THE MIDNIGHT DATE- 2

Do we all crave for that one person?

We don't wanna date but we want.

We’ll strive for them.

We’ll fight for them today.

Their absence will sink us in sorrow,

but we'll hardly care tomorrow.

But we still want them today.

To wake up to their 'Good morning' text

and sleep with their 'Good nights.'

To choose what photos to upload, 

to be the first one to comment and like.

That someone- we can just call and vent,

without having to fetch for a reason- decent.

Whose shoulder to cry isn't too hard to find.

Crappy jokes, roasts that won't offend.

 

Do we all crave for that one person?

We don't wanna date but we want.

Who got miraculous muscles to lift up our mood,

They hug us once, and it's all good.

And we want to hold their hand as we walk,

and sleep in their embrace-

the most heavenly place we could be in.

Hanging out together all the time,

while the world thinks we are dating

But we're not! 

But then something happens!

 

One night,

on one of those weekend rides.

The car breaks down, it's drizzling outside.

It’s getting chilly and the radio plays 'Perfect'.

We gather each other closer with no signs of regret.

First our eyes melt into each other,

then our bodies, then our lips.

Voyaging every inch of our arouse skin,

a goose bumpy trip of our fingertips

 

We are inseparable,

We merrily wonder the ineffable.

Can we call it a midnight date?

Chuck anyway it was time to go home.

The goose bumpy trip on each other

has already got us late.

We don't wanna go home

but we have to go, to meet again.

To rekindle what started that night,

 

"Text me when you reach, all right?"

 I glee but walk home in vain

 

Do we all crave for that one person?

We don't wanna date, but we want.

Petrified to commit, to lose that spark,

but a pleasurable mistake to embark.

 

"I reached ❤"  

 

The notification pinged

And before I could reply, they were still 'typing...'

 

"Hey, I wanted to tell you something from a very long time." 

 

I grow perturb, I grow scared.

For the three magical words,

I am unprepared.

Yet undeniably, my cheeks flush pink and red.

While they continue typing to what they said.

Those three words pop on the chat screen

and it is all done.

The last text ever from them says-

 

"I’m dating someone."

SURPRISE FROM THE CITY

“I am strong and brave Chutki. If I can beat up Kalia, I can beat this monster too. I am Bheem's best friend and I am going to win this fight, I am going to trash this monster!” 

Chutki grumbled. 

But the monster was huge; double her height, four times her weight, pounced on her petite frame. With his thick muscular hands pinning her slender little wrists down, Chutki pumped all her energy out to unclench from his grip. But the more she resisted, the more he pressed her back on floor. Chutki could feel herself crushing under him. She had realized now that she cannot defeat this monster alone 

“Bheem! Raju! Save me!!” 

She felt choked but began whiling her lungs out. She accumulated all her might again and pushed the monster away, grasping for breathe, sweating rivers- "Agrrhhh!"

In a snap, her eyes opened to the morning, she felt lighter, relieved. 

"Hush, a nightmare!" She sighed. 

Sunday morning usually calls for some extra sleeping hours for little Chutki. The eight year old has to force herself to wake up everyday for school at 6:30am in the morning. But she reimbursed all of it by cooping in her room, sleeping till 11 am on Sundays. But today, Chutki found herself wide awake right at 9am as though someone had sucked out the sleep and drowsiness in a single slurp.

The nightmare woke her up sweating, panting, gasping for every molecule of Oxygen. She felt her skin sticky, soaked in sweat and her body ached weirdly bad. So bad, her eyes welled up of pain and helplessness. She woke up miserable and tired, hence she decided to lay back in bed for few more minutes. An avid fan of Chota Bheem, 'the super hero, fighting a Monster' theme was common in her dreams. But sometimes dreams have lasting impact and continue to trickle us for the rest of the day, she wondered.

As she lay, closing her eyes allowing her aching body to retrieve it's strength, her mother screamed from the kitchen and broke her peace.

 "Chutki beta! Come on wake up. Look who's here! There's a surprise for you!! Get out of your bed fast or you may miss the surprise!"

Like an obedient daughter, despite in midway of her nightmare recovery, Chutki began to lift her head to get a better vision of her room.

"Surprise Chutki!" Her uncle exclaimed.

"I boarded the first bus in the morning and came to meet my princess specially. And look, I got a new doll and sweets from the city. Who wants it? Chutki wants it? Come here! Come to chachu!" 

he tried to lure her, waking up from the other side of Chutki's bed. 

He buttoned up his shirt and zipped up his pant back before anybody else could come in the room and catch him, or get suspicious.

THE FIRST AARTI

It's our favourite time of the year. The most divinely frolic week, it was the first day of Ganesh Chaturthi. With the arrival of bappa, the long lost life of the house was retained after five months of brain draining home quarantine. We cried on the top of throats "Ganpati bappa morya" during the arrival procession, and it definitely was the first instance of excitement and optimism after months. 

Apart from the devotional values, what makes Ganesh Chaturthi Special is that, it brings the oldest Aaji of the family to the farthest cousin kaka, a fair of all generations of the family together.

As every year, my kaka-kaki and cousins were the earliest to join in right from bappa's arrival procession. Maasi too came in, flaunting her finest saree and jewellery. Atya prepared and showed us her special modaks for the Ganesh Chaturthi's bhog. 

Pandit ji had entered the room on time and instructed baba with the pooja practices. Didi struggled in her saree to help Aai with the home chores, meanwhile still managing to click a good deal of selfies and flood her gallery. Aai had tucked the pallu of her gorgeous Paithani saree as she prepared the yummiest authentic Maharashtrian lunch. And amid all that, I rushed around relaying behind everyone, capturing all that frenzy in my phone.

Soon it was time for the loud, chaotic yet thrillingly joyful first Aarti. So I requested everyone to gather in the room. Now, a Ganpati Aarti in a typical Maharashtrian household, isn't just another coordinated singing of devotional songs. Rather, it's a lawless performance of all the family members with various props, making sure they are loud enough to jam your ears for the next hour after the Aarti is over. 

So without any delay, the race to grab their favourite sound props and instruments began. Dada (elder brother) sat with his dholak, and his daughter, my three year old niece sat with her toy drum. Most of them had their pairs of cymbal or tambourines (मंजिरा) while for others, the musical instruments for the day was going to be their own palms. The kakis took out the Aarti books that came free with the regional news papers and had assumed the job of directing the Aarti and correcting wrong lyrics by raising their pitch midway.

Soon it was time and Pandit ji showed a thumbs-up. Dad, standing in front of Bappa added camphor to the diyas and we were all set to begin, when Leena Maasi interrupted-

"Arey Beta!! Sunil Mama has not yet joined. I mean we all joined conveniently but I think Sunil is having some trouble to join with the Zoom link you sent on the family group." 

And so, me, the technical incharge for the day got to my job of helping Mama join our zoom meeting. Soon Mama was on board, so I continued pointing the camera at bappa and keeping my window on spotlight, we began the Aarti with bappa's name. "Ganpati bappa morya", everyone began to blared into their microphones. Some, without even realising they were on mute. With poor internet connections, some of their audios cracked, some of their videos- distorted, the sync disturbed. But since we all had a stronger connection with bappa, our devotion and happiness remained undistorted, undisturbed. 

THE MIDNIGHT DATE

“Coffee!” I broke him off his trail of thoughts. He took the coffee mug from me with an amiable smile. I sat along, with my cup on the mat that had been laid on the balcony floor. It was my best-loved place; ideally for the ‘me’ time. I sat down here to read novels in summer afternoons, slurping Maggie at midnights, scribbling poetries of my melancholies and escaping for the secret rounds of customary smoke. This little corner of mine was now upgraded to my new found haven with his exquisite company.

I snuggled in his embrace, leaving no inch in between; with my arms enveloped around him; he enveloped the sheet around us. It wasn’t chilly outside, maybe we were just too possessive of the warmth we shared. Almost all my senses where in a jubilant festival. My eyes stuck between the moon and stars above, the aroma of the coffee and whiff of his cologne partied in my nostrils. My skin fondled along his, and my ears were grooving at our coordinated heartbeats.
 
I broke the bonny silence again. Like a dreamy kid, I asked
 
“What lies ahead?” 
 
To which he replied with a song-
"Que sera sera,
Whatever will be will be.
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera sera,
What will be will be."
 
Well, I had sunk so deep in the euphoria of his presence that time, that his answer just worked on me.
 
Withdrawing miserly from his clasp, I stood up to lean by the balcony's railing, as if trying to get a closer glimpse of the stars. There seemed no fault in our stars that night, as they constellated to make different visuals of my rosy pink future with him. I chuckled at my own insane musings, I hadn't even smoked yet. I guess, I was just tripping over him. He too hopped up and locked me gently by my waist with his arms from behind. To add up to the warmth, I pulled out two cigarettes for us. As I helped him light his cig, my eyes elated, at the tiny flame of the lighter. It threw a golden spotlight at his lustrous lips and jaw line in the darkness of the midnight. And the only sense organ that had remained unattended earlier, the tongue craved for it's treat.
 

 
That night, while we let out the puffs of smoke, we also let ourselves out, exploring about each other, polishing familiarity with each other. We chatted about our families, we flirted. We uncurtained our pasts, we flirted. We had become an open book to each other about our fears, strengths and anxieties, and we flirted more. We discussed our favorite sitcoms, movies, restaurants, books with constant naive attempts at matching each other’s preferences. 
 
Days had passed, since we had planned our dates in the future; clinging to the fancy of being together someday and yet all those days and nights weren't enough for the chat. Adding to the moment's enchant, I plugged in my earphones and shared with him my 'can't-sleep-need-romantic-soothing’ playlist, my kinda lullaby.
 
The dawn was soon to born, and I couldn't afford my parents to catch me awake, beaming and blushing at my phone at 4:00am in the balcony. I realized it's been four hours with my lips elasticized in a broad smile. But I was still in 2018, the chats weren't over yet, and so wasn't my date. Many such dates were promised over a year ago, but never happened. Yet I gathered myself up, and advanced to finish reading our remaining chats.
 
I had smoked off cigarettes on both of our behalves and struggled to keep my eyes open now. My stubbornness kept me on though, as I scrolled down further and re-read our chats, to complete my imaginary date. 

I scrutinized them again for the umpteenth time like I have been doing for over a year now. Making unsuccessful attempts at finding where I went wrong; so terribly wrong that I can only comfort myself by imagining him with me now. But gratefully or not, the lullabies playing in my ear, took over me. The session for that night was over. I dozed off at my best-loving place, on the mats, wrapped in my sheets alone.

My eyes began to shut for the night; rather 'morning'. My phone slipped off my hand as I lost the grip of my palm to my sleep. Similarly, my open-eyed imaginary date slipped to continue in my fairytale dream. Similarly, I gladly lost grip of the unpleasant reality, for many more insomniac nights like these, were he left me alone, where he was not around anymore...
  

HUMAN UP PLEASE!

Enough attempts have been made towards empowering women in this man's world, loads of awareness campaigns, modified laws and practices have been abolished towards making women's life better in this man's world.

There's a revolution combating the stereotypes attached with women, but rarely do people cognize, let alone fighting for, that even men are subjected to such stereotypes. The worst part about it is that, women howl when called the depended or weaker sex but at the same time tag men of not being 'man enough', for being emotional, financially dependent and physically weak.

Frankly speaking, the society hasn't been very friendly to a man either. The birth of a male child sends merriment in the family, but the poor boy spends his entire life under the mountains of his family's expectations.

Earlier when he is a son, he is obliged to choose a career that would help him subsidize his retired parents and family. And later, as a husband and a father, he is obliged to work and slog till 60, because of course "Biwi ke kamai pe khayega kya?"

Situations are getting workable though when it comes to career and jobs as working women or wives are backing their husbands financially these days. But Alas! It shall take years to accept the psychological grievances of men.

According to Wikipedia- "Females show higher rates of non-fatal suicidal behavior and suicidal thoughts as well as attempts of  suicide, but reportedly ,males have a much higher rate of completed suicides."
Because until we realise that they have some psychological issue, they are dead already.

 'Men don't cry'- The statement that has been hammered so well since the childhood that it itself  becomes the killer within them. Suffocating their sob to the judgemental society, how often have we seen our father, brother or rather our male friend cry out loud? But that doesn't make them insensitive to the greatest pains and issues in their life.

Often heard about the mood swings women go through during mensturation and menopause, but we scarcely even know about andropause: the hormonal changes that middle age men go through resulting in mood swings, fatigue, negativity, and in the worst cases: depression. A man (our father/husband) closing to retirement, is vulnerable to post retirement financial anxiety, one may find him worried within their own thoughts but only when alone.

Men don't share their problems or open up easily, especially to a women, because they are forced to portray themselves stronger in front of them. Men get cheated on, suffer heart break, and at the threshold of torment also fall prey to fake sexual abuse accuses that calls the end of their life. We may have hugged and kissed our mother often, but a little we could do would also be, to hug our father once, for suffering so much without letting us know.

What makes humans different from other living organisms are feelings, and men can be sensitive because men are humans who deserve to be heard. And if they fall week on their knees and people ask them to man up, then ask the people to 'HUMAN UP PLEASE!'

THE EXPECTING FATHER'S DAY

Rajan couldn't concentrate on his work today, as he browsed for baby names on Google. Baby cribs, baby clothes and creams brimming in his Amazon
shopping cart.

His wife's maternity leave had begun, ending his after-parties and overtimes to reach home as early as possible. Buying groceries on his way back home and watching recipes instead of Game of Thrones became a routine, and the routine of smoke break became
nicotine time.

Rajan was more euphoric going back home today than other days of the week. It was a Saturday which meant a cozy weekend and an entire sunday to look after his queen and the little life inside her.

Picture credit- Babyearth.com

"Today is father's day. From next year, you shall celebrate it too." 

His wife said, caressing her belly.

Keeping aside all his work and ignoring all the office mails that day, Rajan planned a series of pamper therapy for his wife on that Sunday. Right from shopping and dinner to personal back massage. Some chitchat with the baby inside and feeding the medicines to his wife on time, practicing with the diaper and decorating the baby's room, it seemed like one day off was so not enough.

Despite a months more to become a father, Rajan had already commenced with his duties. He held his wife's hand tight outside, kept track of her diet, forbade her from physical home chores and had already opened a new savings account.

But as the sun dulled down for the day, so did Rajan's smile. A concerned Rajan had already requested the neighbours to keep check on his wife when he was at work. The expecting parents curled back in the bed, dishearted to begin with a new week of distance. After some fruits, chocolates and cuddles, they kissed each other, good night.

Unwilling, but out of obligations, before drifting to sleep, Rajan went through his pending office mails. But instead of vexing over it, he was rejoiced to get his first and best Father's day gift even before becoming one. Jumping on the bed like a kid, he hugged his sleeping wife in glee. The mail from the HR read- " Paternity Leave Sanctioned."

THE QUALIFYING CONTRIBUTION

The election slogans dominated the village's air, enlarged faces of candidates on humongous hoardings walled the roads. Different flags enveloped the gates and streetlights.

The judgement day was soon to come, but the attempts to make the decision in their favour was to begin today. The election campaign, the rally.

Two time winner, MLA.Guptaji eyed towards his hattrick. This rally had to be most extravagant. This rally had to be most influential. 

Where Guptaji's sons and son-in-law accompanied him for rallies and party works, the women of the house trageted other women of the village to seek votes for the party as they met and gossiped. Even little Aryan, his grandson was to take part in this rally with his father and grandfather. It was like the entire Gupta family stood for the elections, the entire family backed their man.

The six year old Siya, granddaughter of Guptaji stood silently by the door frame, watching her house at chaos of the family and party member running here and there, arranging and preparing tirelessly for the rally. They had to make it a one unforgettable sight for every villager. Siya felt guilty of not being able of aid to her family and dadaji.

In her mission to fish for some work, pulling her uncle's kurta, she asked-

"Chachu, chachu. I also want to help. What can I do?"

"Umm... You want to help Dadaji win right? Do one thing, tomorrow when you go to school tell your teachers and friend's parents about our party, and ask them to cast their votes for dadaji. Ok?", 

he said.

"But chachu I want to help in the rally and do something now for Dadaji"

 Siya plead but Chachu had already returned to work.

A broken Siya went back to her room, sat by her window and dejectedly looked at Aaryan help with decoration of the jeep for the rally. She stared at all the party members in white kurtas donning the party sashes, the black jeep and trucks decorated with blue and orange garlands between the huge photos of her dadaji. The preparations looked perfect, but suddenly not to Siya's eyes, something was missing. Without a second more, Siya rushed to her study, she had finally found her part of contribution.

After an hour, a garland laden Jeep, a party members on the truck and a hundred hoardings waited for Guptaji and so was Mrs.Gupta. Standing with the iconic dahi Shakkar and Diya just like a queen who is set to bid her king leaving for the battlefield. As Guptaji advanced towards the jeep outside the house Siya blasted out of her room. 

"Dadaji! You forgot something for the Rally!" 

She exclaimed.

Everybody turned around to Siya, but to be hit by a wave of bewilderment. Suddenly the noise of the frenzy party members felt cold. Guptaji stared at the masterpiece she made with her crayons and sketchpens. From the corridor of astounding silence, Siya walked towards dadaji, 

"You forgot your flag, dadaji." 

She said further reaching to the Jeeps bonnet and tucking it between the garlands. Everybody's eyes followed Siya, the eyes of the party members that bent down in Shame, and the eyes of Gupta family that lifted up with pride. 

Siya's flag for the election rally of his party would qualify the rally in true sense. Not a lotus, or a palm, neither an elephant nor the shades of blue or orange but three colours we often called Saffron, white and green.

THE ALMS

The multiple visits, petitions and urges to the bank had finally paid. The frustration and fatigue of travelling back home by a crammed public transport vehicle with varied odours of sweat more than oxygen to breath , after work suddenly didn't hamper the smile on Naveen's face.

He waited for the bus everyday, tired, eager to go home and leap into his bed, but today's eagerness, rather to be called- excitement to reach home had another reason. Unable to hold his rhapsody any long, he called up his wife.

"Hello Kripa! Prepare something special for dinner today, a sweet dish maybe kheer, or gulab jamun........ Yes yes! I am very happy, because it's a very special day for us, we'll soon have your own house, and you'll be the Rani of our house!....... Yes yes Kripa! Our home loan has got sanctioned.......... now you won't have to adjust with four people in 1BHK........Now nobody will disturb us. Just you and me in our little paradise ........ Ya I'll reach I half an hour ....... Ok bye, love you!"

Just as Naveen dismissed the call, he drifted into this paradise, currently who's bricks  and cement were made of his day dreams.

Hand-in-hand, Naveen brings his blindfolded wife to their brand new house. The blindfolds opens to tears rolling down her eyes, accompanied by a soft smile. "Naveen and Kripa Singh" the nameplate read. Holding her hand tighter than ever, Naveen pulled Kripa close, danced and swayed on the beats of joy . It never felt more picture perfect until the bus honk blared in his ear.

Naveen shifted further in the bus line when his sight fell on an old beggar across the lane. She sat pale, under the soring temperature on an old jute bag. The only sari on her body was dusty and wearing out with holes pleading to be empathized. The wrinkled skin hung by her lanky frame, as she looked up with gratitude at the donators half of her age.  Her skinny fingers with decayed nails shivered and struggled to grip the bowl as people dropped alms of a coin or two.

Naveen felt pity for the old lady's condition but she was just another old beggars one usually finds by the streets and stations. But it wasn't just another day for Naveen and neither was she, just another old beggar on the street. It seemed as a usual scene, until something caught Naveen's curiosity.

Naveen observed that everytime somebody dropped a coin in her bowl, she would mumble something to them, which ofcourse he couldn't hear from across the lane . He presumed that the old women was probably mentally unstable, blabbering to herself, but soon noticed her, responding only when somebody bent down to drop the penny.

Picture credits- flikr- Ahead Mohimin

Unable to hold himself back , Naveen spontaneously jumped out from the bus stand to the other side of the lane towards the old lady. Slipping out a note of ₹50 from his wallet, he lowered on his toes to her eye level.

"Maa ji, how may I help you?"

Naveen enquired with a concerned tone partially mixed with curiosity.

The old woman lifted her earnest eyes to meet that of Naveen's and mumbled with an exhausted tone partially mixed with plead-

"Don't throw your old parents out of your house."

THE SECOND SHOT

I caught him again, I caught him giggle at the phone screen all over again. No, it weren't any Santa-Banta or husband-wife jokes on the family group, neither was it a stupid video shared on his Facebook timeline. This giggle had another story all together that rooted to his heart.

Ever since he joined the new office, it was one of his overfriendly new colleague who had been the reason behind his sudden-aroused attachment for his phone. I didn't wish to distort my trust over him, but a women by sex I am, with 'nosey' settings on default. I am the most special girl in his life, or rather to correct- 'I was'. I had to take this new woman in captive, who's chat was pinned on his WhatsApp lately along with mine.

That day, when he was home from office, he got to his new routine of lazing in the couch with is phone, typing and giggling, or blushing to be precise.

I had to be good until I was sure , but the fire of betrayal sparked when I read him type- "It's a dinner date, I'll pick you by 8."

I typed her name on facebook- Archana Mathur, I had managed to find it from his phone when he was in the washroom. Thankfully, there were only two registered fingerprint unlocks atleast till now- his and mine.

Ain't sure about the infringement case but I loved Zuckerberg for offering such an amazing stalking platform.

Well I found this Archana, her bio read -'lives in Mumbai, studied in Kendriya Vidyalay Indore, Batch 1985. Marital status- Single '.

"Ahh, school mates!"
I exclaimed, too loud to be caught by him, but he burst out laughing. He walked to hug me- "Hey Stalker daughter, It's Valentine's Day. Will you dress me for my date tonight?"

I glared with rage , but the excitement of first date of a fifteen year old teenage boy on the face of fifty year old man melted me soon. I fetched for his favourite Maroon shirt in the closet, meanwhile I maturely prepared myself to share him with another women now. I knew, he wanted to give a second shot, I had to agree.

Now, I had grown old enough to understand the different emotional dimensions of love, the one I offered was different for the one a life partner would offer him. I knew he always barred his companionship needs for me. I knew he loved me but deep down, he needed a partner of his age and maturity since he was divorced with mom a decade ago.

In the era when I and the society had accepted even same sex marriage, then 50 isn't too late to date. When dad stepped out of his room, I realised how much disgrace I was as his daughter. He had managed to look so dapper and handsome at fifty to pick on a valentine and I was in my pajamas stalking guys on social media and still figuring ways to strike a conversation with my crush at my nighteen.

I waved goodbye to dad as he was set to leave.
"Dad, Say 'hi' from my side to Archana aunty. And call her home next time." I cleared, a women by sex I am, with 'nosey' settings on default.

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 

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.