.

And opened.

With each step she took, one pillar fell.

But she continued to walk.

Until she reached a spout.

She poured the water from the spout onto the cloth.

It colored her water-like life with the pure blood.

The pillars fell.

And she rose.

With the blood brighter than ever.

The Battle of Streamipath- 2

Humanities: I think we can certainly try yaar,  but first this whole ‘caste system of streams’ needs to be abolished.

Commerce: I agree with you. People say that the mentality has changed, but trust me, it hasn’t. In our country, its just thought that the dumb kids take commerce and humanities, and all the smart kids take science. That is so not true.

Science: But at the end of it, you guyz do need to accept that I am the most important. I mean, your subjects are all ratta, anyone can do them

.

Science sings ‘Ratta maar’ from Student of the Year.

Humanities: I don’t agree with you. I’d say that all streams are equally important.

Commerce: Ya, I agree with her. And, our subjects aren’t ratta. Just tell me how you can study economics or accounts by rote learning.

Humanities: Or even psychology and sociology.

Science: Arrey, but students from your stream cannot pass NEET and JEE.

Commerce: Arrey, they pass CA and UPSC.

Humanities: All those coaching classes  that engineering or medical students go for become a curse for the children, matlab even the kids who genuinely want to become engineers or doctors, find it difficult due to all that pressure thrust upon them. They are pareshaan.

Commerce and humanities dance on ‘Main pareshaan pareshaan pareshaan pareshaan….’

Science: Even your CA and UPSC classes aren’t less. Students take 3-4 attempts to pass the exams. UPSC is all cramming useless info, and it isn’t even of much use later. CA is mahan, the most you guyz earn is 24 lakhs, I’d earn that much in a month.

Commerce: Who will your engineers and doctors turn to when they need advice about financial records, haan? Who will fill their income returns and maintain their financial records?

Humanities: Who will look into the issues faced by the people who do not have jobs in the IT sector? Who will represent our country on a global platform? Who will arrest the corrupt doctors who take extra fees from their patients?

Science: Accha, and why don’t they arrest the most corrupt people- the politicians? Chalo maan liya ki you guyz have some use. But you need to respect me if I need to respect you.

Humanities is really sad after hearing the comment on politicians. She is as still as a statue.

Commerce: Chalo theek hai. We are all equal now. All of us need aadar and samman so that our country can scale new heights. Kyun, kya hua Humanities?

Humanities Devi changes her roop to Political Science, who sings the following song:

Tadap tadap ke iss dil se aah nikalti rahi,

Mujhko saza di corruption ki,

Aisa kya gunah kiya?

Toh lut gaye, haan lut gaye,

Haan lut gaye hum desh ki mohabbat mein.

All of a sudden, she calms down.

Humanities: Bolo?

Commerce (shocked and stammering): Hmmmm….We..were..actually…talking about…mutual..respect….

Humanities: Okay, I’m fine with it. Unless and until the topic of corruption isn’t raised again. You see, I turn into Kaali maata when someone does that.

Science: I guess we saw your unknown side.

Commerce: Okay! So we are all good! No more fights.

Humanities: No more allegations.

Science: No more hypotheses!

Humanities and Commerce (together): What?

All three join their hands and say “Stream maata ki jai ho!”

DDLJ title track plays. A little boy dressed like Shaharukh Khan from DDLJ  with a mandolin enters and sings:

Tujhe dekha toh ye jana sanam,

Asli stream hoti hai vocational sanam.

Ab baaki streams ko kahan bheje hum.

Unke subjects ko kahan bheje hum….

Commerce: Ab tu kaun hai bhai?

Vocational: Vocational. (removes sunglasses and says). Naam toh suna hoga.

Science: Kahan kaam karta hai? I mean in those clothes, no engineering firm would let you in. Tum dono ki hi streams ka hoga ye toh.

Humanities: I don’t know him.

Vocational: Don’t worry senorita. Bade bade streams mein aisi choti choti baatein hoti rehti hai. I’m the career education stream and I prepare people to work in various streams.

Commerce: We officially do not accept you as a part of the stream clan.

Humanities and science nod in agreement.

Vocational: Sattar minute, bas sattar minute hai tumhare paas. Tumhari zindagi ke sabse keemti sattar minute. Inn sattar minute mein decide karlo ki kahan jana. Kyuki yahan toh mai tumhe rehne nahi doonga. Main streams ki industry ka badshah hoon!

Science: Tu hamara kuch nahi bigad sakta. Tu badshah hai toh hum thalaiva hai. You cant even hold a guitar. Guitar ko bhi Doraemon ki small light se chota karke use karta hai. Dumbo.

Commerce: We won’t let you do so. We support Make in India! Doraemon Japanese hai.

Humanities: Aye haye. Guyz that’s a mandolin. But still Mr Vocational, aap yahan nahi reh sakte.We just decided that we will respect each other and now you came out of nowhere. Streams, chappal attack!

Science: Yes! I’ll even check at what speed it hurts the most.

The three streams launch a chappal attack on vocational and he is driven out of the park of education.

Moral of the story: There can never be equality among streams in India.

The Battle of Streamipath- 1

Humanities and Commerce are walking together in the park of education. Humanities is in a typical traditional attire of sari and bindi, whereas commerce is wearing a suit and tie.

Commerce: Arrey Arts! You’re shining too bright nowadays yaar! The 12^th toppers for the last 2 years have been from Arts only!

Humanities: Commerce! I have told you so many times! Its not Arts, its Humanities! The other two streams, you and that Chatur Science have such complex names, why should I be stuck with this stupid 4-letter word, haan?  Anyways, this victory isn’t mine, its ours , over that stupid science.

Rajnikanth music plays in the background. Science enters in the attire of Superman with black goggles, and puts them on in Rajnikanth style. Instead of the Superman logo, his costume has the face of Einstein on it.

Commerce: Aiyo rama. Logic ke chakkar mein science forgot that the underwear goes under the clothes. That’s why its called an underwear! Incase he’s planning to use it as a marketing strategy, Science ji, nobody is going to buy an underwear with Einstein drawn on it.

Science: You Commerce! You see how I switch off all the computers during your marketing meeting. You are nothing without me! I’m the best! I’m invincible! I’m Thanos! *evil laughter*

Humanities: Do you even know who Thanos is? I thought you didn’t get time to watch movies.

Science: He’s some superhero na? I bet he is so powerful just because his name rhymes with cosmos! I told you na, I rock!

Commerce: Hey Ram, this person is as Chatur as Chatur from 3 idiots.

Science: No beta, I’m Rancho.

Humanities: Did you know that Ranchi is the capital of Jharkhand?

Commerce: The mines in Jharkhand will yield me so much profit! Humanities, partnership  mein business karegi?

Humanities: Well, I’ll have to see its historical background for that.

Science: Hahaha, bola tha na. You can’t even do your mining without my technology.

Humanities: As if you can pick your mining site without looking at the geographical factors. Matlab kuch bhi bolta hai.

Commerce: But whatever said and done, bechara Science suffers the most.

Science: I refuse to believe such hypothesis which has not been proved by mathematical means. I require formulas to prove the same.

Commerce: Chalo, take simple statistics, 60% of India’s engineers are unemployed.

Science: Since RHS is not equal to LHS, I do not accept these facts.

Humanities: Bhai, MBAs also only 7% are employed.

Commerce: Oye Humanities, what about those politicians indulging in corruption and all, haan? Aren’t they doing ‘socially irrelevant stuff’?

Humanities: Half of the politicians are uneducated.

Commerce: All I know is that Rahul Gandhi has a degree in International Relations.

Commerce goes to Science and hugs him. Goes behind and winks.

Science: Commerce, what was the aim of your experiment?

Commerce: To prove that Arts isn’t as “humanities” as she says.

Humanities: Vah vah, so much stats and information. But don’t forget my dear, even Modi has an MA degree.

Science: But best was Kalam. ‘Cause he had a science degree.

Humanities: But he respected all the streams. Science, seekh unse kuch.

Commerce: If he can do it, why can’t we?

…….to be continued

Real Independence

5.45 a.m.: I have been having really weird dreams for the past few days. I’ve been dancing with my favourite actor Akshay Kumar in my classroom! Though I don’t like dancing, I wouldn't mind any kind of dance or song or sport or activity with AKSHAY KUMAR!  For him, I could even quit eating my beloved khakhras and theplas! I am having the same dream at this moment, but my dream is interrupted by maa’s voice which says that it’s time for school. I use the good old ‘two-minutes more’ trick and stay in bed for the next 15 minutes.

6.00 a.m.: I reluctantly open my eyes and finally wake up. The scrappy sister has my soft and  mulayam rajai on her body. I grin at her and proceed to brush. My mind is so filled with Akshay Kumar thoughts that I even see him in the mirror while brushing. All of a sudden, he vanishes. It is at this moment that I recall that we have a physics test today. I do my usual uff and just get out of the bathroom which is putting these study thoughts in my mind.

6.30 a.m.: After having a long, care-free bath, I am sitting at the dining table, with a bowl of Cornflakes in my hand. I am eating and simultaneously putting on all the ‘accessories’ that I put on with my school uniform. I leave for school.

7.00 a.m.: I am sitting in the bus, doing stupid things with my dearest Srija. We are forcing an innocent guy from our bus, whom we call ‘Bella’ to do a Hawaiin dance, which he does in a really hilarious way. We blurt out laughing like lunatics and the whole bus just stares at us as if we are Shahrukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan. It just seems surprising that we have all forgotten about the physics test.

7.30 a.m.: I reach school and do my daily duty which is a part of my responsibilities as School Captain. I really enjoy this duty, though it is nothing more than asking kids to move in a line. I have a regular set of people who say ‘Good Morning Didi’ to me every day. Some call me ‘ma’am’. I just don’t understand how you can call a person ‘ma’am’ when she is standing sakshat in front of you in the same uniform as you!

8.00 a.m.: I reach the class and meet and dear bunch of mad friends. Tina smiles at me as usual. Shruti gives me an awkward smirk. Tanaya and Dibya are talking (I give them the usual glare as I know that they are trying to crack some stupid joke).Ketaki looks at me in her usual gangster expression. I also look at Meena, a person who was the most important to me at a time, but has just changed so much that she just doesn’t converse with me. The ‘hum juda’ music plays in my mind.

8.15 a.m.: Our dearest Bhagyashree ma’am enters the class. We all stand up to wish her. Today is a Wednesday, and we have something called a ‘Quality Circle Time’ in which we discuss our ideas and views about different topics. Since Independence Day is arriving soon, ma’am asks us to discuss the importance of Independence Day. I immediately hear people say things like ‘urgh, why Independence Day?’. I also see all the frustrated faces. The discussion starts and everyone expresses their views. People mainly talk about how Independence Day invokes the feeling of nationalism. I talk about how I move into flashback and think about what this day would have been 70 years back. Suddenly, a boy stands up and says that the reality is that Independence Day is just another holiday for us.

Though it’s really sad to hear, it is the reality. We find the tricolor flags in our hands on 15^th August, but on the roads on the next day. We don’t even take part in the proceedings and often plan trips. We don’t even wear a kurta on this occasion! We don’t think about the sacrifices made by our ancestors, but we keep cribbing about how the nation isn’t developing. We say that since we are going to shift to America, we don’t really need to celebrate this day. Independence Day programs are hosted in English!

What kind of independence is this? If we wear English clothes, use English language during cultural proceedings, and if we dream of shifting out of country in the future, how are we independent from the English? If we throw our flags to the ground, do we even deserve to be a part of this prestigious nation? If we can’t be proud to wear our national or traditional dresses on such a day, then what kind of Indians are we? Are we really independent?

Change starts with us. The British left us long back. But their views have now left us yet. We just don’t give enough respect to our country. I personally admit it. I think my country deserves more than what I, or we give it. We can start by changing on this Independence Day. We can start this Tuesday.

The brainwashing monster

It was Women’s Day last week. I wanted to post a nice article, but I have my exams next week. So I wrote a poem quickly. Please forgive me if this one has any mistakes, its written in 15 minutes. I know I have been posting many poems lately, but I don’t really have time to write articles. Sorry! Anyways, enjoy the poem. Happy Women's Day!

I am locked up in the prison of norms,

Darkness is what surrounds me.

The sunshine of hope struggles to reach me.

The monster of narrow-mindedness has engulfed society,

He is staring at me,

With blood-shot eyes,

And a desire to destroy me.

(Flashback)

Life wasn’t any better back then too,

Home-making was what I had to do.

Settling down was made my profession,

Mocking me was the society’s obsession.

Everyone was possessed by the monster,

With no realization of what it could administer.

The air was filled with a smoke of captivity.

The world smiled at the thought of fake freedom,

And the monster easy hypnotized them.

And eventually started engulfing them.

They chained me up one day,

The chains were lit up with the fire of hatred.

They pulled and pushed,

They forced me,

They even tried to brainwash me.

But I didn’t listen.

So I was taken to prison,

Though the prison had the dust of death,

The spirit of life refused to leave me.

Right now,

I am locked up in the prison of norms,

Darkness is what surrounds me.

The sunshine of hope struggles to reach me.

The monster of narrow-mindedness has engulfed society,

He is staring at me,

With blood-shot eyes,

And a desire to destroy me.

P.S.: In case you didn't get it, the protagonist or narrator of this poem is a woman