Splendour of the wizard’s magic wand...

With the onset of the chilly winters,

And the trees starting to shed their leaves,

I gaze in wonder at the dark mystic sky.

It's calm and serene all around,

The desolate streets, the nip in the air,

Make me curl and sit on the window sill.

As I lay back and I grab my book,

The unruffled breeze makes me quiver,

My chapped lips and dry skin call for care.

I wonder what makes these winter nights so special.
Is it the long nights, the darkness or my mood for introspection?

I get beguiled by the spell of misty nights.

But then a shimmering halo appears amidst the murky looming clouds,

The dense heap of cotton balls suddenly disperse,

And the dark sky gets bejewelled with dazzling little stars.

I smile in glory looking at the grandeur of the magician;
The wizard has just used his magic wand,

To dispel the darkness and has spread light.

Its only 'you' who can do it....

When your mind is in pain, you can’t think straight,

To avert the stress, you divert ‘yourself’ from the ache,

Just to realize that it was of no help as the crux still dwells in you.

Amidst the crowd- you laugh, sing and dance,

On being alone-you unmask the face,

As grief engulfs you from head to toe.

You love the attention and the sympathy,

But silently crave for your mind to be on track.

You fight desperately to ward off the negativity.

But you feel claustrophobic and helpless,

Your heart twinges when you can’t see any familiar face,

And you gradually sink deeper into the puddle.

It’s then that you close your eyes and take a deep breath,

And you land in the midst of a dark tunnel,

The route looks creepy with numerous obstacles

But you get surprised how deftly you overcome each barrier,

The path is arduous but a faint light keeps guiding you all throughout,

In spite of the circumstances you keep running straight.

Finally when you reach the other end with unabated breath,

You search eagerly for ‘the’ one to alleviate your pain.

And you get amazed when you see ‘yourself’ on the other side of the tunnel. 

It's that time of the year again....

It’s that time of the year again, when for every Bengali the countdown begins…

It’s that time of the year again, when every Bengali settled outside craves to be back in town…

It's that time of the year again, when there is Kashful in the field and shiuli in the air...

It's that time of the year again, when the potter’s colony of Kumortili is the busiest place...

It's that time of the year again, when a simple clay figure comes to life so easily...

It's that time of the year again, when every Bengali saves each penny for those four days…

It's that time of the year again, when every small wish is fulfilled by parents...

It's that time of the year again, when the otherwise 'lyadhkhor' Bengali will be out for shopping on weekends...

It’s that time of the year again, when elders ask you “Kota jama holo”-no matter how old you are…

It’s that time of the year again, when the streets are dug and roads are in mess for the pandals decorations…

It’s that time of the year again, when the pujo committee guys are done with their collections…

It's that time of the year again, when every Bengali prays to the Rain God and asks him not to shower during those four days....

It’s that time of the year again, when every Bengali says "Jaa Sorir Kharap Howar Aaage Hoye Jaag baba"

It’s that time of the year again, when every TV channel starts reminding you of the Mahalaya telecast… 

It’s that time of the year again, when every Bengali asks “Eibaare Maa aschen kise?”

It’s that time of the year again, when maar agominir ashaye che boshaa…

It’s that time of the year again, which we Bengalis treasure forever

The inconvenient truth of sanitary pad disposal

It is not a very rare sight to witness something like this – you walk on the roads and you spot several used sanitary napkins scattered all around. The immediate reaction we tend to have is one of disgust and anger. On the other hand, this anger extends to embarrassment when we are accompanied by a male partner.

The problem of properly disposing sanitary napkins has always been present because of the taboos and the myths attached to women’s menstrual cycles.  I remember when I initially started menstruating; I used to flush the pad down the commode because the thought of taking out my used sanitary napkins from the washroom in front of the male members of my house was quite a shameful affair, one I didn’t fancy going through. It was only after my mother forbade me from doing so that I stopped flushing it down and as a matter of fact, I purposely decided to mentally shut myself out from the fact that my uncouth behaviour adversely affected the drainage system.

What followed next was that I was asked by my mother to properly wrap the used napkins in a black plastic bag, tie it up tightly and then discard them in the trash bin near the flat we lived in. This practice continued for several years until I was in college till one fine day when the trash bin was removed by the local municipal body. The reason, I later found out, was that the stray dogs used to dig into the trash, pull out the used sanitary napkins among other garbage items and resultantly scatter the entire area with debris.

Nowadays, discarding my sanitary napkins is much easier a task as all I am required to do when I am on my monthly cycle is to wake up early and give it to the garbage collector who comes to our house every morning. At least now I know that my used pads will not be the cause of a stench in public spaces or be the cause of embarrassment for someone else on the road.

Our lives are not restricted to our homes as our workplaces are very important since we spend a significant amount of time there. Many offices do not keep any emergency sanitary napkins or immediate pain relief medicines for their female employees. My ten-year old office which I joined a few months ago does not even have a trash bin inside the bathroom for women to dispose their sanitary napkins into. I am currently the only female employee left in the organisation and only I know how I manage those four days of the month. Every time I change my pad, I go out of the office to discard it at the local dustbin nearby.

Realising that if I alone am facing so many problems, I dread to imagine how others are dealing with it. While conversing with the lady in my beauty parlour upon the topic of menstruation, I realised that we are all collectively trapped in this cycle of shame, taboo and myth when it comes to periods. She discards her used sanitary napkins by throwing it out of the window into the local drain. “We have a small bin in our parlour bathroom, but I don’t throw my used pads there. It is very embarrassing because there are other male members also using the same washroom, “she confessed to me. My attempt on trying to educate her was futile because she is also engulfed in the same level of shame just like I was, thirteen years ago.

It is not that I don’t have the courage to go and speak to my boss and fight for my right, funny as it may sound, for my right to have a dustbin inside the washroom.  It might sound too petty even, but my seemingly ‘small’ right will mean the proper disposal of sanitary napkins without affecting the health of a female employee and ensuring her hygiene. My right also stands for not affecting the environment and not polluting surrounding areas. Last and most certainly not the least, my right stands for respecting every woman, her body and most importantly, her menstrual cycle.

The blog was first published here:- The inconvenient truth of sanitary pad disposal

Picture courtesy- www.menstrupedia.com

Octogenarian Shila grandma and her 'Never say Die attitude'

“I don’t go to bed without watching my favourite television serial at night every day”, smiles the beautiful octogenarian Shila Ghosh.

If you stay in Kolkata and frequently happen to pass the Exide, Haldiram area, you obviously wouldn't have missed noticing this old, feeble woman selling savouries on the streets of Kolkata. And, yes she is also quite popular on Facebook; by popular, I don’t mean she has an account there. But few posts written about her on this social networking site have gone viral and this is how most of us have known her.

I cross Exide every day because my office is located nearby and I also frequently purchase few packets of papad from her.  However, I never got an opportunity to chit chat with this old woman. Last Friday was different, I left office early and just before getting on to the metro, I decided to relish some roadside steamed momos to satiate my evening hunger pangs.  While I was delving deep into my chicken momo, I chanced to have a glance on the other side of the road and noticed that ‘Exide er Dida’ or grandma was sitting at her usual place but she had her left foot bandaged. I quickly finished my momo and crossed the street to purchase few packets of colourful papad from her. Little grandma smiled at me and said “I don’t have anything left; all the packets have been sold off".

I didn't know what to do, I wanted to help her out by purchasing few packets of papad, but now I was clueless. I had earlier read that she doesn't accept donations, so I was bit wary of offering her any kind of financial help.  So I decided to spend some time with her, I asked her if I could sit next to her, she gleamed with joy and welcomed me “You will sit here? Please come na”. Grandma in her white sari looked divine as the street light fell on her and then I instantly realized what it is in her which attracts everyone, including me. 

For those who are not aware, grandma commutes daily from Bali in West Bengal and changes two local buses to reach the Exide More. Yes, unlike others, she doesn't have the luxury or the comfort of enjoying her old age in peace. As life for her almost came to a standstill, when her son was paralyzed and he lost his job. In order to meet his medical expenses, grandma started commuting daily and earning her daily wage by selling papads on the pavement. Hope life would have been less harsh on her, but as she says " I came to this world with this destiny and I don't repent it. " It became impossible for her to manage the household expenses, when her ailing son left for heavenly abode and her daughter-in-law got bedridden few years back.However Shila Grandma like always with her grit and determination successfully crossed every hurdle in her life with her never say die attitude.

She always wanted to live a life with dignity and that is the reason she knew she would never beg on the streets. She braved all odds to run her family and even made her grandson learn driving who today earns his living as a driver.Grandma says that owing to the inflation in price of all the items and the unending medical expenses which her family has to bear, it is not possible for her to sit at home even.

Last week, her leg got sprained after she met with a bus accident, but things haven't changed for her, as you will still find her seated in her usual place every evening.

While conversing with her, I realized that she might be hungry; to which she politely refused and said she hardly manages to eat anything these days. I was quite amazed to hear her schedule after she reaches home daily. “I have only tea and paan and yes I watch Television before I hit the bed every day."  While this tête-à-tête was going on, there were several inquisitive people gaping at us trying to figure out what was going on, some even came and inquired about her health and the rest came to purchase papad from her, who had to return empty handed. While I was engrossed in the conversation, her attention diverted and she started fidgeting with her faded bag. She took out a Rs 10 note from a worn out purse and requested me if I could get her two zarda paan from the shop nearby. I didn't know what to say, simply looked at her in awe, refused to take the money and got her two zarda paan. I realized that the more time I was spending with her, it was getting more difficult for me to leave her and go.

Before leaving I gave her some money and to my surprise, she counted the notes, smiled at me and said "Today I will use this money while returning home.” I bade her goodbye, asked her to take care of her health and headed straight to the metro station. 

It’s my humble request to all of you, if you are in Kolkata, please do find some time and at least go and meet her once, she loves to have people around her. In case you plan to offer her any kind of financial help, please go ahead with it, as she is in dire need of money, more so owing to her deteriorating health condition and the rising medical expenses of her daughter-in-law. If you stay outside Kolkata and still wish to help her financially do let me know, we can surely work out something. J

Where are you?

The dense clouds have drifted apart….and the bright sun has revealed its face,

I have opened my eyes…But where are you?

The grass is green; the sky is blue and the birds chirp merrily too,

I am listening to the melody....But where are you?

I walk barefoot on the soft grass to feel the bristles under my foot,

They turn moist as I step on to the dew…I find myself closer to you…But where are you?

I look for you while I cross the busy streets,

Lost in the swarm, my heart beats hard…But where are you?

Tears roll down and my heart twinges when I can’t find you,

I miss your touch and I long for your breath…But where are you?

My throat chokes and I can feel the void,

As grief envelopes my heart, I miss you bad…But where are you?

Unable to budge, I stand quiet in the midst of the road,

Lost in trance, I cry out loud…But where are you?

And then my clip turned loose and my mane fell flowing on my shoulder,

A mild loving shove from behind made me resume my move.

I looked back, but found no one,

And when I turned in front, I saw I crossed the road. 

 Tears roll again, but now I know where you are. :) 

It's late in the night...and I have nowhere to go

It’s late in the night…and I have nowhere to go…

So I perch myself on the window sill.

The dark sky & the empty streets beckon me to sleep,

Yawning and rubbing my eyes, I decide to defy them for once.

The cool breeze greets me and shakes my slumber off,

My lips turn moist with the raindrop kisses.

My sodden nightwear gives me mild shivers,

I gaze outside to feel the desolate space.

The street dogs cosily cuddle beneath the tree,

As together they say “Its monsoon time so we are free”.

I wonder why, the drenched crow smiles at me,

In anger I raise my brow and he flutters away.

Amid this silence, I hear a cry—a feeble whimper,

I ponder deeply to hear it clear.

Frantically I searched, but failed to find the source,

And then I found the answer, after delving deep within me.

But it’s late in the night and I have nowhere to go…

You can strip me naked...

 I was born a little ‘Girl’ to parents, who caressed me with love and affection,

          But I was stripped naked, when society labeled me as the ‘Weaker Sex’

I was born again, when education instilled in me the required confidence,

         But I was stripped naked, when society yelled ‘Why educate her? She is a Girl!!'

I was born again, the day I first bled,

        But I was stripped naked, when myths, taboos made me as 'untouchable'.

I was born again, when my body developed contours,

       But I was stripped naked, when this body was hounded by savages.

I was born again, the day I got married,

      But I was stripped naked, when dowry, domestic violence and marital rape tore me apart.

I was born again, when I became a mother,

     But I was stripped naked, when the society knew 'it' was a girl.

Today as my soul departs and I rest in peace,

    You can't strip me naked, as I am too far from your reach.

You can pull me down, tear me apart, and strip me naked,
    I will keep on rising every time, because I am a WOMAN...a Woman of strength.

FEMFLASH 2013
(pic courtesy:- blingee)

A silent hope…

I remember the day when this political party came to power; I heaved a sigh of great relief not because of the similarities in our political ideologies but because like the others, even I desired to witness some change or ‘poriborton’ in the real sense.

However as the days passed, I gradually realized what this poriborton was, and how and why people of the other states actually get a reason to make fun of us. Be it the buffoonery, mudslinging and all the other idiosyncrasies of our politicians, the dismal job prospects or talk about the lack of security given to women, we are always the butt of jokes.

I am writing this not out of sheer frustration looking at the state of affairs, I am writing it because I am sad and I seriously wish my city really stood for the name ‘City of Joy’.   

I have been born and brought up in Calcutta and yes this is the place where I have actually transformed from a young girl to a woman. So this place has not only given shape to my body, but also to my beliefs.

As a student, I have never felt my city to be this unsafe as it is today, yes of course there has always been some weird uncle ogling at me, or a brat trying to elbow me in a crowded bus or someone pinching my bottom. But I guess all of us have been ingrained in such a way to believe that these unwanted freebies will always be there because you are a 'GIRL'.
Being a girl, I am always expected to stay prim and proper, and for e.g. even if my bra strap gets visible or if I am wearing something body hugging, then some guy can get aroused which actually makes this otherwise godly person to behave in this wild way.  I know, I am digressing from the subject, but is it possible to separate the two,-safety of women and the dominance of the prevalent patriarchy in our society? 

Hope the level of  harassment could have been restricted to the above mentioned bars. As with every passing day, various new forms of perversion are being invented, applied and experimented on women. 

Today morning, my parents had a very serious discussion with me about their concern that I am returning home late (which is 10 PM) every day because of my office. I couldn't understand why all of a sudden this curfew was being set for me that I need to leave office by 6:30 PM.  I got agitated, lest realizing the reason for their berserk behaviour. It’s only when I glanced at today’s paper that things fell into place.  

Today I feel crippled in my city, because I can’t do things which my heart desires for, I can’t wear clothes which I want to wear, because there will be someone salivating mere looking at my breasts, I can’t write or speak freely, because I can be termed as a Maoist. I can’t use the social networking sites or share or tag my friends there, because there is someone for whom tracking my social activity is more grave an issue than tracking or trying to curb the crime on women.

Yes I am sad, in my own city, the city where I was born 26 years back, the city where I have spent the best days of my life, the city which has moulded me and is responsible for who I am today.

Dear Calcutta, we are all waiting to breathe that fresh bout of air if not today, but tomorrow for sure. 

MALE or FE-MALE

Words like patriarchy and feminism always stirs up some weird emotions inside me which automatically activates my fighting cells. (if there are any)

My morning today started with a very healthy discussion with a friend of mine on these issues. What overwhelmed me in this conversation was his sensitiveness towards this subject, him acknowledging the stinginess of all ‘our’ mindset which is so hell bent on patriarchy and him even admonishing me for accepting all the injustices around us so easily.  It was a discussion which I wanted to continue, but time was the major constraint so we decided to carry on the conversation some other day.

The second half of this discussion with some other person happened some time later. It was just after lunch and me savoring the delicious mushroom and sausage curry, I overheard a conversation which irritated me to great extent.

I was near the wash basin, when the person next in line who is our office boy Mr. X came to wash his Tiffin box. This person has recently tied the knot and it is not even 15 days that he is a married man.  Every day he had been complaining of only one thing- “My wife can’t even cook properly; she is either sleeping or watching TV all day long”.  Mr. X was cleaning his Tiffin Box when the next guy in the queue comments in Hindi “Have you lost it, why are you cleaning your Tiffin box- have you forgotten that now you are a married man and you have wife at home?”

Failing to curb my annoyance over hearing such a statement, I ask him to repeat again. He gladly grins and tries to modify his statement “You are getting me all wrong, what I meant was why you wasting your time washing your Tiffin box, when your wife as she is a house wife can do it. In this way, the others in the queue won’t have to wait so much for their turn”.

I smiled and pitied his up-bringing and ignorance level and after some fracas decided to give up.

As I found, the deeper I dug, the murkier it got. I just told him one thing that today I understood why derogatorily the area from where you hail is referred as ‘cow belt’.  He was least bothered with the discussion and in fact again started reiterating the fact that what else a housewife is supposed to do.

So today, I actually had an interaction with two different types of ‘Male’, one who wants to merge two different identities, by adding two extra alphabets to himself- FE-MALE, while the other can be rightfully termed as a chauvinist as he wants to prioritize himself by retaining just the word ‘MALE’. 

Can I share your dabba please?

"What are you carrying for lunch today?” “Can I join you for lunch? “Hey there is a lot to catch up during the lunch period today”. For every office-goer, out of the eight hours spent in office, lunch time is the only period which everyone waits for eagerly. (Or at least I do)

I can do anything in this world to get even five minutes extra time in bed every morning. I hate waking up early…but I had to if I packed tiffin myself. Just to escape the entire ordeal and being hit by the laziness bug, I availed the lunch service from the Dabbawala for a very brief period. Initially the excitement level was at its peak, the craze to open the dabba and gradually unravel the surprise at each step of the dabba. This zeal didn't last long and soon I got bored with the usage of the same ingredients in all the dishes- For e.g. nariyal or coconut was used in daal and all the sabjis everyday. Many a times, the sight of the food itself was so unpleasing and for the rest of the days, the food was not even palatable. . 

On these specific days, my dabba was left untouched, and let me assure you, I was not the only one in the league. My office was located at one of the prime locations and I had the option of ordering anything under the sun from the nearby restaurants. Yes, I never stayed hungry, but many are not fortunate like me.

Recently when I read about the Share My Dabba initiative which allows you to share your food with several hungry children on the streets in Mumbai, it touched me. It’s a well thought idea and beautifully executed by the Happy Life Welfare Society and the Dabbawala Foundation. It works in this way, if you wish to share your food with the street children, just put a sticker on your dabba, this will enable the volunteers to identify your dabba and distribute the food accordingly.

Statistics point that more than 20,000 street children in Mumbai starve to get even a morsel of food. I believe Share My Dabba is a very small step which is at least trying to narrow down this huge gap which exists in our society.

What is disheartening here are the numerous criticisms which are trying to mar the noble cause of this initiative. Some have been saying that sharing food in this way to thousands of hungry children is similar to feeding your leftovers to the dogs. Others have been complaining about the hygiene level of the dabba. Now let’s give it a thought logically without getting too emotional that this initiative is trying to degrade the feelings of poor children.

For e.g. if you are sharing your lunch with your friend, will you keep it all messy? Will you be unhygienic? Will you just keep leftover in your lunch boxes knowing that someone else will be having it next? Or will you share your food if you are suffering from some ailment and viral fever? You won’t right? So it’s exactly the same case where you are sharing your lunch boxes with several hungry little street friends.

Let’s not tarnish the image of this well thought and executed idea, for those of you who feel, it’s deplorable and disgusting to share your leftovers to street children, don’t put the stickers and thus you won’t be sharing. And for those who want to share your food, contact your dabbawala for the stickers and share them without considering it a charity.

Fraudsters go door to door in the name of Big Bazaar

Below is a very common conversation which actually happened between my mom and a salesman yesterday.
It’s a very common sight especially during noon when these salesmen go door to door to sell their product.

With so many fraudsters in the market, it is next to impossible to trust these people.

Door Bell rings.....

Mom- yes who is it?
Salesman: Madam Can you please open the door?)
Mom:  What is it for?
Salesman: Mam, I have come from Big Bazaar- we are issuing discount cards to senior citizen members. Is there any senior citizen member in your family?
Mom: Yes. What is the card about and what benefits will I get?
Salesman: See Mam as you know Big Bazaar is having this Maha sasta offer from 23th-27th January. With this card you can avail 5% special discount over the existing offer. Then every Sunday, we will get our vehicle down to your building and will provide with fresh vegetables. All you have to do this get down to your building and we will swipe the amount from your card with some bonus points being added to your card.
Mom: So what are the documents you need for issuing this card?
Salesman: Mam as I have mentioned, this card is free of cost. All we need is a xerox copy of the senior citizen's pancard. Mam there is also a special free gift offer for today.
Me: My ears got alert at the mention of the word FREE..I shouted from the other room.." Maa please ask him what is the free gift"
Salesman: Only for today, along with this free card. Big Bazaar is offering a 75% discount on this micro-oven. The refrigerator was also on offer, but it is out of stock now.
Mom: No thank you..I have enough electronic products and we don't require any
Salesman: Mam, imagine it’s a 75% offer, which you won't get anywhere. He then sees a glimpse of me. Mam you can also gift it to didi for her wedding.
Mom: No we don't need this product. But come after 5 minutes, I will get the xerox copy of the pancard and other things for the issuance of the card
Salesman: Sure Mam. I will come in 5 minutes.

Mom was quite skeptical as she said, if Big Bazaar comes in every locality with their car and sells vegetables door to door. They will obviously face opposition from the local vendors. I don't how they will do it.
The salesman never turned up after that. The form is still lying as it is on our table.
Today morning I decided to call Big Bazaar and know if they are actually having such special offers for the senior members.

Me: Are you having any special offers for the senior citizen members by issuing them some Big Bazaar cards?
Big Bazaar employee: No mam, Big Bazaar is not having any such offers and it is anyways our ‘maha sasta’ offer going on and we don't offer door to door delivery of vegetables. These are a bunch of fraudsters in the market cheating people in the name of our company.
 Mam you tell me something- 75% discount on micro-oven is it even possible? By giving this attractive offer, they will lure those customers who are planning to change their micro oven (As the offer sounds great-Imagine you will get a Rs 5,000 oven for Rs 1,250). We have already informed our local police about this fraud.

It’s a request to you to please spread awareness among your neighbourhood and friends that actually no such offer is going on in the market. I don’t know about any other city, however if you come across such offers- please don’t fall for the trap and take them to the local police station if necessary.

Note:

The posts below were written over a period of 3 years. They got deleted somehow, so I have posted them again in this new blog of mine..:)

Apologies for all the mismatch in timings with regards to the blog.

All the incidents which have been mentioned in this blog till date have been quite special or thought provoking to me and that is the reason I had penned them..For those who haven't read-hope you guys enjoy going through my blog.

Short stint with rommmates

Room mates are such an integral part of your life specially when you are staying in a far off place and living all by your self. In my college days I was indeed blessed to have Payel as my roomie...the camaraderie we shared was beyond any words..the care and the concern which she had for me was nothing less than her own sister..In short I was pampered like hell which made the other hostelites envy me.

However I was SHOCKED on coming to Mumbai and to get a kind of reverse treatment from my room mate, Deepa. As it is life was tough then. 1stly new job...new people around...new city and to top it all a pestering room mate. I used to look forward to share things with her..my usual habit which I did with my previous one too...but her arrogant mannerisms made me stay away from her...her stingy ways made me cry and untidiness was something with which she was eternally binded to. I wanted to either run from this place or make her leave this house...

However my ears in those days became extra sensitive and alert while I kept waiting for my other flat mate who being a reporter came a bit late after completing her chase with the Ambani brothers...The half an hour conversation which we had every night made me forget the cold war scenario inside my room and helped me to go to bed with a smile..

God finally showered all his blessings on me and my room mate finally left one day...

By then some changes already started taking place in me... I acquired some of the basic culinary skills to survive... thanks to the immense patience on Bhuma's side who literally taught me from scratch...otherwise maa used to say that "amar bor er kopal a onek dukhho...maggi chara aar kichu khete parbena''..ie my husband won't get 2 have any thing other than maggie..."What ever little I made ...the boost which she gave me helped me to keep my spirits high..

The next addition to our small media family was Kamya...a cool bindas Delhite and a big cleanliness freak..coming from the same media world we share the similar problems...and Bhuma being a few years senior in this profession gives us her valuable suggestion to help us survive in this field.

Our conversations revolves around many things... from media gossip..to politics...to intellectual and healthy debate..

All I can say that these two girls have spoiled me a lot...I LOVE MUSHROOMs..so does Kamya and Bhuma..but they so happily part with it by transferring all of them on my plate which I don't think I would willingly do for any one.

I know that very soon we won't be having these late night adda sessions...I HATE KAMYA FOR THIS:(

Anyways this is life...Sometimes we forget that we are not here to stay always...our priorities are different for coming to this city...but I personally feel that for how short a period we put up...why not stay like a family as we have nothing to lose but only fond memories to take with us...:)

Mein apne biwi ko maar raha hu..to??

Two days back, mom and I had a beautiful Shirdi Sai baba’s darshan. The mandir looked awesome early morning with devotees from all over gathered at one place-chilly breeze blew by while the sun eagerly waited to pop its head out and wish us a bright and cheerful morning.

It amazed me to see that I was not the only one in the queue to bribe Sai baba early in the morning. After completing the entire puja formalities in 45 minutes we decided to satiate our hunger first before catching a bus back home.

We entered a decent restaurant and as I was busy involved in removing the kadipatta from my kanda poha, we heard a commotion arising from the table behind us. Curiosity made my head turn fast towards the place of action and it took me some time to digest what I saw next. A man slapped his wife in front of about 20 people and including his own children. He was yelling at the top of his voice in a South Indian dialect and his wife stood shaken at one corner, tears didn't stop and she kept on sobbing. As if this was not enough, he had the courage to lift his hand again on her. This time people around and also us were like...”Aare aare kya kar rahee ho..." and bang came the reply...” Mein apne biwi ko maar raha hu to??" Her children were too young to comprehend things and continued to nibble on the sada dosa in front of them, but occasionally stared at their mom's crying face even.

As the beast saw the security nearing him, he pulled the sada dosa plate from his children and asked the waiter to pack it fast. He hauled his wife by her arm and within few moments disappeared from the place. All the waiters had got their full dose of entertainment of the month and in that excitement forgot to attend the guest for a while. However the manager came and dispersed the gossip-mongers quickly. We both sat silently for some time and then finished our breakfast and left the place.

Can anyone please tell me why did this pathetic creature come to Shirdi in the first place? To ask God to give him the courage and strength to assault his wife? Or to seek forgiveness from the almighty for his routine dastardly act?

It was quite scary to even imagine that a man whose hand never shook before hitting his wife in front of so many people, what he might be doing within the four walls of his own house.

Bong Connection

Two years ago, when I first came to Mumbai, life was not simple as it used to be in my hometown. I had to cope with many things at the same time --terribly fast life, work pressure and finally staying away from family, which amounted to loneliness. It was then that my colleague-cum-college senior came to my rescue and he introduced me to my college alumni group, ‘Presidency College (Calcutta) Alumni Association Mumbai (PCAAM)'.

This weekend, the association celebrated its annual cultural festival, the 14th Banga Sanskriti Samelan. This is a three-day-long festival, which is celebrated each year at Rabindra Natya Mandir, Prabhadevi. Renowned artistes from Kolkata and Bangladesh fly down to perform at this cultural programme. Wide varieties of programmes are placed on the palette, from dances to songs, dramatics to band performances, which are mainly kept to cater to the taste of the youth.

Going back to the history, Presidency College was established in 1817 in Calcutta. It is the oldest institution founded by Raja Ram Mohan Roy. PCAAM was established in 1992 with a membership of 20 and over the years, the numbers have increased by leaps and bounds.

The best part about this association is that it attempts to bring together the entire alumni who are settled in Mumbai. The camaraderie is something worth noticing and people in the age group of 20-80 can be seen sharing light moments and pulling each other’s leg often. The General Secretary of this Association is a 63-year-old man who prefers to be referred as ‘dada’ (brother) and not ‘kaku’ (uncle) by youngsters.

The main purpose of arranging the cultural function here in Mumbai is to keep up the name and the rich heritage of the premier institute. It is also an initiative to enable people take time out of their busy schedules and socialize with people who share the same roots.

For the success of such a grand function, general body meetings take place where roles are assigned to those members who are willing to contribute their time and effort. All the members are informed about the event through emails and personal calls. Each member is made special by making him or her contribute in a small way, be it the duty at the reception or at the backstage. Huge sponsorships are arranged for the funding of the function.

Some of the other programmes that are organized for the members are yearly picnics, Bengali Naboborsho (14th April, Bengali New Year), Bijaya Samelan (after Durga puja), and the frequent get-togethers at each other’s place.

Being the youngest member in this association, I personally enjoy a lot of attention and love. It’s like my first family here in Mumbai as I can reach and discuss my professional and personal problems with them any time. There is so much of warmth inside the group which can be felt even by outsiders. All I can say is that now I realise why we used to say 'Once a Presidencian, always a Presidencian'.

Some of the famous alumni of Presidency College are:

Swami Vivekananda

Henry Louis Vivian Derozio

Rabindranath Tagore

Dr Rajendra Prasad

Subhash Chandra Bose

Jagdish Chandra Bose

MJ Akbar

Satyajit Ray

Amartya Sen

Aparna Sen

Ashok Kumar

Buddhadeb Bhattacharya

Jyoti Basu

Somenath Chatterjee

Anna le lo..Anna Le lo...Rs 5 mein...

It so happened that my Delhi trip this month coincided with Anna's fast. Anna was everywhere....from news channels who were covering him 24*7...peaceful protest rallies...candle light march...turning off the power supply for an hour....giving missed calls to support his move...huge fan following in social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter..All these people wanted to convey only one message to the government that they with Anna Hazare.

I got to witness things more closely when I reached the capital on the 9th day of Anna's fast.

Some of my over enthusiastic relatives had asked me to visit the Ramlila Maidan once, so that I can boast in front of my children (who are yet to come) that I was also a part of this historic movement. I seriously couldn't figure out how my mere presence at the Ramlila grounds will in any way make me a part of this movement.

All I saw during these days were roads getting disrupted, snarling traffic, metros being shut and effigies being burnt of the politicians. It was like a Yo thing wearing the Anna cap...holding a flag and riding a bike...and shouting 'Vande Mataram'. I felt like asking these cool dudes..do they even know what the Lokpal Bill is all about.....

When I reached the New Delhi station this time I tried giving a piece of advice to the auto driver who was expecting me to shell out Rs 400 for a distance which would have not been more than Rs 100. These drivers were up to date with the latest trend as they were all in Anna caps, I so happened to ask one of them why are you wearing this cap when you are corrupted yourself. All I got to hear was 'Madamji suniye jana hain to chaliye..nahi to aage badhiye...”...All my samaj sudharne ki dreams got shattered when that autowala retorted in this way.

Finally on the 12th day, Anna called off his fast and I got to know that all the supporters have agreed to meet at India Gate on August 28th at 6pm. My friend who is from a TV channel was covering this event and I agreed to accompany her so that I can at least tell those relatives....my children won't get to read my name in their history books...but they will be happy that I was a part of the celebration. (without contributing or doing anything).

Supporters started thronging the place from 3 in the afternoon, in bikes, cars, vans and buses. All the TV channels were present at the grounds with their OD vans. Heavy police protection and it was under high surveillance.

The most interesting thing which i saw there was how Anna was being commoditised. Anna goods were in high demand and heavy bargaining took place..Anna batches were being sold for Rs 10..Anna caps for Rs 5...Painters charged Rs 5 for just using three strokes of our tri colour on either forehead or arms...Flags were being sold for Rs 50..wrist bands for Rs 30...I seriously felt like going to the nearest shop...buy paints of Saffron, white and green. At least I could have earned some easy money with which I could have done some more street shopping. (you know how irresistible they are in Delhi).

There were few who genuinely supported the movement and were present there. Majority of them had come for fun. They were busy clicking pictures in different posses with the flag for their Facebook profile picture. The crowd was super cheap who mainly came for bird watching and passing lewd comments.

Today i read in Mid Day that the bed which was being used by Anna for resting purposes, is actually a drinking hub for few locals there. They are happy that Anna's fast is over and they have got back their original drinking place.{We used to come here regularly to find out when Anna was going to leave. He may have enjoyed his 12-day fast, but it was a very sad time for us. We had to run helter-skelter to find a place to have a good time," said Mohammed Dilshad, a 27-year-old, who lives in the area.}-Mid Day.

I wonder which is the next trend which some will again follow blindly... and some genuinely.....


Pic courtesy: guardian.co.uk

Plight of street kids in Mumbai

LAST SATURDAY evening while I was returning from Bandra after fully satiating my shopping hunger I saw a gory scene which made me have sleepless nights for many days.

It was one such day when I was bit by the urge to do some shopping and splurging and which other place to go to, in Mumbai, other than Bandra...which satisfies your appetite without pinching the pocket. I was accompanied by a friend of mine in this expedition.

While we were at the station...we heard a shrill wailing sound of a little girl. People standing nearby ignored the cry initially thinking it to be some sort of commotion created by the slum kids who lived nearby. The cry somehow did not subside, then commuters started gathering and they all surrounded the young victim... there was this young girl whose eyes were closed and white froth was oozing out from her eyes and she was shrieking in pain.

People standing near to me said that someone threw acid on her eyes...but we were actually not sure of what it was.

That girl pointed her finger to the assailant...a young chap not more than ten for sure. We are all familiar with the Indian mob mentality right... the gathered crowd started beating the boy black and blue without in fact attending to the poor victim. The callous attitude of the public irritated us but even we stood spineless and just hoped for some miracle to take place which would lessen her pain.

Two policemen, who were posted at the station came and took the girl with them...After the crowd dispersed we found that a paper whitener was used to damage her eyes. This incident made me shudder and I couldn't even imagine the condition of her eyes. I knew that if not given proper treatment would lead to loss of eye sight.

Now the question arises that what was that child doing with a whitener ...was he using it to dope or was he hired by someone to do the needful as seen in Hindi movies, portraying the lives of beggars in Mumbai? The question keeps racing in my mind and I am not sure whether I will ever be able to find an answer to it or not.

Pic courtesy: Mumbaiaction.org

An unpleasant start to a beautiful morning :(

Two days back on my way to office, I realized that my monthly train pass had expired so I thought of using the train coupons. As usual I was on the phone with maa, the usual thing I do on my way to office... just a minimal compensation for the 8 hours time I spend in my work place where rather than any important stuff to convey we hardly communicate.

Anyways, I boarded the train to Parel and just as Dadar passed... I realized that I had not punched my coupons at the platform. Shit...I wanted to run from there... I got down at my station...tried a little peek a boo thing and got the hint that the TT was not around to get hold of me.

The moment I climbed the bridge...I spotted two tall men....Holy God save me, I cried from within.. My nervousness made me act lousy and stupid which made it evident for them to guess that I was the law breaker. I took out my cell, just to pose that I had an urgent call to make, then all of a sudden from nowhere the tall, stout TT came and asked me for my ticket..

I started fumbling...Ticket...Ok...I showed him my coupons which were obviously not punched.. which he even pointed ...I acted innocent least realizing that it was not doing any good to me.."O these are to be punched??I didn't know...I am actually new to this place and all such crappy things" He told me Mam its clearly written on these coupons that they are equivalent to traveling without tickets if the coupons are not punched. He asked me to pay a fine of Rs 260.

Now this was like a tight slap on my face. For a 4/-ticket...Rs 260 fine??? and that too early in the morning?? thats not done man. I admit it was my fault..but everyday 1000s of commuters travel without a proper train ticket...and moreover my intension was not to dupe any one..all these thoughts raced my mind..

I knew that Press cards work any where and every where...I showed him my card which failed to impress that fellow..He constantly kept on poking me for the fine.. I pulled out my wallet, thankfully I had only 150/- in it....that smart chap noticed my debit card in it and asked me to withdraw money from the ATM....I pleaded sir leave me this time...I can only give you 100/- as 50 bucks at least I will require for my entire day. I guess he was a good soul as he was kind enough to understand that..

I reached office with a frown on my face...subabh subhah 100/- rupaiya ka chuna..Gadhe ko Diwali ke aage paisa jo banana hain..and kept on cursing him.When I narrated this tale to my colleagues...I was in fact happy to learn that 80% of the people present in that place have been fined by a TT some where or the other in Bombay...O sorry Mumbai... and they have failed to make a fair bargain which I did early in the morning...:)

RA One effect= My defunct brain

Never knew that this Diwali, I would end up tearing some of my leftover hair and cursing myself for having the courage to go and watch a horrible movie all by myself.

Now I need to give you guys a background as to why I did so...I had forgotten to carry my home keys on that particular fateful day and being a holiday my other roomies were also busy partying outside. I thought of spending sometime at the nearby café or a restaurant but it was also time for them to close down. That’s how I decided to catch the late night show of RA One at the Cinemax theatre near my home. Poor me I never knew what was in store.

A story plot which will make your brain dysfunctional: Shah Rukh Khan is a Tamil gaming expert and he wants to be a super hero for his son and he has been a dedicated failure at this. His idiotic pronunciation, mannerisms and even his stupid hairstyle are some of the many reasons which urged me to leave the hall. But again I had paid 250 bucks...so consoled myself saying that the movie has just started and there is surely some nice stuff to come…and yes it came…and it kept on coming…in big and bold letters..TORTURE. I never knew that being a South Indian you need to have noodles with curd…call dude as doodh…keys as KISS…(Oh by the way all these are the humour elements of the movie..So you need to laugh…Okay? Remember it the next time in case you watch it.)

His cool son, Prateek wants him to design a video game where the villain emerges as the winner. Shah Rukh thus gives birth to two idiots-RA One (villain) and G-One (hero). On the day of the launch of the game, Prateek plays the game...God knows why…and then he starts defeating the villain RA One till certain levels but had to leave the game midway because it was time for the psycho family to return home after the party. All of a sudden from nowhere RA One wants to kill Lucifer (Prateek’s username while playing)...RA One comes out…kills Shah Rukh and his colleague… (Yippie guys it’s time to smile…cause RA One did what I wanted to do...kill that irritating Khan).

Hello…the story is not yet over…it’s time for G One to come out and take revenge…so here comes G-One…his job is to protect Lucifer from RA One….walk on the train sideways…dance and sing Chamak Challo…(QUITE A TOUGH JOB Doodh….)Thankfully..It’s time to end…na na not so easily…both RA One and G One will now fight and they can only die if their heart mixes with each other and some shit. After 2 hours and 40 mins RA One and G One dies.

But Prateek—another idiot in the making revives G-One at the end. This can only mean bad news for us... RA One will come with its sequel soon.

An emotional journey of a surrogate mother

This year at the Kalaghoda festival, I watched a beautiful soul touching Marathi movie which made me leave the hall all teary eyed. The film "'Mala Aai Vhhaychy" (I want to become a mother) is built around the true incidence of the growing surrogacy practices in India where poor women are used as surrogates by foreigners.

Story plot:-
The story revolves around the two female characters Mary and Yashoda. Mary is a foreign model and she wants a baby but fears that pregnancy will spoil her figure and her career for the entire life. So she decides to get a surrogate mother for her child. Yashoda is a village woman from Maharashtra; she agrees to carry the baby in her womb because of her needy financial condition. The two women gel up well until one day during a regular medical check up it is found that the child will be born with disabilities.

Mary is shaken badly and since it was the 5th month of pregnancy, doctors advise Yashoda not to go for abortion. Mary however approaches an orphanage with a request to take the baby just after the birth. Yashoda refuses to send the baby anywhere and pleads Mary to take care of the child.

It’s a fight between two mothers; one who wants to kill the child knowing that it will be born with disabilities, while the other woman wants to rear the child, ignoring everything.

Mary leaves for her country, leaving Yashoda all alone. This brave woman then decides to give birth to the baby, fighting all odds. With God’s grace, she gives birth to a healthy blue eyed and blonde haired boy. He becomes the cynosure of all eyes in the village and everything for Yashoda.

Few years later, on knowing that the child is healthy, Mary comes to India and pleads in front of Yashoda to give her the custody of her son. Ultimately Yashoda gives in to Mary’s pleading as she guarantees a bright future for him

Life shatters for Yashoda who had stopped having food for days. At one weak moment in her life, the brave woman decides to end her life. It is exactly then when Mary comes to the village with her son. The chirpy blue eyed boy had turned into a lifeless object He being a child couldn’t go through the pain of separation from his mother and so had stopped recognising people around him. The last scene strikes the cord when the child recognises Yashoda and craves to get a hug from her.

USP of the film:-

Samruddi Porey, a practicing lawyer at the Bombay High Court, was inspired to make a film on a surrogacy-related case she was handling. She spent over two years researching on in-vitro fertilisation (IVF) governing surrogacy, and put in her own money into making the film. She contributed to the film's screenplay, dialogues and editing.

This film also highlights the other social issues –apathy of the farmers, the importance of a middle man in getting any of the work done.

The American child-Aiden, who acted in the movie, was himself, a surrogate child born in India. His parents were back in India to have their second surrogate child when Porey noticed Aiden and approached them for the role. Aiden, who could barely speak his own mother tongue, became fluent in the Waradhi dialect (local) within four months. The entire film was shot over a period of 15 days.

Awards and recognition:-
The film won the National Film Award for Best Feature Film in Marathi. It was also selected to be shown to President Obama by President Pratibha Patil.

Porey had the guts to take this controversial topic of surrogacy as a subject of her first film and that too in a regional language.

This might be just a one among the hundred cases where the surrogate mother got justice of her motherhood. After surrogacy was made legal in 2002, people say it is turning into a business- but is it that easy to bear someone else’s child in your womb for 9 months and then part with it?