THE EQUALIST'S OUTRAGE

Flip through newspaper pages and you'll find another #metoo victim making news. Flying from Hollywood, #metoo took over to unveil some alleged molesters also from the industry of Bollywood. 

The reputation of many Directors, Producers, Photographers, Music composers and ofcourse the casting directors became a history. This roar didn't remain within the walls of glamour industry, but spread like forest fire, as many women (well few men too, but who really cares :-| ) even outside it revealed of being a sexual abuse victim by posting with #metoo on their social medias. 

I am glad, this trend awarded women the guts to speak up. This was when I was cognised with the intensity of the issue when that day, in a lecture, our professor asked- "Is there any girl in the class who hasn't faced any kind of sexual molestation?" And there was literally no hands raised.  

Thus #metoo got women like- Hell yes! More power to women! #womenempowerment #womensafety #justicetowomen. But wait, what about justice to men accused wrongly? 

The #metoo has undeniably raged a war against against exploiters punishing them with their exploitation. But let's not confuse, that the fight, is with abusers, rapist, molesters and NOT with the entire breed of men. Constructing concrete laws for the safety of women is an appreciable effort from the state but as every coin has two sides, so does this. This us because, these laws are now, sourcing as Blackmailing, defamation and Publicity techniques by some unholy women.

I am not claiming, but there might be a few #metoo cases that may not even be one, but we preceive it as truth without a court trial because, who would point a doubtful finger on the women, who's side has been so sensetivised already. (Not sure if there's any word as "sensetivised" but, you get me nh) . Well the sad reality is, that the authentic motive of feminism was to lift up women and equalise to the position of men, but now it's more about lifting them up, but, by pulling men down.  

This entire point knocked me when I was playing garba with my friends and there was a new girl who joined in, and I remember a male friend asking me to swap places because he was worried that if he touched her bymistake while dancing, she would tag him with a #metoo. Well amidst the frolics with friends, that was taken much as a joke but I was honestly divulged to the fact that how #metoo was troubling truly gentlemen around me. 

There exist men who believe in mutual respect and consensuality. There are men who get up to offer seats to women. There are men adjusting to discomfort just to make the woman comfortable. There are men who always make sure- 'ladies first'. There are men who even shield women from sinful men in public place (and women don't even know). 

There are fathers who treat their daughters like princessess, there are husband that who treat their wife's like queens, there are brothers and gentlemenly male friends who stand against anybody who dares to eye on you. I am a woman and I know the filth of being molested but I won't tolerate any illusioned woman accuse or look with an eye of disgust to any of these men above without surety or proof.  

Being insecure about your safety is naturally occuring to every woman now and it's not even their fault, the world is really becoming a bad place. But the simple message is that- sometimes women may also mistake that touch, and if not, they might even mistake the man. Just because it's been happening too often doens't make every touch that you experience, always that of a molesters. 

Your one wrong estimation, your one wrong accusation can shatter the life of a decent man. Undoubtedly , one must fight their molesters, but fight right, without taking an undue advantage of the female sympathizing law and society. Don't typecast or judge every man's character as same. Don't commonise, segregate the filth and the fine. Dump the filth, dignify the fine. The value of rare is always high and the few good gentlemen are just like the diamonds hidden within a mass of black rocks.

On the uncelebrated International Men's Day, I would want to redeem the honour to all the men who remained true to the morals of respecting other genders amidst the large percentage of immoral once. Because #NotAllMen are abusers, #NotAllMen are rapist, #NotAllMen are same. 

THE EMPTY SACK

76 years old, Mr.Kumar struggled to smile in his own house. Adjusting the thick specs on his cataract struck eyes, Kumar looked hopelessly at the photo frame of his dear wife behind a pale garland. A retired professor, usually standing tall, now looked cringing and gloomy. Being considered as a useless liability of the house is a painful phase. 

The clock struck 2 in the afternoon and hungry Mr.Kumar headed towards the kitchen. Again to his disappointment, the lids opened to empty vessels and containers. His only son, daughter-in-law and grandchild were off for vacation, not to escape from the busy schedule and routine work but to escape from this old man and his responsibility, they have to pay heed to, unwillingly. 

Living hesitatingly in his own house, he wondered if he really even existed, atleast for his son. His ears craved to hear 'Baba' atleast once a day. But, what still has been his oxygen is his 5 year old grandson, who is the only person in the family who realises and complies to his relationship with Mr.Kumar. 

But this poor little soul has no idea how his parents had plotted to kick the old man out of his own house, straight to an old age home. Brushing through his lush white beard, Kumar shifted towards the calender to count the days remaining with him in this house. The house of which, every brick has been placed by his sweat, where he sang songs to his beloved wife, where he played with his children and weaved dreams for a beautiful family. 

But life isn't a fairy tale, a tiny tear of helplessness drip down the wrinkled cheeks. Wiping the tear with a sleeve of his kurta, Mr.Kumar packed all his dreams and memories of his house into a small empty sack and made his way out of his palace with a shattered heart. Kumar put on his lean shoulders, his empty sack. No clothes, no food, just a file named- Will and property agreement

THE DHING EXPRESS

India rose on the morning of 14th July to find another inspiration to look up at. Every Indian rejoiced to the news of the young teenage sprinter, flaunting her gold medal at the 400m race at the IAAF World U-20 meet in Finland. Standing tallest on the rank podium, Das becomes the achiever of India’s first-ever gold at a world track event.

From a little corner of north-east, this 18 year old sport sensation hails from Nagaon, Assam. Born to rice farmer parents, Ronjit Das and Jonali Das, Hima is the eldest of her five siblings and certainly the eldest in obstinacy. Breaking social norms, Hima would chase the football in splashing mud along with the boys of get vicinity playing
in her village.

Apart from a sports hero, Hima is a strong and bold girl who omitted country liquor supply in her village and can fight fiercely against other illegal and social issues crossing paths of her Village.

Thanks to Shamshul Sheikh, who saw a world class athelete in Das while her speed caught his eye in a football match in her school- Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya. She was blessed with many strong pillars who contributed immensely to this success, importantly, Nipon Das, her athletics coach with a Directorate of Sports and Youth Welfare, for her amazing training and a local doctor, Pratul Sharma, who raised money for her.

Conquering this title in 51.46 seconds, Hima has also been victorious, standing 6th in Commonwealth games 2018, and lifted the federation cup as well. But undoubtedly, this win called for a major party. Her parents had never been that proud and contend for sending their young girl away from their village. Excited and astound at the same time, Hima utters her victory sentence-
”While you all were sleeping, I rocked the world.”

Certainly, this makes Hima, a star. This young spinSTAR , fondly called THE DHING EXPRESS back in her village, has added to the list of those women sports champions, who, despite a hundred odds coming along their gender, had brought glory to the country, giving the young generation a newrole model to idolise.

LEFT FOR GOOD

Just another stressful day of a corporate life in Mumbai, desk piled up with files, ears filled up with commands, pocket filled with salary but zero credits. Intolerant Raghav couldn't maintain his temper while in a tiff with a senior.

The senior mocked -

"Go back to your village, help your father in the farm, engineer's job is not for you."

Without giving another thought, an egoistic Raghav slammed his resignation letter right on his face.

No, he did not begin searching for another job. All he did was to take a train straight back to his village.

His parents couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad, on one hand they meet their son after almost an year, but on the other hand, their son had lost his job, a good source of income to support his family back in the village.

Raghav's father did not complain in the beginning until it was more than a week Raghav did not return back to Mumbai, searching for a new job. Instead, all that long he would work in the farm. Not only during daytime but also at night, he would stay back in the store house.

Raghav father couldn't keep calm any longer he decided to interrogate Raghav one morning,

"What is wrong son, you have lost your job and you simply came back here and began working in the farm. Was this why I took a loan from the Sahukar to make you an engineer? After losing my leg to diabetes, I myself cannot work in the farm, how long would I support this house."

Raghav silently listened while his dad walked off frustrated.

This couldn't change Raghav routine, he still went to the farm day in and out. His father couldn't understand, what did he really do at night over there, refusing to go back to Mumbai, refusing to find another job. He found that the savings were also getting drained simultaneously. His father now began fearing survival.

His father woke up that Midnight to find Raghav again missing from his bed. His curiosity dragged him towards the store house, as he took his walker and began walking towards it. As the door opened, the work of his son who's all exposed.  Raghav sitting in a corner with something in cylindrical shape, around 1 and half feet tall, his toolbox, a hundred of wires around and sheets of Steel.

Fumbling, he began he knew he was answerable,
"Oh...umm.. that I was just working.. with something...umm."

Without even taking a look Raghav's father was about to erupt until Raghav flashed the result of his nights spent at the warehouse.

His father knew not, how to react, as his eyes welled up, all his anger began rolling down his cheeks through tears of apology, regret, pride. It was a prosthetic leg for his amputed leg.

"You struggled to make me stand on my own feet, this is my return gift baba, now, for you to stand on your feet. Enough of slavery in the corporate world. I'll rather find another way to earn a livelihood, somewhere,where I'll be respected, credited for my own work, that not only earns for me, some money but also work satisfaction."

Complying to his words, mortgaging a piece of his farmland, Raghav set up a business wherein he supplied prosthetics and machines on order at a 30% lower rate, accelerating sale and flourishing his business.

One, stupid sounding abrupt decision opened doors to a list of good results. He now stayed with his family, he now had no credit-seizer, he now felt to have really put his education to use towards he welfare of his people and most importantly, closing the books to corporate peer pressure, he now was awarded with job satisfaction.

NOT FROM THE MARVELS OR AVENGERS

I left from the movie theatre after the mega movie, Infinity War, wondering how amazing superheroes had Marvel and  Avengers gifted us. My friends were going insane, I too was. But not much, the fictitious heroes couldn't win my heart more than the real life hero I had right in my life.

An ugly night in 2012, the night that reinforced maturity in a 13 year old boy. Just when we were living the happy little family time, my mother shrunk, struggling to breathe. Mumma's little baby, I never unlocked her dupatta from my fist till her stretcher was finally inside the emergency room.
Some medical tests and jargons later, the two men of the house went weak on their knees.

"Cancer." The doctor said, "Brest cancer."
We did not know what was a house without a woman, and we did not wanted to know either.

"Its first stage, we can try." The doctor released a little hope. After all, if her favourite actress Mumtaz could fight over Breast cancer, she too can!

With the diseases trending everywhere, right from Manisha Koirala to Yuvraj Singh, our trips to top notch hospitals multiplied.

Dad picked me after school, when my classmates went to tution classes and then to play, I counted hours in different hospitals.A typical indian home-maker mother, who would believe, kept lunch ready everyday for me despite suffering from a fatal disease.

An appointment from the best known doctor for Brest cancer felt like victory, but he was only available after 3 months. Can Mumma sustain that long? Well she did, breaking our misconception about her superpower.

Days after days, doctors after doctors, our family had become such a familiar set of faces in the hospitals that even the receptionist was a family now.

It was demeaning, in a class full of 73 sympathizing classmates, none had even the titchiest idea of how ones eyes  wrecked at the sight of his own life-giver battling with life.

Nightmares of my mother leaving me wouldn't leave me. I missed tuitions for weeks but even though I attended, my brain was still in the hospital with mamma. Everything looked sinking. Where my academic grades fell, so did my mother's hair.

After about 22 chemotherapies, my mother had ofcourse lost on that womanly pride of long hair but did win on me, dad and the doctors with her unshakeable will. The ex-elementary school teacher, my mother had tought me the quote for life- 'Where there is will, there's a way.'

Like she smuggled a wig in her closet, and covered her chemotherapy-struck bald skull under a scarfs, we kept this suffering undercover from all our relatives for over a year. But well, the good part was, that we unwrapped this sorrowful history with brighter smiles, because, delight! She was recovering.

Now that she needn't see the doctor as frequently as before, mumma was back with updating herself with my status with studies.  All that happening during the crucial years of my 9th class, her once brilliant and ranker son now ranked from the lower end. Mumma saw a controversially low marks on my report card, I knew she was going to keep my nose to grindstone. I had to get myself ready to be trashed and beaten up by her.

But it wasn't the usual reaction like before to the situation, frightened, crying to her for Mercy. While she lectured me on the top of her voice, I only smiled back. Nope, it wasn't a shameless, unrepentant smile, it was a smile of satisfaction, the joy of getting  something really precious back in life. How I missed does taunts and punishment for more than 365 days, 52 weeks and 8760 hours.

With about a thousands of tablets by now, five years later, we went back to the hospital today to check if mother's body has finally cleansed of the cancer cell for the last time.

I giggled how when I came here for the first time, I was much timid for this chair in the doctor's cabin. After all a degree student now, I perfectly fit in height of the chair. How time had grew me not only in body but by mind, by nourishing my maturity with life scenarios.

I stared uninterrupted at the doctor who skimmed through all mumma's latest health reports.
"Cleared." He shone a smile.

Just disturbing our smile exchanging seesions, my phone rung-

"Bro, infinity war tomorrow, you in right?"

"Yeah, yeah ofcourse." I agreed.

"Bro, you know the spoiler confirms one big superheroes will die! Damn! It shouldn't be my favourite captain America. By the way, who is your favourite superhero? Avengers or Marvels?"

"A cancer survivor from the real world."
I concluded as I glared at my hero sitting in the chair right beside me. Fiercely hoisting the flag of victory over this super villain called Cancer, I now know, why they say- 'Not all superheroes come with a cape', because mine comes with a dupatta around her neck.

THE THIRD-STAGE CANCER

With the evening at 7:00pm, she looked like the dying sun, as tears rolled down her swollen, beaten cheeks under her eyes. Breathing heavy, she walked inside the police station with another lady holding her strong by her shoulders or she would have had collapsed. Worried with the lady's condition, as scars peeped through her torn sleeves, and muddy knees, the lady constables rushed to help them to the desk. 

The police inspector exchanged a pityful glance, he knew the case. He ordered for a glass of water and made sure the shivering girl was calmed enough to speak up. He knew she wasn't ready for interrogation yet so he turned towards the lady who had accompanied her. 

"This would be the fourth similar case for the day. What the hell is wrong with the city.", His eyes lowered in disgrace.

"It's like the third stage cancer to our country, no solution, no hopes of improvement." The accompanist sighed. 

After sharing a few words with her, the inspector now began to dig the case.

"Lady, may I know your name?" He enquired to the victim. 

"Don't be scared, you are in the police station and you are absolutely safe here." 

The victim, still couldn't voice herself as her own cries wouldn't leave her ears. "Leave me please, don't do this to me, please leave me ." She began protesting. 

"You are in the police station beta. Relax, I can understand your delima. I have a daughter too. Forget you are talking to a policeman, talk to me as your father. C'mon you have to open up or we won't be a able to catch those monster. If you help us in this investigation, I promise I will punish them infront of you." He tried hard to get an answer.

"Pakka?" She mumbled 

"Promise! Tell me, who were they and how many?" He began his questions.

After a long pause, maybe to recall, she disclosed- "About 20 to 25", and broke again.

All the heads in the police station turned around with a wave of shock. 

"This big Gang rape!" He was horrified.

"Not completely, but yes." She cut him prompt. 

"There were two men, who began to pull my dupatta and outraged my modesty, a few
on-lookers who walked past me getting tortured like just another common scene, a few young men who had muscles built only for their Instagram selfies, a few traffic police who thought their duty was only on roads and not behind the bushes beside it, a few civilians who wanted to keep 'police station ke chakkar' at bay, and a few heartless women who probably forgot they were a woman too."

She dropped everyone to pin drop silence except for her tired heavy inhales. 

The entire police station became mum, the silence was of realisation, the realisation of brutal realities of society they dwelled in.

The inspector was puzzled,who all to put behind the bars. Those young men? Those civilians? Those ladies? 

Yes, it was only two men who committed the crime, but a dozen others who let it happen. It was a gang rape. Yes, a gang rape, by the
on-lookers, by the ignorants, by the cowards, by the society.

With incidents like Kathua rape case, let the main rapist be one or more, it's a gang rape, a mass exploitation by society, religion and politics. The third-stage cancer, you can conclude it, irreparable, wrecking and worsening more each day.

THE AWAITED BIRTHDAY GIFT

Just like every other kid, 'Doctor' was one of the first profession that Rihaan comprehended to-
'the life savers.' Thanks to Dr.Kunal, a brainy and affable young doctor who treated Rihaan's Papa when he had met with an accident back then. Rihaan could grab language and understanding by four years of age, he had his life goals set. 

Not just his parents, but even his uncle, far in the US was awed at the little dreamer. Pampering his first and only nephew, Rihaan unwrapped a special gift from his uncle- a finely expensive toy doctor set, straight from American. But at the age of mischievous four, the America doctor set ended all broken and massacred. An agonised papa scolded Rihaan, that he shall never have a new toy doctor set. Dejected, Rihaan had been begging for a toy doctor set since then.

The sun had finally rose to the day. It was Rihaan's 6th birthday and papa had to be a hero. Papa knew, his little Rihaan had really grown up that day, he had surprisingly stopped yelping over the doctor set since a couple of days as though he had given up on it finally after two long years. 

After he cut his cake, Rihaan tore open the gift. Papa had already picturised him being overjoyed at a toy doctor set. But wait, the real reaction was contrasting. Instead, Rihaan flashed a flat face, as though his longing of two year for a toy doctor set had been dead. Rihaan kept the large box aside without a hint of delight and continued to recieve his further presents. 

Papa had his world upside down at Rehaan's cold reaction, his expectations had shattered in a snap. After the party concluded and everybody had left, papa caught Rihaan to answer all the questions clogged in his brain. "Didn't you like the present?", "Wasn't the Doctor set all you wanted since so long?" "Are you angry because I didn't buy you one earlier?" "Are you ok?" "Do you hate me, son?" 

Rihaan was ready for the trial, to stand on the dock for this disputable response to the gift his father had so lovingly bought him. 

"I don't want it anymore papa, I don't want it." Rihaan began. 

"What is it Rihaan? Do you like some other toy now? But I thought you always wanted a toy doctor set. And that my son has grown up to take care of his toy, I bought you the exact set you cried for that day at the toy store." 

"No papa, I just don't want a doctor set anymore, I don't want to be a doctor only, never never never ever!" The little kid wailed out all louder than his little body could and dashed into his room. 

An upset papa now knew, something was bothering the little kid so without any delay, he comforted his sobbing little baby in his arms waiting for the right chance to question about his sudden mind change. 

"What's wrong son?" 

As the sniffles lowered, Rihaan looked up to papa in watery eyes. "Papa, I don't want to be a doctor. Please. What if they kill me too when I grow up? I am scared. They'll kill Kunal Bhaiya too! What if the patient dies? I don't want to..." Rihaan broke again. 

At first, papa couldn't figure out what Rihaan just blabbered, but a couple of seconds later he did. Taking a deep breathe, he embraced the frightened Rihaan in his arms, he couldn't do anything more but to recall the news headlines that flashed on the TV, the previous night while having dinner.  The first headline being-
"DOCTOR BRUTALLY BEATEN UP TO DEATH OVER DEMISE OF 75 Y.O. PATIENT." Followed by a bulletin listing about 50 more similar cases. 

AN ANGEL FROM A MONSTER

I had left the one, I had once swiped right.
The Monster, I made love with, on the marriage night. 

No regrets, though the society would show me down.
No regrets though people around me would frown.

The Monster who gifted me an angel, but made my life nightmare.
But the monster who made me a fighter the courage to dare.

And So I slam the divorce papers on your face,
And mend my mistake, as my heart aches in disgrace.

Dear Ex Husband,

I thought you loved me, but you just needed that egg in my womb.
To induce a polluted mentality within the closed bedroom.

The two red lines on the pregnancy kit, both of us smiled.
But you were dejected the moment you knew, it was a female child.

The older generation, stereotyped I know.
"Not daughters, but son for the family to grow."

But you, my ex-husband, I thought you belong to today.
High qualification, but narrow mind, what a dismay.

My daughter opened her eyes to life,
To find her papa leaving alone his wife. 

She had seen the cruelty since the day one.
And I'm happy I didn't bear a son.

You would have stayed back and groomed him the same.
Now only I will groom my daughter, though without father's name.

And I would teach her to trash men like you.
I'll be strong for her, I'll build my life new.

And I know one day, my daughter would be proud of me.
And I know one day, a strong women, she too would grow to be.

~Sanjana Jathar