The frayed old note

The frayed old note
Which I once wrote
guards 'Nostalgia' in its folds-
an ancient treasure trove,
Virginal, ethereal, mesmerizing...


The frayed old note

Which I once wrote

collates the fragments of my youth-

the drowsy afternoons, 

the endless hours of gazing into the vast stretches of nothingness above,

the love that never was...

The frayed old note

Which I once wrote

paints pictures- 

of dewy dawns- misty and  dreamy,

of rains of gloom and gaiety,

of rainbows- hues of hope 

and darkness, despair and loss...

The frayed old note

Which I once wrote

guides me through a mystic maze,

Just as a sorcerer would,

and I remember,

I was seventeen once...

The frayed old note

Which I once wrote

narrates a new tale, each time I unfold it,

Wounds my soul, each time I remember a wish - unfulfilled

a feeling- unspoken, a desire- forgotten...

Things I love & hate about Kolkata

"...A pile of shit that God dropped..."-- this is how the legendary author Gunter Grass describes Calcutta, which is now better known as Kolkata. A city where I was born and brought up, Kolkata is very much a part of my soul. Kolkata is has witnessed  all my firsts....namely, my first crush, my first date, my first movie, my first poem, my first everything...However, much as I love my city, I cannot turn blind to the gory sores that cripple the very notion of a healthy life, here. 

I have grown up in our very own 'City of Joy', like many of my friends, and have often asked myself, what is so 'joyous' about Calcutta? To any visitor, who is here for the first time, the city symbolizes the grim reality of a poverty-stricken India-- a city known for Mother Teresa and her immense efforts to rid the city of its filth, to provide food, shelter and the basic amenities needed for mere survival to hundreds of its homeless children, orphans and numerous other 'have-nots',---a city full of slums, waterlogged streets in the monsoons, and beggars of all ages lining the pavements. Is this what our dear old 'Kolkata' is all about? Do tourists visit this ex-capital of the British regime, just to feel great and superior amidst scores of unlucky people who happen to live here and face the daily drudgery of life in an over-populated city of a 'third-world' nation?

So, what is 'Kolkata' all about? From all of this city that I have seen since childhood, Kolkata to me, is a surprising concoction of 'the lively' and 'the dreary'. To put it simply, there are certain aspects of this city which one can fall in love with, at first sight. However, that does not protect one from the filth that is a part of this city. The following, is a list of my most enchanting and my most disgusting experiences with this city. Opinions may vary from person to person, but this is entirely my perspective of this city that I have known since the last 25 years.

To begin with,Some of the most utterly detestable aspects of this city are, 

The men: the men (some of them, not all) of this city (with due respect to all my male friends and family members) remind me of a story that I had once read in a Hans Anderson volume, which depicted a coarse path through the middle of the ocean, that the mermaid was supposed to cross. This path was lined with evil trees which had branches that would grasp and tear at anything and everything that comes across their path. Most men of this city, (or the middle aged ones who mostly travel by public transport, to be precise) behave as if women are more endangered than the black buck, or more rare than an alien from outer space. Ogling, pushing, shoving are common phenomena. Added to this is the chauvinistic chant of defense when they are caught in the act. The recent addition to this, is the shameless way in which they prefer to stand amidst scores of women in the ladies' compartments of the metro, and engage in a war of words with women for a mere place to sit in public transports. Shame on you, men of Calcutta. One advice for you: Grow up!

The metro: Once known as the 'pride of Calcutta', the metro services have deteriorated beyond words, in the recent past. Serpentine queues, rude staff, faulty ticket-punching machines, the type of service which is a far cry from what it used to be, even ten years ago, have all made the metro, a living hell. AC rakes and tokens not withstanding, few can distinguish between the metro and a 'local', these days. Where did the charisma vanish? Why has the metro turned into a favourite 'suicide haunt'? Why does it have to resemble cattle sheds with passengers being hardly able to breath in the crammed compartments, during peak hours? Perhaps, nobody has the right answers. 

The roads and public amenities: Potholes, waterlogged streets during the monsoons which put even Venice to shame, hospitals which have mice gnawing at patients who simply lie on the floor due to lack of space, new-borns dying every other day, frequent power cuts even during important exams....and the list does not end.

The attitude of people: Just as the naive 'Sardar' ji jokes, one cannot ignore the image that people from Calcutta carry with them. The 'Bangali bhodrolok' is well versed in Rabindrasangeet and knows the strokes of Ganguly by heart. Yet, he is too feeble to respond to the cries of a teenager being molested by goons or of an accident victim lying in a pool of blood on a busy highway. There are obviously, exceptions. 

Much as we hate Kolkata for its faults, we love it too, at times, and below are a few instances when we pride ourselves on being a Kolkatan. 






The sweets: Kolkata is synonymous to sweets for many, and most tourists from other regions of India or from anywhere else in the world would definitely not miss the 'Mishti Doi' or 'Shondesh', when they are here. One aspect which makes Kolkata ace the list of cities which make mouth watering sweets, is the variety. From 'chamcham', to 'kancha golla', 'pantua' to 'golap jam', 'jilipi' to 'rabri' &' komola bhog' to 'chandrapuli', you name it, and they have it. The 'rosogolla' however, rules the roost, and is symbolic of the love for sweets that an average Kolkata dweller nurtures.






The street food: Much has been said about how Kolkata is home to the cheapest and the most delicious of all street food. A close scrutiny, proves furthermore, how very delectable food can be, on the streets of Kolkata. The pavements next to towering office buildings, though a bit dingy, are the very places where one finds food of all sorts. Be it the momos of 'Exide more', the 'puchkas', or the chaat, street food in Kolkata is the best deal that one can get. Infact the city is perhaps the only place where one can have a full-fledged meal of rice, dal and bhaaji for  anything between Rs. 12 to Rs. 20. Biriyani at Rs. 30, chilli chicken at Rs. 5 per piece and fried rice at Rs. 16 per plate--- street food has never been better than on the pavements of Camac street. The variety here too is striking, as one can lay one's hands on anything ranging from dosa , roti, 'luchi', dal, rice, aloo dum, chicken, mutton, paneer, to fruits, sweets and lassi. Similarly, nobody who has ever tasted the fresh mango and pineapple juice on the pavements of Shyambazar, can forget the refreshing feel of it. 

Park street: Witness to a million blooming romances & a billion revellers during Christmas, through the years, Park street is the life-blood of the city.  A place which houses everything from fast food joints, pubs, and classy restaurants, with an array of dishes, be they Indian, Continental or Chinese, to book and music shops, Park street can very rightly be described as the 'Connaught place of Kolkata'. The place comes alive during Christmas, with the mesmerising lights and revelry that lasts till the wee hours of morning. A walk through Park street is immensely therapeutic and nostalgic for many belonging to our times, and will be so, for many generations to come. Flury's, BBQ, Peter Cat,KFC, Music world, Oxford, Someplace else, The Park.... Park street is a collage of joy and good times.

Durga puja: This was, is and will be the best feature of Kolkata, for years to come. Durga puja, is one occasion which makes everyone of us in Kolkata turn into a community, which eats, drinks and sleeps 'joy'. The aesthetics that the 'themed' pandals and idols exude, is an obvious symbol of the faith that the people of Bengal have, in their creativity. The colour, the pulsating happiness, the exuberance and the pomp that are intrinsic to this event, make it something worth staying in Kolkata for. Families staying miles apart re-unite with their cousins, uncles and aunts. 'Adda', 'Bhog', 'Pushpanjali', 'Shindur khela' --- the very many facets of this gigantic event brings a lot apart from Maa Durga's blessings with it. It gives us an excuse to splurge at the malls, much prior to the actual event. It makes us ignore our diet plans for four days. It makes us forget our woes and simply be 'happy'

The culture and heritage: The Kolkata 'culture' is not all about 'Ilish macch' and sweet loving Bengalees. It is a kaleidoscope of many facets. A glimpse of images which are drilled into the existence of Kolkata  will include the hand-pulled rickshaw (though, a symbol of slavery, to some), the tram (romantic, in its very existence), the temples at Kalighat and Dakshineshwar, the Victoria memorial, the Outram 'ghat', the flea markets of Gariahat or Hatibagan which house everything from bags, accessories and clothes to household items and gifts at amazingly affordable rates, the 'boi para' at College street which looks forward to a promising renovation and relocation at the up-coming 'book mall' called 'Barnaparichay', The annual 'Book fair', the coffee house- the nursery of dreams, and the 'jholas' of Presidency and JU (though, a cliche, its existence cannot be ignored), to name a few.

This is Kolkata, the way I see it, and have seen it since my birth. A city which inspite of being grossly irritating at times, is home to some of the most amazing concepts which enthrall and overwhelm me at the same time.

Between You and me

Well, friends, this is a special poem written by me, inspired by the captivating fantasy/Gothic romance, 'Twilight' by Stephenie Meyer. It was one of my friends, who had introduced me to this epic saga, a few years back. I was not particularly interested in the idea of reading another 'teen vampire romance'. It took me a while before I read the novel, and was completely enamoured by it.

 I was floored by the passion that Edward- the vampire hero of this novel, exuded. The saga with its poetic cadence and intense passion reminded me of another fiery classic, 'Wuthering heights' (Though, I am not comparing the two). The tension between the 'Cold one', Edward and the 'Warm' Jacob again reminds me of a similar tension between Edward Rochester and St. John Rivers in the classic Gothic romance 'Jane Eyre'. The movie version of this saga too did not disappoint me.

However, while reading 'Breaking Dawn'- the final version and the conclusion of this saga, recently, I truly hoped that the movie scheduled to release later this year, does some justice to the intense passion and unadulterated love depicted in the book. 'Twilight' to me is one of the best romance novels that I've read (Yes, I say that inspite of it being a mere 'bestseller', & inspite of it having an unrealistic plot ). So, Edward and Bella, this poem by me, is dedicated to you, both.

It is a poem from Bella's perspective, comparing her 'human' self with Edward's divine good looks and charm. Hope you like it.

 Between You and me

You-

 The honey breath, the sun-kissed frame, the amber eyes,

The mesmerizing elegance which I call ‘mine’.

Me-

Mere mortal,

Hypnotized by the euphony -your voice?

Electrified by the glacial river- your lips?

You-

The mellow Sun kissing the earth,

just after a heavy shower,

Giving birth to the earthy aroma,

Emanating from the rain-soaked loam.

Me-

Enveloped by the simmering passion called ‘you’,

Drowning in the amber ocean,

A vessel- torn by the all-consuming tempest,

Yet, not obliterated, but rejuvenated

- The flourishing excess of Spring- pregnant with possibilities.

You-

The immortal eloquence,

The bitter sweet pain which I call pleasure,

The ignominy of knowing that I am the brittle glass, beside your steel arms-

Strong, yet beautiful in their silver radiance.

Me-

Dazed & scorched by your perpetual passion,

yet, frozen by your icy touch.

Lost forever, in the meandering maze of love,

and blinded by the brilliance of your existence.

Me-

The loner,

the isolated soul,

a bundle of imperfection wrapped in your tender embrace, needing you-

Every insignificant moment of your ‘forever’.

You-

The enigma,

the charisma,

the elusive being,

Sans the throb of life,

Yet pulsating in the eternal, glorious rhythm of perfection.

You-

The flawless cadence,

the evergreen freshness of a rose-bed enlivened by the morning dew,

preserved through centuries,

A mystery- protected by some cryptic code.

Me-

Burning,

freezing,

- at the same time

In your overwhelming presence,

Caged by your love,

And enslaved by Destiny

Into loving you

And you,

and you, for eons ahead.

Letting my heart and soul melt into nothingness,

Loving a love, too intense to be encapsulated by

This body, this heart, this soul, this existence which is mine

Yet, not mine anymore

Drifting into a realm of enchantment

Which defies cruel Death

Dark, yet eternally glowing

Still, yet forever stirring

Dead, yet evermore living.

You-

Dear Edward,

Me-

Your Bella

Forever

Of adventure, spirits and scary rides

One lazy afternoon I was thinking of the most adventurous thing that I had done, and was reminded of nothing substantial. I would not particularly tag myself as an adventurous person, having had not even a single vacation without my family. However, I was instantly reminded of the scary night that I had once spent at a bungalow in Ramgarh, belonging to a close relative, last January. The events that followed were truly hair-raising.

It all began with a split second decision to go to the bungalow at Ramgarh, which I had heard so much about. Ramgarh is a picturesque hill station located in the Nainital district of Uttarakhand. We, that is, me, Sudeep, Abhinav and Sujata, hopped into our Swift with a weekend's supply of junk and headed off to our weekend destination. I remember waking up at 3:30 in the morning and rushing to pick our friends up by 4am, cruising through the uncannily silent and empty highways of Noida. By early afternoon the next day, we were watching the stray monkeys on the road, from our car windows, and waiting to reach our destination.

The moment finally arrived when we reached the small town. We were all excited to spend the weekend in the beautiful summer house, where we were headed. It was lodged amidst the rocky path towards the river, nearby, and thus we had to make do without the car for a while, as we struggled through the rough and narrow path ahead to our destination. 

The room had a beautiful view, and was cosy too. After freshening up and arranging for our dinner at a hotel nearby, we ventured to explore the area nearby. It was a small locality snugly accommodated amidst the forested valley, and there was little habitation near our bungalow. However, the winding path leading to the river nearby, was what drew our attention. All four of us hopped down the path, joking and chatting our hearts out. It was Sujata, who suddenly pointed out that hilly areas are known to have spirits hovering about, and one should make sure that one ties one's hair up, as spirits are known to attack young ladies who leave their hair untied. I laughed off this concept, though, as soon as the Sun set, I knew that I would not be having a sound sleep that night. It was chilly and we shut ourselves up in the room, reminiscing spooky tales from our past. There were tales of spirits having entered someone's body, there were real-life accounts of the 'ouija board' and of how a 'planchette' went wrong when the spirit did not leave at the end, but stuck to a lady, making her attempt to jump off her terrace. As the night grew darker, we decided it was time to go out for dinner at the hotel where we had arranged it for.

Four of us, decked up in our woollens and armed with torches began walking down the rocky path again. This time, the locales looked straight out of a horror movie. With no signs of life nearby, we noticed dim and faint lights far off, showing signs of hilly habitation. The same site which looked tremendously beautiful in the daytime, seemed scary in the nighttime. We somehow reached the car in the dark, and headed down to the hotel, nearby. I heaved a sigh of relief as I saw some lights again. 

The hotel was called 'Whispering pines' and was a pretty sight. The TV was on, and there was a lot of food to choose from. We were in the middle of a sumptuous dinner, when just for the fun of it, we asked the waiter casually whether there were wild animals around, since the forest below seemed very dense. To our utter horror, the waiter replied smiling, that just two days earlier the half eaten carcass of a cow had been found near the village below and that leopards were a common sight there. This news ruined my appetite and I wondered if I would be able to get back alive in one piece. After dinner, we rushed back to our bungalow, and I was petrified of the surroundings. The trees seemed like giant monsters and I was mentally preparing myself for a sudden attack from behind, by a spirit or a leopard or whatever!

The night was even scarier for me, as I made sure each window and door was locked. I made a lot of attempts to sleep, but to no avail. The tales kept coming back to my mind, and coupled with that was the disturbing sound of running water, gurgling through the night, which to our dismay we found out was being emanated from a faulty water pipe. 

Finally, I was relieved when I heard the faint chirp of birds in the balcony. I was sure now that I had survived the night of terror, and then I saw the faint ray of light through the cracks in the window, and I fell asleep, relieved that no spirit would be able to harm me now.

I was just half an hour into my long awaited sleep, when I was woken up and told to get ready for our day's events. It was decided that we would visit Nainital. A few hours later, we were enjoying a great sunny day at the Lake, offering our prayers at the Naina Devi temple and shopping for designer candles at the local market. It was as if, the night before had never existed. The terror was replaced with joy.

It was on our way back to Noida, when the horror returned. We were rushing back, when the traffic came to a halt on a busy highway, probably due to an accident or breakdown. The police asked us where we were going and guided us to a 'short-cut' to the nearest city, Ghaziabad. "Do kilometer baad hi sheher hai", he said with confidence. We were suddenly travelling through a narrow, dark road flanked by trees on both sides. This seemed even scarier than Ramgarh. It was apparently a village that we were travelling through, and not a single light was seen. It seemed like all villages in UP, this one too went to sleep by 7 or 8 in the night. And worse still, we suddenly noticed that as we drove through the winding road, the few cars which we had noticed were behind us, suddenly were there no more. We realized they probably found another 'short-cut'. We tried following the car right ahead of us, but we lost that too after a while as it sped ahead. So, now, it was again the long,  pitch dark road ahead, the terror, and the four of us, praying for this ordeal to come to an end. After a long ride for about 15 minutes, when the 'do kilometer' seemed like 'bees kilometer', we were almost sure that we had lost our way and there was not a soul who could help us. All of a sudden we noticed a faint light and 2 people, armed and uniformed. We reported our situation and asked how far the 'sheher' in question was, and were told, "Do kadam aage". The "do kadam" again did not end, we drove along and luckily came across a tractor sluggishly moving ahead. We were at the end of our wits, by now, and scared too. But we had to take a chance, and so, requested the tractor-owner to help us. He agreed reluctantly, and asked us to follow his tractor as he too was heading towards the 'sheher'. After 2 minutes of a painfully slow drive behind the tractor, we finally reached the highway linking us to Ghaziabad. We were thanking our stars and the tractor driver too. Finally, we were sure that we were safe.

It was a journey worth remembering and a journey full of unexpected events. However, at the end of it all, we came across a lot of unwanted 'adventure' which will be etched in our minds for as long as we live.

Those were the days....

The earliest memories of school, that I have, are a collage of a few moments- a petrified me, sitting amidst scores of strange and little faces in the lower nursery class, a happy me prancing about, after school, among the beautifully maintained premises of the junior section at R .N. Mukherjee Rd, the eager wait for the D-day--- our birthdays, ...mine---when I could dress up in my favourite dress and get temporary relief from the uniform, and that of my friends when I would get goodies and sweets. A few bad memories also exist- that of the terror of not being able to remember tables in the Math class, and that of being one of the most shy kids in the lower and upper nursery classes- shy to the extent of not knowing who my fellow classmates were.

The ignominy of belonging to a class-full of children, where I was a 'nobody' ended when I stood 1st for the first time in standard 2. I still remember the shock when my name was announced by Ms. Sardar- the class teacher, and the applause that followed. The senior section was a different story altogether. The tunics were replaced by smart blouses and skirts and added to our lives were the morning assembly, the hymns, the choir, the grand piano, and the break-time 'chit chat' with the 'gang' - Jian Ping, Neha, Pooja, Aditi, Mitali, Parinaz and me.

The senior section was however, what shaped me as a person. It moulded my personality, and gave shape to my dreams. It was here that I learned what responsibility meant. From being labeled as the quintessential 'studious' girl complete with the thick-rimmed spectacles and cropped hair with a thick layer of oil, and  being invariably made the 'monitor' or 'prefect', along with a few of my 'studious' batch mates, to representing my school in a discussion on TV, school made us indulge in a lot of activities. It was here where I was introduced to poetry- my eternal passion, for the first time and wrote my first lines of poetry. It was also here where I got my first taste of the Bard- Shakespeare, through the school texts. How can one forget the library, where we were allowed once a week - for which we used to wait eagerly, as that was the only avenue to a whole ocean of books which could satiate our thirst for reading beyond our school texts---- we began with 'Nancy Drew' and 'Hardy boys', eventually graduating to Christie, Archer, Steel, Doyle and also the whole range of children's classics.

The long metro ride back home with friends, the wading through the waterlogged B.B. Ganguly street, when it rained, the anxious faces pouring over books for the last-minute preparations before the annual exams, the nauseating odor of the multi-colored chemicals and solutions in the laboratory, the unity of our class when we were jointly punished on multiple occasions, the eager wait for the Homes Birthday celebrations and the Children's day party, which followed--- everything about school was so enchanting, so much less complicated.

How can one forget the teachers who made such a huge impact in our lives, and whom we idolized? Some of whom I can never forget are: Ms.Fletcher, whom I liked for her spirit, Ms.Rehman- who was a motherly figure, Ms.Ghosh- who was such an angel, Ms.Sanyal- who amazed us with her smiling face and the overtly Bengali accent and mannerisms, Ms. Bothra- who was grace personified, and could extract both respect and fear from us, at the same time, Ms. Jackson- the epitome of  sophistication and glamor, Ms. Bose- the classy librarian, Ms. Bodhanwala- the cute and sweet lady who resembled a doting 'granny', Mr. Sen- who exhibited a great sense of humor, Mr. Matthews- whom we admired for his immense knowledge of music,his amazing piano skills and his plethora of tales in the 'speech' classes which made him nothing short of the Ruskin Bond of Welland,  Ms. A Ghosh and Ms. Ray- both of whom were my favorites for the sheer style and eloquence in their teaching, Dr. Roy- who was the most practical of them all, and lastly, Ms. Hart- the epitome of discipline and order.

School was perhaps the only time when 'sadness' meant not talking to a friend for a few days, where 'happiness' meant acing the final exams, and where competition was 'healthy', and life was bound by 'discipline' and 'rules', where the only 'shame' was being scolded or punished by a teacher in-front of friends, where we learnt that good always begets good, and there should be 'no talking' during the morning prayers or in the class, and 'no cheating' in the exams. These lessons and emotions were etched in our young minds, but as we grew up, they seem to have vanished into thin air. The lives that we lead are a far cry from being the perfect realm of school, where the good were praised and the bad, punished. At times, we are left wondering if all that was taught in school, is at all relevant! However, what we are immediately faced with, is a marked nostalgia which transports us back to a world where innocence still existed, being honest mattered, and friendship was true. Those were the days which made us what we are today.

2012- the end or the beginning?

2012, the apocalypse, Doomsday,....we have been over-fed with these terms in the recent times, and according to some, the beginning of the end is here, as proved by the monstrous tsunami and the series of earthquakes that rocked Japan in March, 2011.

2012- the movie

The Mayan calendar predicts the 'end' of the world in clear terms, by 2012. We live in fear, as the impending doom approaches us, and threatens to erase the very essence of 'life' from the face of the Green planet- our very own Mother Earth. However, what intrigues us, is the eerie feeling of not knowing what the future holds for us, the Earthlings. Will we be obliterated, by a giant meteor grazing against the Earth? Will there be a nuclear catastrophe? Will we be overpowered by a smarter race of extra terrestrial life? Will we perish as a consequence of global warming and the resulting natural disasters such as earthquakes, tsunamis, sudden eruption of dormant volcanoes and melting of glaciers? Will there be a pole-shift resulting in drastic climate changes? What is it, that we are scared of? The baffling queries surrounding the myth (?) of 2012 are unnerving. However, that does not stop us from delving deeper into this concept to try and unearth a few plausible answers.

The Mayan calendar

The ancient Mayan civilization  flourished in Central America (in mainland Guatemala and Mexico, to be precise) in the 5th to 9th century AD and was surprisingly gifted in Mathematics and Astronomy. These people were fond of calculations up to 10 decimal points, and predicted the world events in cycles, and subsequently their calendar shows predictions ranging up to a 5,125 year long series of cycles which ends on December 21st, 2012. How the world will end, or whether it will 'end' at all, is however an open-ended query. It is said that the Mayans as well as the lesser known 'Hopi' tribes or Native Americans, both predicted this supposed 'end of the world'. However, the very word 'apocalypse' which means 'revelation' in Greek, perhaps can provide an explanation of this much-feared event. Some researchers feel, what the Mayans and the Hopis were talking about was the end of a world age, not the world itself. Thus, 2012, is being viewed by some as the spark of a new beginning- a world which will be radically different from the one we live in, spiritually and physically.

The Mayan people

Some theories suggest that there could be a marked shift from patriarchy to a matriarchy, since the final 'glyph' or picto-gram in the Mayan calendar suggests the transfer of the staff of power to the female spirit. Some suggest, that a cataclysmic event will wipe out 90 percent of the world's population, while the remaining 10 percent will learn to live in harmony with the Earth, without wasting the world's resources and polluting the environment or destroying nature.

 

Similarly, interesting revelations from the Hindu scriptures suggest that the Hindu God Krishna had predicted in the 'Brahma Vaibarta purana', that the new Golden age is to begin 5000 years after the 'Kali yuga'. This view amazingly overlaps with the Mayan and Hopi prediction of a 'transition' into a new world.

Another theory, is that of the supporters of Michel de Nostradamus, the French pharmacist, who rightly predicted many a world event, including the two world wars. It is believed that Nostradamus predicted that a major comet will wreak havoc on the Earth, as it strikes our planet and creates major natural disasters. This event may also bring about massive chaos on our planet and might be the reason for another world war caused due to the consequent period of anarchy.

Nostradamus

These and many such theories have added to the general guilt of the common man, on this planet, for contributing to the immense destruction of nature, the pollution and the mindless wastage of natural resources. Be it through the depiction of a green world without an ounce of pollution at the end of the contemporary epic movie '2012' or through the ultimate life-saving attempt by countries such as Norway, Israel and of course, the United States of America, who are rumored to be building underground bunkers and shelters for their citizens (Russian firm 'Vivos' has already built nuclear-blast proof underground shelters in the US), the earth-lings have succumbed to the fear of 2012.

An underground shelter constructed by Russian firm 'Vivos'

None of us know what 2012 could be exactly. Similarly, we are not sure if this is all 'much ado about nothing', and merely a re-run of the hype surrounding the '2000 bug' or 'the millennium'. However, something is certain: all we can do, amidst scores of rumors and massive uncertainty is, live our lives to the fullest, today.

Being a "woman"

"So the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then He took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh at that place...The LORD God fashioned into a woman the rib which He had taken from the man, and brought her to the man.'--- This is how 'The book of Genesis' describes the creation of Eve. The question which however remains, is, are the contemporary 'Eves' also mere fragments of their partners? Are they just appendages or do they have any existence of their own, at all? 

We are familiar with words such as 'dowry', 'Sati', 'widow remarriage'  etc. (courtesy: our text books) and how the social evils and atrocities against women were countered by great men and women in the past. However, a real scrutiny of the hypocrisy that we, (specially, those of us in India), resort to, when it comes to the treatment meted out to women, proves that this age-old argument will exist till eternity. 

The Indian society is one of the most brazen when it comes to duality in their treatment of girls. The same people who pretend to be ardent worshipers of Durga, Kali, Lakshmi or Saraswati, do not think twice before burning their daughters-in-law alive, or resorting to an 'honour killing'. The average Indian household worships its mothers, but teaches its daughters to be 'submissive' (read: having no opinion whatsoever, in any matter). 

Even while we rejoice in the glory of the success of the likes of Kalpana Chawla, Kiran Mazumdar Shaw, Indira Gandhi or Indra Nooyi, we still believe that a true Indian woman should be docile, should know how to cook well, and should be a typical saree clad 'Bharatiya nari'. Women are still told, what to wear and what not to wear, where to go and where not to go, when to return home and so on and so forth.

 A woman is tagged negatively if she drinks at a party,is expected to make the bulk of the adjustments required after marriage, is teased by boys younger than her, is pushed and shoved by middle aged frustrated and sex starved men in buses and trains, ogled at by people,and even exploited at the workplace, besides being victimized in the scores of cases of domestic violence, rape and murder being recorded everyday. All of this exists while we choose to shut our eyes and ears and pretend to be good Indian citizens who 'respect' the so called 'good' women (read: those equivalent to cattle being fed and taken care of and then being used and exhibited as showpieces in front of friends or neighbours) and shun 'bad' women (read: those who have an identity of their own, and voice their own views and refuse to be taken for granted and being told what to wear, what to eat and how to behave).

The truth is, that the society views a 'woman' as just a 'woman', when she is in fact, as much 'human' as her male counterpart is. It is true that only a woman can realize the intensity of this evil, but it is also a fact, that it is only due to the indifferent attitude of some of our race, (who choose to depend on their men entirely and believe in the illusion that life is much easier, that way), that women are at the receiving end of such immense torture. 

It does not take a rocket scientist to understand that a woman will forever be a 'woman' and not a human being, if she herself does not stop being the 'damsel in distress' in every adverse situation. It is not the 'knight in shining armour' who will help us in our worst times, but it is us, and the spirit within us, which will help us make ourselves heard. Thus, what we need is not a sham called 'Women's Day', when we will pretend to be independent and at par with men, but a strong resolve to be ourselves and not what the society expects us to be, at any point of time, today or tomorrow. 

Let this be our vow, and let this be our promise to ourselves.