THE CANNY RESOLUTION

The doomsters say, "Love kills." In Arjun's case it really was. The cigarette box in his pocket too warned him- 'SMOKING KILLS' and that's how he killed himself everyday in a love.

Everytime she stepped in the classroom, his heart flutter his smile thrived. But everytime he watched her with another guy, his soul flamed up like the burning cigarette end into ashes.  Recalling the slam of rejection on his face yet again, he slides his hand into his pocket, digging for the  nth number of cigarette of the day, dragging a puff and letting his sorrow away through the smoke. In the ailments of his heart, his lungs suffered.

Everyone witnessed a bright student, an amazing orator and writer getting dingy day by day. And who could be more worried than his best friend. He had to plot something to pull his friend out from the burrow of heartbreak and more importantly, to eliminate his newly acquired hobby of smoking. College visits, was everyday, her presence couldn't be avoided, making Arjun move on wasn't in his hand, but pulling away that cigarette from between his lips was what he can do.

The next day before college, Arjun's bestfriend visited his place. Secretly, he replaced all his cigarette boxes hidden in his closest, under the bed, in his bag, in all his pockets. Further he also hid his wallet so he won't be able to buy one when he doesn't find any cigarettes with him. He managed to plan the entire thing well and take him along to the college that day.

Just like any other day he watched her again, his heart fluttered again and broke apart yet again. And yet again he puts his hand down his pocket to pull out the cigarette. He pulls out, not to find a cigarette but a pen instead in his hand.
Puzzled, Arjun turned to his best friend who was already looking at him generously. Clenching a notepad in his hand, he said

"Just scribble everything down."

Arjun was pissed. But he gave another thought. Pulling the Notepad in front of him, he scrawled everything down. From the very beginning, from the first sight, to love, to rejection, to heartbreak, to jealousy, to anger, to frustration, to agony to misery, everything. The Notepad listen to it all, it's pages soaked his tears. Pages after pages, he jotted down his heart, his heavy heart never felt that light. From poems to 4 Liners, he fueled the writer in him again.

After that day, every time he pulled open the notepad from his pocket in style. That day, on the occasion of New Year eve, Arjun's bestfriend presented him with a new bestfriend in the form of the Notepad and pen. Even in the deepest despair, he would let the pen vomit not his lungs. In deciding to never smoke again in her memory, to not fall for her again or anyone who doesn't value his concern, he got his New year resolution, a new day to start valuing himself more.

NOT A CLICHÉ ONE-SIDED LOVE STORY

She always looks beautiful, but today, there was another charm altogether. It was her wedding anniversary and I couldn’t stop looking at her. But I was caught, I was caught admiring her beauty all over again.

“Hey, why do you look at her like that?“, They asked.

I tried to register my eyes off her. She wasn’t mine anymore. Those days were gone when she used to be only with me all day.

“Should I be true to you?” I asked them.

“You have to be. C’mon now we want to hear your story.” They urged.

“Well” I began, “She loved me a lot, she promised me that there was no other man special than me in her life. But the fairytale bubble had to burst when she met another man in her college one day. She met a guy more handsome, someone, more important to her. Someone, other than me who made her smile, who made her feel special.”

“Then?” They eagerly asked.

“Then what, things became worse with me. She came to me one day, saying she had another man in her life and she intends to marry him.” I became pale.

“So, you let her go?” They enquired

“My heart cried a big ‘NO’, but I had to let her go, and I was happy because she was happy. I couldn’t be selfish. Look, she is so happy with him now, as they celebrate 8 years of their marriage. Maybe he gave her more than I could. He is good to her, and that’s all matters now to me.” I sighed.

“But you secretly hate our Daddy. Right?” The little kids giggled.

“It’s the law of the society beta, daughter’s make the most special place in our life, they are the princesses of their father, just like mine. But at the end of the day, they have to leave, to make a special place in another house, with another man. It makes me envy your daddy more, It makes me hate the society more.” I drifted into a little of emotion.

“Awe Grandpa! Don’t cry! I will be your Princess, I’ll be there with you, and you can relive mumma’schildhood with me.” My adorable little granddaughter consoled me.

I hugged my two little grandchildren and we proceeded to cut the anniversary cake with my daughter and son-in-law. One one-sided love story like this too.

THIS DIWALI LETS UPGRADE THE GOD'S RULE-BOOK

An auspicious start to an important day of Diwali, everyone got into gorgeous, traditional new outfits. 13 year old Prachi dashed out flashing her brand new dress to her Mom dad. But instead of being acknowledged, she was shooed away outside the main hall by her mom. Mumbling the shlokas, her dominating eyes signaled Prachi to leave, and she left, without a word, broken, without any complain, she knew.

A few minutes later, papa was moved to see his daughter looking like a princess that day sitting outside the house and sobbing instead. On interrogating about the matter, he got to know how poor Prachi was prohibited from entering the main hall.Papa couldn’t take it, “Why are you forbidding my daughter like this on the auspicious day of Lakshmi pooja?” He enquired to mom. A typical Indian mother, being the master of code words for taboos used a simple term to justify papa for her decision, “Maheena chalu hai.”

Well in case of mom, the religious norms had won over a motherhood as she got back to her pooja and shlokas’ recitation.

Thankfully, the societal norms couldn’t trump the father in Prachi’s dad, he was not letting her day spoil by staying out any longer.

“Listen, how will this pooja help us?” He questioned Prachi’s mom.

She answered, – “Lakshmi Maa prassanna hongi, toh humare Ghar aayengi.”

Without delaying to reply, dad declared, – “Tumhari Lakshmi Maa toh aanese rahi!”

“I have recited all the mantras and shlokas, I have performed all the rituals, whats missing?” She clarified.

“The Lakshmi”

Clueless mom needed elaboration.

“Betiyaan gharki Lakshmi hoti hai nh, but here since you have thrown our Lakshmi out, how will she come in? All this pooja tantra, mantra fails.”

We need to understand the reason behind barring women on menses from entering the temples. In earlier days proper sanitation and napkins were not available, and since temples where one of the common and frequent public place visited by women, they were asked not to go there in order to avoid any embarrassment or discomfort. But thanks to some people who, reasoned some actually thoughtful decisions in the name of God. But since the invention of flow locking Sanitary napkins and other sanitary stuffs, the question of embarrassment is negligible. Then was the rule still necessary? Sometimes, it is necessary to try questioning beyond the blindfold of societal norms, sometimes the rule book needs an upgrade with time, because not all old is gold, some old is now strangling chains of society.

AN UNUSUAL ROBBERY

My designation as the Marketing Executive doesn’t let me home before 9 p.m., leaving both my daughter and maid glum. I cannot give enough time to my daughter and my maid couldn’t give enough time to hers. She too is a prey like me, of sacrificing family time to earning for them.

I couldn’t be more obliged to Alka, my maid, because no matter how late it gets for me to reach home, she waits, she never leave my daughter alone. Alka too has a family back home, a daughter as old as mine.

Jiya, my daughter was only 3 years old when Alka was hired. A decade of unconditional service had built an unconditional trust too. But since a few months, despite not willing to, I looked at Alka with eyes of suspicion. Alka normally came with a carry bag with only her wallet and mobile phone in it. But once in a month where she came with normally empty bag, she went back home with a stuffed one, something more than just a wallet and cell phone.

Initially I ignored it a few times but 4th time in a row could not be negligible anymore. On the top of it, I observed nervous voice and sweating face when she gripped her fuller bag tight and went home. ‘I was convinced, something was fishy & I knew Alka won’t, but with a heavy heart, I scanned around for all the expensive goodies that can be robbed. I checked for my jewellery box, laptop, tablets, speakers expensive showpiece, paintings , everything was in place’. That full bag was making me dubious more and more.

That Eve, I was home early to find her bag stuffed once again. My heart rebelled for showing unfaithfulness but my brain couldn’t let this chance slip. My curious hands made their way secretly inside Alka’s bag while she was occupied with Jia. I felt a package inside, something soft, I pulled it out.

I was blown, astound & puzzled.

“NOT ANY JEWELRY BOX, NOT ANY BUNCH OF CASH, WHAT ALKA STOLE WAS A BASIC NECESSITY OF A WOMAN, ALKA STOLE PACKETS OF SANITARY PADS EVERY MONTH.”

No, I was not firing Alka. Yes!!! I was furious on her, but not because she stole in a house she worked at but because she never came up to talk to me, to ask me for help and I decided to confront her.

I saw in her eyes, she was not a thief, she was dying within of guilt. She sobbed

“Madam, please forgive me madam. I know I have broken your trust, but I was helpless madam. My daughter began having periods from this year, but the cloth was causing a lot of discomfort to her. She had itches and skin infections during those four days hence missing school.

I couldn’t see my daughter suffer neither could I afford these pads for her that cost Rs.10 each and last only up to 6-7 hours. That’s why I begin stealing one of the packs you got every month for Jia bitiyan. she said , apologize me madam please don’t throw me out of work. I will not steal anything ever again I promise.” 

Alka opened my eyes to all that mortification that every unprivileged women, especially young girls went through.

For an urban women, periods was nothing beyond a little body ache, but for the women using ‘Kapda [Cloth]’, it made the worst 5 days of the month.

Jia had been urging me to take a day off for some mother-daughter time. So I took one the next day and headed towards the shopping mall but to loaded our car with about 50-60 packets of Sanitary napkins. We had one of the most wonderful mother-daughter time with a dozens of other mother-daughters in the slums where Alka lived behind our society. I also initiated a CSR activity in our Office where everymonth, everyone would deposit atleast one pack of Sanitary napkins which would be later distributed in the slum areas.

Now Alka need not steal it, we shopped for extra packs for her and her daughter. Just like donating books, clothes and food we should also begin donating Sanitary pads, because uplifting backwards, economically and socially is not the only aim, upliftment should be overall, including health and sanitation, including safety and dignity of Women.

6 REASONS MORYA : If Bappa could speak his wrath

Hey!!

It’s Bappa,

Ganpati bappa!

Don’t adjust whatever device you are reading this on, Its me, live, here to share my heart out.

Well, I mark an optimistic beginning of any auspicious occasion all round India, but in Maharashtra, specifically in Mumbai, where people of different caste and religion dwell together, I am the harbinger of happiness, unity and harmony during Ganesh Chaturthi.

It is so overwhelming to receive so much of devotion topped with love from everyone, and surprisingly, also from atheist and people of different religion. You, my beloved devotees keep no stone unturned in serving me the best you could. My eyes dazzle with joy to see even the darkest corner of a shady Mumbai chawl light up during Ganesh Chaturthi. In these few days, I live my best days of the year.

Until the day comes when I have to bid goodbye to my devotees, the day of Visarjan . I feel so dispaired, not only because it would leave my devotees heartbroken, but also because in the following days after the Visarjan, different parts of my body would sail away in different directions in different water bodies.

My P.O.P body would sets down in the beds of the lakes blocking the flow of groundwater, my limbs would swim their way back to the shore, my garlands would remain floating on the surface, and my aching heart would sink down in the sea of guilt.

Yet again, Varuna, the god of water would antagonize me as I dirty him and harm his aquatic diversity. But unfortunately, neither of us can do anything. We made humans and gifted them with abilities that now even we cannot monitor. You believe, I made the earth, the trees, the water, the air and you only end up making me the reason for it’s destruction.

Not forgeting to specify my extravagance as the Lal Bagh cha Raja,  as I sit back at the at the end of a very narrow lane to watch a human tsunami crush and injure each other for my one glimpse. I feel devilish the very moment. I am a celebrity there, loaded with expensive gifts and garlands of money. It is really appreciable of you, dear devotees, but hey! I never asked for this, I am quite well off. I surely don’t need this more than a starving beggar, a malnutrition kid and a fund deprived NGO. I don’t need your sweat and blood to adore my humongous statues.

Did you know why Lokmanya Tilak initiated this custom of getting and worshiping my idols ? He wanted to integrate people and not a hundred loudspeakers. He aimed to unite people against Britishers not Pandal against Pandal . He wanted devotion to pave way to unity, not pollution. Indeed, it is wonderful that you still abide to the customs of Ganesh Chaturthi. Your brimming love and devotion is enough to satisfy my heart.

If you truly want to prove the strength of your devotion towards me, get my eco friendly idols made out of mud or clay that could easily dissolve in water without getting Varuna to infuriate on me. Just dip my idol a few times in water as an obligation to the ritual and take my idol back home and restore your family’s smile.  Don’t drain your bank account to celebrate me again next year. Let me be with you throughout the year. Let Ganesh Chaturthi be throughout the year. 

Let the Earth, I made remain green. Let the water breathe, let my creation live. Let me remain the harbinger of happiness and not destruction. Just let me be.

HOW FAR CAN YOUR DAD GO?

Staring at my laptop screen I knew not, whether I should be glad for scoring more than I had expected in NEET or cry as the score was still too low to secure admission in any Mumbai bound medical college. Of course, I had to repend after watching my father's face raging red.  He knew what challenge was coming up for him to fulfill his dream, to live in a society with his head held high, and to boast around saying "Mera beta doctor hai!"

Working for an NGO, I always had an inevitable attraction towards social work and it's reformers. One such reformer in our city was Mr.Sardesai, who ran a charitable hospital and a Medical College. I was utterly not interested in medicine, and dad knew it. But he lured me in the name of Mr.Sardesai and dragged me to his cabin in the college.

I wondered, my dad, a man who hated to even carry even a bag to his office, took a suitcase along with him that day. I initially presumed them to be some confidential important papers, and yes, there were papers, a stack of pink printed papers with Gandhiji's faces.

I froze to my chair. Where had he got all that money from? No, he wasn't even a builder or politician, we were a simple middle class family. I began giving a cold stare at dad who threw back a cold stare 
"Just keep quiet!"

He had sold our village land. I wondered what deal it was? I felt like the most incapable person on this globe. A college was made to agree to get me admitted in exchange for my village land, my ancestors blood and sweat.

The burden of this guilt wasn't enough that another guilt slapped my face. The guilt of snatching a deserving student's right. For proving the hard work of a candidate scoring more than me, radically useless.

I didn't even know how do I judge my father. Undoubtedly at this point he was an amazing father but, at the end of the day, he was a selfish motive oriented, shamless man of the society.

As my dad pushed those stack of notes towards the MD Mr.Sardesai , i realised that, if money could buy you something that you don't deserve, it only buys you guilt. I don't even know if I would be a doctor one day or not but on this day, I pledged to be a better human being than these two men I did once looked upon.

THE DEFINATION OF A PATRIOT

On the morning of 15th August when offices and colleges have holidays, we get up at 8 a.m. in the morning, dress up in crisp white outfits and attend the flag hoisting ceremony. We return home to watch the parade and Prime Minister's speech on Doordarshan. Read and propogate about freedom fighters, go around wishing everyone a 'HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY' with a flag pinned right above our heart for the rest of the day.

That's when our mom shouts at the top of her voice, "Get up now, it's 11am!" and we drowsily wake out of our 'too patriotic to digest' dream.Well, this is us. The youth of India. 

The youth population that occupies the highest percentage of total population of the country on the entire globe. The youth, talking about development, modernization and westernisation. The youth that lets a lot of western culture flow down to the country, be it clothes, language or lifestyle. One such adopted culture is wishing at the stroke of 12:00 midnight for any coming auspicious day, especially on social media. In fact, it's a race, a race of who wishes first, before clock goes from 12:00am to 12:01 am . 

At the night of 14th August, we remain awake staring at the clock and the date to change at 12, so we can forward all the Independence day poems, quotes and images and prove our patriotism to our social, virtual world. Again, this is us.By forwarding endless DESH BHAKTI messages, images and flooding our Facebook timelines and WhatsApp, we manifest our love towards our nation. 

If we stand in the theatres out of undeniable obligation, blankly staring at the screen during the national anthem, we are patriots. If we put saffron, white and green display pictures, we are patriot. If we don't, we are anti-national. This is the modern definition of Patriotism.

Is it really agreeable? Do you genuinely think we are patriots. Can we prove our patriotism? Well the answer is YES. We can prove our love and respect towards your country through loyalty and by complying to our duties . A patriot is not a person who debates and speaks in favour of the country, it's a person who pratically contributes to its welfare. 

At the thresholds of Patriotism, stands all the security and military forces. They are patriots. Every sports person, every artist adding to the pride of the country on international platform is a patriot. Every citizen who revolts against injustice around him is a partiot. Every politian who points out, not at the flaws of opposition party but at the barriers to the country's progress is a patriot. A regular tax payer is a patriot. A patriot is you and me and everybody who graduates not just with a degree but with an aim to mould a better country.

The defination of patriotism needs to change with time. In 1947, Contributing to the freedom struggle made one a patriot. But now, 70 years down the lane in 2017, contributing to bloom a prosperous country will only define you as a PATRIOT. 

A TWIST TO TRADITIONS TAKE 2

He knew my daily route. He knew where I lived. He knew when I left for college and came back home. He knew every way to creep me out. Everyday, he followed me, passing nasty comments, firing awkward glances and I did nothing, I simply walked my way home shivering head to toe. Who knew when would his courage accelerate from teasing to molestation.

This was the time I began regretting having an elder brother. A brother to threaten the stalker, a brother to complain to. A brother to beat the shit out of him.

Days passed and his motives strengthen. That evening, I felt his body advance fast towards me, as he swung his hand to grab my wrist, I made a near escape. I ran as fast as my legs could, dashed and locked my house from inside and sulked down the sofa pantingly. A terrible episode left me almost traumatisied and my family got it well.

The next morning I refused to even step out of my room, I was scared, he was to grab me by my wrist yesterday, what plans he may have for today. My elder sister was more moved by my condition than anyone in the house. She knew something troubled me so she decided on dropping me to college on her way to office. That scared me even more, what if he harms dii too. But I had no say, she had almost dragged me along.

I walked  crampily behind dii. The moment he saw us, he began following,  closer and closer and advanced his hand yet again to grab my wrist. But he failed this time too. No, I did nothing. To turn around, I found dii grip him by his hand, as she fircely twisted and locked his arm behind his back and kicked him hard. In one smack his game was over. By this time, the ’till now sleeping’ crowd came in for their contribution of punches and took him to the  a police station as an artificial act of social responsibility.

By this time, no, I wasn’t crying. I was mum at one corner instead. Did she take karate classes? Clearly this wasn’t how I thought my grievances would end, but it was beautiful, even more beautiful as Dii hugged me tight, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I had no answer. I, a media student, who always propogated about how women and men were equally, actually looked upon only at a  brother for protection when I had such a strong sister. Dii had gifted me a new sunshine, a brighter day and importantly, fearlessness. All this years, not having a brother, Raksha Bandhan went as a bland regular holiday, but this time, I had a reason , I had a wrist to tie Rakhi to. Not a brother, but a sister to entrust my safety to.

So girls, this year why only brothers, give a sweeter twist to tradition and tie your sister a Rakhi, as it has been rightly said since years that ‘An elder sister is like a mother”, and a mother can go to any extend to sheild her child.’

A TWIST TO TRADITIONS

A house with siblings is always a house with chaos. Similarly, me and my younger sister, Sanju, could never see eye to eye with eachother. We left no chance to plot against eachother like born enemies. Poor mom-dad  plead us in dispair to behave like sisters but we were always in the WWE ring.
But today was not a regular day, like the cliché dialogue goes, "Did the sun rise in West today?" My always vicious and unkind sister was totally antonym today. Can you believe it, she got me water when I asked for. Can you believe it, she called me didi for the first time. Can you believe it, she passed me my towel in the bathroom when I forget it outside.
I am scared, she is replaced, or maybe she is suffering with split personality disorder, or maybe she wanted me to convince something to mom-dad on her behalf. I finally interrogated her,
"What is your motive? You can't be that sweet." 
"Nothing Dii! All good. Love you." she replied planting a kiss on my cheek.
Seriously, had my world turned upside down? Was this a dream? Or was my entire life before a bad dream?
I bunked a lecture and ran home early that day to surprise my newly turned adorable sister.
As I stepped inside the bedroom, I saw her sob silently at the corner of the bed with a letter in her hand. Alas! She saw that. Now I could figure out the reason of her behaving sweet all of a sudden. It was my selection letter from a Bangalore University for my 2 years of MBA course.
The moment Sanju realised my presence in the room, she came running to hug me, a hug never so tight, a hug never so cosy, a hug never so  affectionate.
"You would leave me for 2 years. what do I do without you? Who's clothes should I steal? Whom should I complain about?  I am sorry Dii, all my life I have always made you regret having a sibling, but now since I have only few days left with you I want to make you glee, feel lucky for having me." She cried making me cry too.
"How much ever I make your life bad" she continued, "I know you will never let life be bad to me. We shouldn't regret having no brother Di, we are the shields of eachother."
I couldn't obstruct rivers down my eyes,
"Sanju, you know what I am going to take with myself? It isn't your kind behaviour, it will be your mischieves. I want to spend the days left like our regular days. Don't change, I love the bitchy you."
We hugged eachother again. "In that case" Sanju said "I'll go buy a Rakhi for you, and you go shop for a nice gift for me."
"Lol! Get lost!" I shooed her
"Mummaaa!!! Yeah mujhe get lost bolii." She had switched back to normal.

CONDITIONAL JUSTICE

Promising "One last drink." with every round, I ended up gulping down 7 pints at the bar. Intolerable by my body, my eyes twirled and vision swirled.
The next time, my eyelids opened to find myself naked in a strange room with an inescapeble lock down my waist. Someone was over my drink possessed body which couldn't manage to push that person away.  My workout and proteins proved useless that very moment. My eyes swirled to sleep again, a distressful, unpleasant sleep. A filthy touch, an uncanny feeling ruled my skin, in and out.
I woke up that morning to a nightmare. I was still naked in a strange room with a hundred questions hovering over my mind. What was I doing here? Why am I naked? Why do I feel so uneasy?  Am i raped? 
I felt grose gush down from my hair to toe. Back in my room, I dug myself under the pillow and cried like a baby. A mixed notion of guilt and shame prevailed. Even my mother's touch sent shivers down my spine.
I finally opened up to my best friend who urged me to lodge a complaint with the police. But they made a joke out of it. They did nothing. I courageously confessed to my parents. But they were shamefaced more than supportive. They did nothing. I anonymously wrote to the media. But they said that the story was neither powerful nor true. They did nothing.
Any sexual abuse would immediately do round in headlines, receive public sympathy and emotional support. I too went through a horrible situation of sexual abuse and I don't even crave for publicity or victimized sympathy. I only crave for justice, I crave to be heard. But no one gave an ear.
What was my fault?  Was it, that my case was unusual? Was it, because I was a boy who never knew male rapes was also a thing?

An IRONIC OUTRAGE

This, being my first post, it is ideal of me to promote more of e-reading, which I probably did getting you read my words here, right now, on your smart gadgets. But, my heart has some other plans out here. You will come across this ironic outrage as you glide down with every line I will jabber about, how my love lost its prominence to technology. 

Now, a long stern frown to all those who could replace a book with Kindle, Wattpad or ebooks and could never realise that a book was more than just a set of printed papers bound together.

Ain’t denying the fact that e-books and Kindle is immensely preferred due to the society obligations of saving paper, space and money, and the little snob hidden in us. But hey! How could you give up on the fragrance of a novel and those secret, special roses hiding as bookmarks. Spending nights reading under the blanket with a torch and enraging over your dearest friend for wearing it out. A stack of read novels isn’t a heap of scrap, it’s a pride, the pride by which we flaunt or novels’ collection, flooding on the shelves. 

All I can synonymise up a Kindle, ebook and Wattpad is to an eye strainer. Providing ready meanings to new words, it has also ruined the curiosity that runs through the nerves of our brain while fiddling through a dictionary. A total spoiler. 

I know we need to upgrade with changes coming up, abiding to the so-called obligations, but honestly some things are just best in their authenticity. 

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Author Sanjana JPosted onJuly 25, 2017FormatImage Edit"An IRONIC OUTRAGE"

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