When i was my daddy's lil girl...

Walking down the memory lane, I see a young girl, anticipation brimming her two big eyes as the clock showed 5:30 in the evening, the time when she would hear her papa's footsteps trudging urgently up the stairs.
Putting all her homework aside, proud of completing it in scheduled time yet again, she searched for a new place to hide in their small home.
She played the whole sequence of actions in her mind again & again and laughed and clapped happily to herself.
She loved her papa. This love was different. She thought if there was one person who could be perfect, it was him.If he said something, it was more of a psalm than a statement. She adored him since when she did not even know what “to adore” meant.

Then…she grew up.

Now, when he, as usual, returned from work at 5:30, a couple of things had changed. Firstly, a new fancy and huge apartment took p[lace of their relatively poor home and secondly, she knew what “to adore” meant and certainly had changed preferences.
Life was its mechanical self where human emotions do not lubricate the wagon to move forward but only increase friction to develop heat among relationships.
This small girl, now big, was me.

And then came one day when my mother’s friend, with her 8 month old girlie, visited us.
It poured heavily and God was in no mood to relent his decision for the less privileged.
The baby grew restless as the minutes converted into hours and she still had no sight of her father.

Then, fighting the winds and the water, he arrived. That was the moment when I bade them goodbye that made me ponder- When did I grow up?? Why did I grow up??

We waited outside our apartment for him to arrive. At the first sight of his, she threw an electric smile. And when they, her mother holding her, sat pillion to her father, she grew so ecstatic that she jumped on her lil space that she stood on and beat his helmet while chuckling a perfect baby laugh.

All he had to do was take her in his arms and she clung on to him as if making up for the time when she missed him and he wasn’t there…

I saw all this & could think of only one thing while their vehicle paced out of my vision- What if she grows up and realizes that she WAS once her daddy’s lil girl…??

The thought left a vacuum in me...

Khulaasaa...the first-hand experience

Hey all!

As usual, my absence has been prolonged. Anyways, without much a-do, I switch to the main point…

It had rained throughout the previous night and it seemed that the Gods had no plan to alter their plan. So, with my lungs full of fresh, moist Monday morning air, I somehow succeeded to cajole my father to drop me to the bus-stop. Oh, by the way, I work as a summer intern with MoserBaer (naam to suna hi hoga…!). So, waiting for the chartered bus to arrive, I opened my latest novel, the color purple, and started from the first page. I mustn’t have read more than 6 pages when the bus arrived. Feeling an adrenalin rush on seeing the bus after 4 strange days felt even stranger and abruptly, I promised myself to have a successful and a work-loaded day. But sometimes, your resolves stand sterile in front of other men’s vice. I had heard a fleeting talk about “Desh Band” today… but never had the thought struck that it would affect me and I would find myself cursing the whole system vehemently.

We boarded the bus as usual, got ourselves a seat (reserved for ‘ladies’) and I resumed my reading. We had hardly gone 3 kms that I saw unusual activity going on right in the middle of the busiest crossing of that national highway. It was the political party activists. At first, I could only see a lady, clad simply in a worn-out saree, carrying the party’s orange and green lotus flag in one hand and a 2 ltr plastic bottle of a soft drink filled with some wine-colored liquid in the other. Till then, the gravity of the situation hadn’t hit me. And since the weather was favorable and the air was soothingly cool, I dint bother myself too. Suddenly, I saw a man rushing towards our bus as it was put to a sudden halt. He was swearing at the driver and was gesturing putting a match to the bus if we dint vacate it. I was still composed coz till everything remained verbal, I was OK, I thought. But the scene got worse when they deflated the tyres of the bus and set some more tyres on fire, right in the middle, on the very crossing where the lady has first stood. There was a gang of atleast 20-25 people who were shouting out loudly and making sure no public transport shall pass through that crossing.

We were advised to take a U-turn and head back home, ofcourse on-foot. When I say “we”, I mean the girls in the bus. The very next minute, we saw ourselves marching over the flyover in a queue, like ants. At that moment, the water coagulated on the sides where we walked and made the route back home even more dreadful. My delicate slippers dint know what lay ahead, later in the day and I know, they were the worst sufferers. We vented throughout. We cursed the system. Atleast I did. This wasn’t really the idea of an educated common man to present his demands. But then, not everyone can refuse to get paid for the daily bread without having to earn it though a day’s hard-work, but a slice of violence.

It is surprisingly sad how the damned people carry out such obscene jobs at the name of “public welfare”, at the very expense of that very common public, the aam aadmi.

Hibernated

Hi to all!!!
No excuses to be heard or produced, no fallacy accepted! My absence from what I call my “heart n soul” has been disappointing and uncalled for.
Yet, I guess it took some time to get over a bad phase, to come full circle. All for good!! J
Kalaakaar ki koi kadra hi nahi hai… TRUE!!!
Just now I have been ushered out of my room, that I share with my pokey brother. The reason was simple to understand but difficult to comprehend. He could not sleep when I was busy writing. The sound of punching keys on the keyboard disturbed him. And then the next thing I saw was my father, looking much older due to such petty arguments, entering the room. I could tell he looked old. The light casted a submissive portrait of a man, shoulders slumped, forehead creased. At that time, I knew I didn’t want to be a misery to him. So without much further arguments, I decided to still pursue what I should have been doing regularly, compromising the air-conditioned room and my cozy bed.
Anyhow, since I last posted something here, there have been numerous changes, mostly for good, happening at me end. Take for example- my, otherwise strict-regimed family- the one to follow “Early to bed, early to rise” principle- granted my earnest request and took me to “Bangla Sahib Gurudwara” as early as 6 in the morning. Ofcourse, we had never done such an “outing” before and for them, it was no less than crazy. But I fancied it. I loved it more than I fancied it. I admired it more than I loved it. It was a déjà vu feeling to me. Like at “Darbar Sahib”, Amritsar. I wish I the sun never came up as harsh as it was then, and I could hang around the place whole day long. It was soothing. It was comforting.
And then the scariest thing happened. The E.X.A.M.S., of course!!!Those who know me right know that I am not a person to be deterred by such (mis)happenings. However, these developments do change your regime and suddenly you see yourself out of thecomfortable bubble which had held you for long. You go helter-skelter, collecting last minute notes, taking all “daadi maa k nuskhe” to enhance your memory level. Suddenly, the household budget goes up as the coffee jar has to be replenished every other night. You become the resident of a third-world country where no movies are screened, people don’t party. The facebook status messages only reinforce the plight of the agonized students. Some swear on the subject and its originator, while others settle for the teacher teaching the same.
But, soon, they pass. So did mine. The moment came very late that I realized that I am relieved off the burden of projects, assignments and exams for more than a couple of months! Of late, I have been planning grandly to spend my summers in an unusual way, the “learning” way. But now, all I want is- sleep, food, friends, hills, more food, more sleep, more hang outs and as usual, more trips…
They realization of my freedom came by the way of a family dinner. It had long been anticipated but couldn’t be materialized coz of some prior commitment or such. I knew I was sleep-deprived. I knew I had to mind my ways. But once there, I let it go. They are the people I belong with. My sis-in-law (how I hate that word!!! If I had it my way, I’d rather call her my sis) and I are almost on the same wavelength when it comes to thoughts and ideas. And my sis, no word in the world can explain what a darling she is. U know u can’t expect a 22 year old to be so naïve, so pure at heart. I feel stupid and sad when I think of all the time that we both couldn’t be as good sisters. But now that we are, I think we really gel along very well.
So, my sis-in-law and I share the same zest for literature and nature (whoo! That rhymed). U maroon the two of us in a room full of books and a sumptuous supply of food to last us days and weeks, and u’llfind us healthy as horse even after an eternity. We talk about just anything and everything under the sun. I never knew I could confide in her. Its her birthday today…
Happy Birthday, Bhabi!! May God Bless You with all that you want and deserve!!! J
And so, when our talks never seem to cease, my sis calls it the “Chipmunk Transactions”. Lol!! This proximity to them makes me wonder- when we were a joint family, we were never together. Now that we are separated, we vouch for togetherness… Strange!
Each day teaches you one thing or the other…for me, the process of learning just never ends…Like there is too much to learn in such short span. Like I never knew in case of emergency, if u get trapped inside your car, u just have to push the windscreen with your feet with all your force and it’ll come off. Aaj ka lesson.
OK! So, the final word is that the blogger in me has come out of hibernation and now, it’s the full moon time for blogging!
Hoping for eventful summers ahead!!!

Life is an endless wait...

Life is an endless wait...

Wait to be born, wait to have the first tooth.

Wait to be a teenager, Wait to pass out of school.

Wait for the first best friend, wait for first crush.

Wait for the first cycle, Wait for that first adrenalin rush.

Wait to earn that first cheque, Wait for the first night out.

Wait to get your own room, wait to laugh out loud.

Wait to have someone you commit your life to.

Wait to take on the responsibility of u two.

Wait to drop ur kids to school on Day-1, wait to see them grow.

Wait to celebrate ur teen's birthday, with a raised brow.

Life moves fast. Time even faster...

All these years, u've strived to make it only better.

Watever it be, don't let urself wait too much,

Cz life's pleasures come uninvited, remember, as such...

All it needs is just a thought...

Imagine a world which never knew that nature had painted the plants green;

That the polar bears were white and the tigers had ACTUALLY been.

When every human soul would be penetrated by flesh-melting sun rays;

When air-conditioners would become a sweet memory of the good-old-days.

When water shall still exist, and so shall its thirst;

It’d be the nature’s way to teach us to put “first things first”.

When elevators would stop, when sky-scrapers would become haunted;

It’d be that day, that the human would curse himself for turning the perfect picture tainted.

So, when the time still remains, don’t get yourself caught;

Coz all it needs is just a thought.

Whatever have we acquired from our ancestors is not our property;

That we pass this onto the next generation safely is our liability.

So, use whatever we “need” to, and make sure it is replenished;

Coz there is no end to a man’s greed, either otherwise or famished.

Let’s be aware and stand against the injustice done to Mother Earth;

Lat the hands come together to make Earth a better place to live and eliminate the appalling dearth.

Coz, of course, we wouldn’t want our grandchildren to stare with empty eyes;

On our mention that once upon a time, on the mountains and poles, existed a thing called ICE…

Another let down...

Hi all!!

Yet another time has come that i have been thrown an opportunity and have failed, not miserably though. In yet another essay writing competition, for which i had sent my entry, i lost. Not that i feel bad. But, now i realise that just being good doesnt help. You have to be the best, or...atleast better than the rest. Else, being good is no good.

This is what i had written. Judge for yourselves.

India has betrayed the martyrdom of its freedom fighters

Shaheedo ki chitaao par lagenge har baras mele;

Vatan par mitne vaalo ka yahi aakhiri nishaan hoga…

It’s amazing to see how just a couple of lines can induce patriotism in an otherwise-dormant-patriot. Reminds me of The singing legend Lata Mangeshkar, clad in a crisp white cotton sari, standing elegantly at the India Gate, teary eyed, singing “Ae mere vatan ke logo…” The song was powerful enough to make it impossible for us to fight back our tears.

It is, surely, at times like these that a sudden urge crawls in, to do something for the land that has given you so much, while you are still spared with atleast some breaths more. But, it takes just a pragmatic thought to shun the idea away. For some fraction of a second, we might feel guilty of being selfish but then, it’s somehow more comfortable sitting back home, and shedding tears for the departed than going to the frontiers and let others back home do the same for you.

Now, a question creeps in. Who would, in our country, go on to join the Indian Army knowing the meager recognition and compensation provided?

Besides, of course, if he/she sees nothing but a row of badges on their chest when they grow up, or even dying for their motherland, since the day they get their first toy gun.

I would say, majorly the GOI is to be blamed for this. Not only is the contribution of the valiant soldiers given due recognition, but also the families of the martyrs are driven endlessly for the scanty pension posthumous. The only time we come to know who did what during which break-out is the Republic Day when these soldiers/families of the martyrs are awarded.

One thing that I have come to notice of late and is not appreciable is that India Gate, the centre of attention of the National Capital Territory of the Republic of India bears the names of 90,000 soldiers of the erstwhile British Indian Army who lost their lives fighting for the British Indian Empire, or more correctly the British Empire in India British Raj in World War I and the Afghan Wars. Where are the names of the Indians who died in scores of wars be it against Pakistan or China or even the British Raj itself, for that matter.

“No guts, No glory” is what their official website claims. Surely, people who jump into the Army have the craving that makes them blind to the other side of this issue and which becomes trivial to them then. I remember, there was a time, around the Indian Independence era when atleast one of the many progenies of every Punjabi family was sacrificed to the service of the nation. That was the spirit of India then. Even now, when people there own limousines and likes, the feeling has hardly died. If at all it does, the morning and evening services at wagah border is enough reignite the spirit. They give meaning to the lines “Us desh ki sarhad ko koi choo nahi sakta, dis desh ki sarhad pe nigebaan hai ye aankhein.”

A country stands strong when its citizens feel for it. The 3 armed forces represent its combined force. India possesses the courage and strength to give a hard time to any super-power in the world. The need is just to incubate it and take care that it doesn’t die down. We are huge in number. The catch is to channelize the passion and spirit of the youth in the right direction, for the good of the nation, else:

Two men have the arms and power to use them. What makes a soldier different from a terrorist is his responsibility to use them both.

Are we really what we are?

Hi to all!!!

This time...though original, i want to put up an article that i wrote sometime back for the college magazine but the board dint find it substantial enuf to publish.... :-)

No worries!!! Its here now:

Why are mad people called just that - “mad”, ever thought of it? No! I am not accusing you. Even I myself didn’t, until sometime now. Anyways, the answer is, according to me, too controversial. Actually what I feel is, mad people are ‘mad’ because they have no inhibitions.

The “sane” world is, we can call, a bunch of people trying to confirm to the society-led norms. Therefore, experiencing (read showcasing) extreme fear, anxiety, pleasure or any emotion is out of question. What they do all the time is to present themselves as a composed personality, no matter how hollow they are from within.

This remembers me of Charlie (the escapist, remember?), the central character of the first chapter of class 12 English course book (Vistas) - “The Third Level”. “Sane” people like him are the ones who, fed up with the monotony of life, seek new avenues, even if it means thinking ‘out of the box’ or…….being called “mad”.

In class 12, though, the chapter merely held any importance except as a medium for fetching marks. But now, I see its relevance.

Another funny, yet notable thing that’s worth mentioning here is the “Pagalpanti bhi zaroori hai” ad campaign. I mean, how truly and honestly and of course, successfully these people have come up with an idea such as this! Kudos!!

Ok. Coming back to the main point, the society is gradually getting converted into a kind of…..mmmm…….machine, if I can put it this way. I mean, if I don’t feel like saying “excuse me” if I sneeze, then will the people out there hang me? Or, if a colleague of mine irritates me endlessly, why can’t I just shout back at him/her and stop the torture for once and for all??!!!

The problem is we put in so much of effort in showcasing ourselves as someone who the world wants to see as, and not what we actually are.

In the process of complying with the protocols, we miss out on our inclination, what we want to be.

The other day, I came across a father-son duo, on a verge of fight, where the son insisted on being a painter (the one who paints on canvas, and not walls!!). The father had this to say – “Fine. You want to paint. But, what do you want to do in life?” ahem! No comments on that.

Does only being a manager, or a doctor, teacher, scientist (and the list never ends…..) mean something to do???

But as it is, all these talks make sense only on this sheet of paper. If we go around talking about our “inclination”, we’ll be called MAD! So, watch out!