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.