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.