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.