Its Not Our Fault.. (Part II)

No we don’t have to. But the question is, what is there that we can do? And the painful but ironical answer is Nothing! Nothing until the Law wakes up. I wonder, and present one question in front of you:

What will you do to stop the incidents of rape by setting an example if a convict is handed over to YOU? Completely. Without any restrictions?

If this question is asked to me, I will transform from what I really am. The people around me know I am a person with not a single violent bone in my body and that I also don’t support barbarism. But if I would have been given an opportunity like the above one, I would have surely done something similar to the movie Gangaajal. Yes I would have, with not even a single regret. I would have made him feel what PAIN feels like. And not only the physical pain. The pain of facing the society. The pain of seeing your scarred soul in the mirror. The pain of that girl who was raped by 10 men one by one, and then left desolated, the pain of her family who is expected to answer questions charged at them while they fight the trauma they are facing. I would surely try to do what I can to set an example for all those criminal born minds out there. And I expect that every single person reading this should feel the same. The problem is that, I would never be allowed to do it. None of us would.. The only issue is that we are JUST NOT ALLOWED and to the government, STINKING VOTE BANKS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LIFE OF THAT SIMPLE MBA GIRL STUDENT WHICH IS NOW SCARRED FOR LIFE. Thats why I say, its not our FAULT. We have empty palms. We are just expected to sit in hopeless rallies, to give empty speeches, to pay donations major part of which goes to the safes of those characterless, stinking and corrupt termites who are eating up the inside of this country to fill their stomachs. We are just expected to be mere spectators of the felony that our own people face, which we are indirectly made to breed.

It would be really disturbing to even IMAGINE one of our own family members going through something unfortunate, wouldn’t it?

So to prevent this, we have no flipendo sticks with us to do magic. It would consume time, but it needs to START. We need to stop giving rallies on child abuse, and start with HOW TO TERMINATE IT!

We need to enlighten our government, not the public!

And if our giant infected embodiment of corruption does not have enough ideas to execute, Ask us! ASK THE BROTHER OF THAT GIRL! Ask the father of that girl! We will provide you ideas! We will show HOW, if one convicts goes through something barbaric and horrendous just ONCE, by the hands of public or the government and if this is aired on LIVE TV instead of our so loved scripted talent shows and utterly uninformative news of earth ending in 2013, or a buffalo flying...............the next criminal would probably think a hundred times before risking his life under the blades of unhuman and barbaric treatment.

...and soon every child would feel free...

...and soon every elderly would live free...

...and soon every family would celebrate freedom...

Oh yeah....

...and soon...

“ladkiyon ko kisi se bhaagne ki zarurat nahi padegi..”.



PS: cross posted on weandwords.blogspot.com

Its Not Our Fault..(Part I)

I recently saw Ghajini. To be true, according to me, except aamir, the rest of the acting looked like being really untrained. I mean, the policewaala runs, then Aamir runs behind him and then Jiah follows! What idiocy? But yes, even though it was a remake of Memento, the story somehow managed to leave a little bit of impression on me. Anyhow, I am certainly not here to portray my critical abilities. Then what made me describe this? Yesterday’s headlines.

To start with I would like to share my immediate reaction to the text i read. Owing to the inherent monotonousness of the event, it did not provoke anything in me, except, putting it down in words. I am confident about my assumption, which is that this very same feeling would have been there in many psyches who would have read those unfortunately familiar words. Its not at all rare! Its really common. Probably so common, that even if a grotesque and monstrous image of it appears on any of the news channels, we dont halt anymore. Our souls are not hoicked. Our mind is so preoccupied by the worries of the latest brands that we have to buy today, or by the meeting with some international big shots who have managed their nation so well that they rarely come across events like this, or by a social party we have to attend in the evening...we are so accompanied by these “essentialities” that the echoing holler of the half naked and severely bruised girl lying on that pavement or the dirty gutter, not dirtier than the Indian pervert psyche, goes shamelessly unnoticed.

I glanced at that text , “A 24yr old MBA student raped in Noida”, and immediately that dialogue by this new actress Asin, in Ghajini reverberated in me- “Kin kin logon se bhaagengi ladkiya..” As I had mentioned earlier, it really did not jerk me. A thought, or half, would have struck me and the next moment I was reminded of an important call that I had to make. And this very news faded away in the already populated (read: polluted) conscious of mine. But something did make me think about this for long and arrive at a very obvious conclusion which needed to be highlited. The next day, i.e. today, that news had been allotted a small corner of page three in the main newspaper, but the shocking part is, it contained something really horrendous. An aged man, probably a mukhiya of the village where the incident took place, was highlighted making this statement, “So what? The girl was JUST raped. Its not a big deal.” This was something really dismaying. That too, coming from an elderly!! This statement baffled me to a very unexpected extents. I was shocked. In fact, for that matter, I still am. My mind could not arrive at anything but one statement, “Its not OUR mistake”.

Yes its not. Its not our mistake that we do not pay any attention. Or we do not act much except for expressing our grief and commenting on events like this and then forgetting about it. Its the mistake of the Indian Law enforcement agencies, and the government, or in the words of a layman, the RULES which are there in India. I quote another example from the Indian cinema highlighting my point. The movie Gangaajal. I know..whats the first thought that would come to anyone reading this. No! We can’t be barbaric! I know...even I used to say such things. And I know myself that I am not a person who has a violent bone in my body, or supports any kind of barbarism. But I have a few questions to everyone reading this:

How much PATIENCE are we supposed to keep and how much BELIEF are we supposed to have in the authorities’ perennial hollow promises?

How many times do we have to stray ourselves away from this bitter and ghastly truth that The Indian Law and Order is a perfect embodiment of WASTE OF RESOURCES AND BRAINS?

Are we supposed to nurture these rapes, and murders, and child abuse etc by just looking “away” from them accepting the fact that we can do NOTHING?

(contd..)

PS: Cross posted on The Lounge

Rendezvous 2009

Dedicated to all those who are incomplete this new year...being my last post this year, I wanted to concentrate my attention to those who are less fortunate and are missing someone.

He was well aware of this in his subconscious. He knew this was going to turn out like this. And he was certain; it wasn’t going to be good. The icy wind of the last night of December 2008 slapped his dry cheeks while he stood at the rooftop. Alone, in barely a matted black tee, and thin carbon black jeans, and a pair of slippers, he leaned on the wall. The chill was biting him to the bones, making him shiver, or for that matter shudder. But he just wanted to be there. Unaccompanied. Leaning to the extent of touching his forehead on the wall strip, he saw the fracture on the wall. Between his palms. It had an incessant fragrance coming out of it. It was pleasant. A smirk was all which he could manage at that agonizing moment. And then, the agony led to a drop, expanding in the crevice, filling it to the top.

Never did he want it to happen this way. In fact, he never wanted it to happen in the first place! Less than 24 hours and the world will transcend in a new set of 12 speedy months. Celebrations, happiness, joy and glee, and a whole lot of delightful emotions would be there in every psyche on this earth. He desired to be a part of them. But he knew it was unlikely. He may reflect it through his face and gestures, but truth would nibble him...each and every moment, scraping his inside to make it a void. He just couldn’t be elated this New Year. No matter how much he tried. He knew it. This New Year would be an encounter with his own soul to keep it from scattering into fragments.

“...chand lamhaat ke vaaste hi sahi, muskura kar mili thi mujhe zindagi...” He heard the song being played at a distance of few hundred metres and slammed his cold frozen palm on the wall strip. Yet another instance when Simar (name changed) was dragged back in the beautiful past he spent with her by the deeds of the humanity (here, playing the song). It was a dismal situation for a guy who was considered the charm symbol...and now, who had malformed in sheer silence.

It had been 3months when he was left in a situation where zillion questions were incorporated in him and he had answers to none of them. Where every step he took reminded him of the bliss of time that they spent together in the past 2 years. Where he was left alone to face the brutality of the New Year. Where every sighting, whether it be a baby, a flower, a torn parchment, his own hand, a song, a statement, a joke, a breath, a touch, or even a damn stroke of wind would remind him of the beautiful time they spent together! He glanced towards the sky and it fell on a group of stars they talked about once!!!! Every damn thing around him would make him recall his commitment and the beautiful relationship that they shared. Her damn voice would resonate through his ear drums to his body which made him feel like getting pierced by a million knives all over him. He tried to contact her after it happened, and all that he was gifted with was, “Why don’t you understand? I just DONT WANT it now! You cant see me happy can you?” That excruciating moment was embedded in his deep inside forever. Considering the fact that for their happiness, for the relation, he travelled 4000 miles just to meet her, he never imagined that he would be slapped with these statements ever till he was breathing. He knew his slip-ups too. He knew where he was wrong. He knew where the loopholes were created by him. He had apologised. Not once but trillion times. A promise was made by Simar’s heart that everything would revolutionize. It wasn’t that it was one sided mistakes. Both of them were involved. He had promised her things would change. But all the promises fell on deaf ears.

It wasn’t what Simar wanted. He still cared. He still wanted it back. He still wanted to make her realise that she ended something which was supposedly eternal! He still had not forgotten her. And their love. He wanted it all back and a fresh start. He wanted her to talk about it! He wanted to discuss it out. He wanted to just talk to her! He had restrained himself from doing so after she asked for her “happiness” in his non interference. He wanted her to realise how insane a step she took. How both of their lives were parallel and in need of each other. He wanted a lot to happen! He wanted somebody to do something for them, to suggest him, anything that would even hope to work. His desperateness was trapped inside his heart like a man tied to the earth trying to escape a meteor about to fall bang on his forehead........

The nail came off. It was 2:50 am from 11pm. Sitting on the cemented stairs, he had been draining off his thoughts, his frustration, his agony through the nail underneath the cold cemented surface Simar had more pain inside him than on his bleeding fingers. Through the foggy Delhi night, he could read out, though minimally, a big banner of “Happy New Year 2009” being transported to somewhere through a loader. Another pang of crucifying grief smeared all over him. His eyes accompanied the banner till it vanished in the fog. He rose and decided that he’s gonna keep everything inside. And, atleast for the outside world, be the same Simar who is known for his charm, his strength, his enchanting personality and his respect for his parents. Parents who took care of him as a child diagnosed with severe PPRP in his left limb and cast him so perfectly that he became an inspiration for others.

Limping down the stairs he thought it wasn’t less commitment from any side. In fact he knew she loved him more than anything. But what she did because of her childish brains had cost him LOVE. He approached the roof door, and before closing it down behind him, closed his eyes, wished her a very happy new year and just murmured, “As usual, bless you...”

PS: Wish all you guys a really happy and prosperous 2009. May all u guys accomplish ur dreams......have fun ppl....chao.

What should I do...

I dont know what to write..I really want to write something but it seems my thought station is too clouded. But i want to get the rains in it. I really want to empty out something deep inside me....deep inside.....and i want my pen to be the channel of it.

But its refusing to give me ideas..Excessive thoughts, i guess, might have lead to this. But thats what i wanna get rid of! Its too frustrating...I have got my exams in a week. I have to study. I have to work hard or else my GPA will sink to the very bottom of what it is already now(its already on the seafloor). But I just cant ignore this away, avoidance has become one of the most tough jobs.

I really wanna write something......But i dont know what...and i dont know how. Its just too tough to pick up your textbooks and think about studying. But theres a war going on. Between the two cerebral lobes residing in my cranial box. Wtf should I do then!!!! I cant sleep...Coz i woke up just now..

Its really taxing. I guess i should close this or else i'll end up openig up the lid of my laptop through a complete 360.

Like I Do Often...

Why does it happen to me,
only me,
The signs of association with you,
The memories
In every inch I walk,
In every letter I gaze on,
In every fragrance I smell,
In every bit I eat,
In every thought.

I am not a poet, still I write,
The memoirs of our life together,
I am not a scientist, still I analyse,
the reason for this unwelcomed agony,
I am not a painter, still I paint,
on the torn pieces of the parchment of seperation,
I am not a pessimist, still I lose,
the hope of beginning after the END.

And the question is born,
as to WHY?
Why do I act of what I am not,
Why does my soul echo in the dark and lonely graveyard,
With my name etched on every grave of your insanity?
Why has this numbness crept into you,
that you've become blunt towards all the humanity?

Life rolls on, getting undone every moment,
Wishes, hopes and desires buried under the sand,
I walk along the roadside and wish you were besides,
But all I hold is the broken wall with my empty hand.

Yes, I am smiling, I am satisfied,
I am waiting, I am terrified...

A coalescence of these thoughts,
A blend of various emotions,
Is what makes me,
and my silent desperation.

I hear the sound of your favourite song,
And my memory shells out infinite moments,
Of bliss that we shared in those precious years,
Why cant I just accept this decrement.

I try hard to move on,
I try to throw you out,
It fails always,
My effort to silently shout.

Its just the questions I am living with,
I am naive, I am simple,
And i loved you....

Why is it then I still remember you every time I hear a laughter,
Why is it then I cry every time, I see a rose,
Why is it then I ponder over for hours, over what the hell went wrong,
Why is it then I....and YOU are not US??

I seldom wonder alongside unparalleled desires,
If you would be crying for me, for US,
Like I do often,
If you would have that hope of getting things back on track,
Like I do often,
If you would pray every moment to reincarnate the LOVE,
Like I do often,
If you would be desperate to hear my voice,
Like I do often...

I search for answers, all alone...
and just wonder again....


If you would die every moment,
Like I do often........................................

The Diwali of 2008: A Chapter embossed in the subconscious...

Sitting at the drivers seat, my eyes land upon the lights decorating my house. I put the reverse gear and decide to leave. I look again. This time I stop and keep staring through the depth of each bulb hanging up there. My tears turn, blue,red,yellow,green,violet...absorbing every colour my eye lands upon. The setting sun transcends its light all over the streets and makes an impeccable impact on my memory reservoir. Diwali 2008..something is different. In fact, a lot has changed.

Last year too I sat in the drivers seat and was about to leave. I looked at the lights. The tan of the setting sun was similar, if not same, and as I put the reverse gear, my phone vibrated with its unique style. I pulled it out of my pocket, with utmost frenzy, and there was the call...it was you. I smiled and picked. The voice is still crystal clear in my mind. The face I carried while driving afterwards was easily readable by anyone walking on the roads. I had a constant smile planted on my face. I reached my destination and put you on a hold(some services are free, so it was not an issue...like hanging up and calling again....). I took out the red and blue packets of sweets and slid it under the door of the relatives place. An act, for which I had to bear a long torturous "words of wisdom"  from my parents, but never thought of it at that time, as some free services were going to waste...an excuse to hearts desperateness to talk to you. I jumped back on the seat, put the first gear, and reached back to my place. The lights were shining even more as dusk had faded away into darkness and the essence of the Diwalis festive spirits had taken over.

Still gazing at those bulbs, I notice that the dusk has already faded into the darkness. But my phone hasnt rung. And i know it wont. Its 2008. I reach my relatives place, and instead of sliding down the gifts, I knock. And sit inside. Though not at all interested in talking elderly stuff, I sit amongst 3 elders and try to give them company. Actually, try to kill my time. My mind constantly going through the hurdles of expectations of a call, I again realise...its 2008. It wont happen. Losing hope once again, I manage to avoid those 3 faces and leave. Heads down at the steering wheel, I try to analyse, once again. What went wrong? Why did you do this? Every question, brings an excruciating pain with it, which tears apart a zillion neurons in my brain. I reach back at my place, my mind forcing me to look at the lights, but I avoid. Sometimes its too tough to compromise with life. 

Seeing my mother gather the accesories for the upcoming puja, I change to a traditional look and sit down in the small yet elegant mandir. The whole family present, my father starts with the puja. The typical sandalistic aroma of the "dhoop" engulfs each of us sitting there. ESPECIALLY ME. My mind suddenly appears as a kaleidioscope of the various moments spent with you. And of one major question, as to WHY? Why did you do this?  Why are you making two souls suffer? I try an idea...asking God. When someone is just stranded theres no option left, other than GOD. So with all my zest, I try to initiate a heavenly conversation. I realise, its not easy. Thoughts of you were the ones boggling my mind. GO AWAY! GO AWAY!! I clenched my fist and shouted these words silently inside me.

I started the conversation with God. I put all the questions right on table. He never answered. I tried. All in vain. It felt like the last hope going down the drain. It made me weak. Actually. 

Taking a heavy deep breath, while concentrating simultaneously at my fathers instructions, to touch the "thali" with the right  hand, I tried once again. I felt some response, but could not decipher it. That last hope got reborn. Though not too fruitful, atleast there was a satisfaction that I have something to hang on. Still.

Leaning on the smooth iron railing of my balcony, I observe a bunch of small kids, jostling with a pack of crackers in a corner of the street. Everyone of them dressed in the best and the loveliest of outfits which their families purchased for them on this festive ocassion. They are happy and celebrating diwali. Though maybe not even knowing what is the history and why Diwali is celebrated, they are celebrating. Maybe because they do have a reason. Why am I not celebrating? Even after posessing the knowledge of the history behind celbrating Diwali? Because I dont have you.

Because we dont have each other.

Because theres no point in celebrating a loss, which i know is common to you and me, though presently you might be in an illusive world of freedom and enjoyment.

Because maybe the lights are the same, but last year they soothed the eye with their tinkle..in 2008, they tease the eye with the remains of the memories.

How I wish I could be with you this Diwali, to tell you that whatever you are doing is simply obnoxious! Insanity prevails your mind at this time and you are murdering the essence of a beautiful plant which we watered together!!

How can you not remember the good times!?

How can you not feel the specialness now!?

What in the world has conquered your heart and mind so bloody drastically that every moment, every step of ours together, my tears, every thing we shared,  the first touch, meeting after a complete long year...............that every thing is clouded now?? 

How are you unable to feel the Diwali of last year? How are you unable to feel my sadness this Diwali? Are you not lonely like I am? Don't you feel incomplete like I do?

Lost in the canopy of these questions, and struggling to get out of this forest of uncertainities and incompleteness grown by you, I still wish you -A Very Happy and Love filled Diwali...DIWALI 2008.

Alpha-209: A Changed Life. (Part II)

The sky turns burning red as I walk down the pavement of the Chitrakut block, observing indivuduals with their unmanaged practical records walking out after going through a gruesome practical exam. How unconnected these people are, yet they seem to be linked with each other since eras undefined. I sit down near the red pavement and rest myself against the cold wall behind me. I reciprocate the warm greeetings and the exuberant smiles which I recieve from people who know me, even after knowing that the smile is the only thing they have for me at that moment.

I walk back with heavy footsteps to my hostel. The guard greets me with his peculiar style. I reciprocate with mine. The smile is still there on my face. And the FEAR still inside. The fear..the fear of facing the walls again. The fear of fighting with my thoughts, trying hard to stop them from engaging in a merciless encounter with me. The fear of arguing with the inscrutable shouts of the air. The fear of facing the mirror and avoiding to see myself. The fear of getting my expressionless face readable by one and all and then answering the queries which seem more like evil taunts. Its THIS FEAR which has become a part of me. I FEAR TO ENTER ALPHA 209. 

Just because as soon as i look towards any corner of it, a strong happy reminiscence associated with it takes birth in my mind. It grows develops, and ends up in instilling a painful memory. Just because as soon as I look out of the rusted window I imagine a ME smiling and inhaling a big volume of positively energised oxygen with a stretch of relieved smile on his face. And as soon as the imagination dies out, there stands a quiet, sober and an unreadable ME, looking out of that bloody rusted window, expecting his imagination to have lasted just a bit more longer.......just a bit more.........just enough to spend a lifetime. 

But it doesnt. As soon as the air strokes my rough skin, it wakes me up to the reality. And there comes my friendly thought...."Why the hell did you even STEP in this room?" A room which seemed to be full when I used to be in it. Now it has become a four walled quizmaster ruthlessly torturing me. A room which had catapulted me to various levels of feeling lucky, now, disgraces each and every moment I spend sitting inside it. I had a "Life" before entering Alpha 209..a relaxed one. Now its a fight in there always..Me vs. the sheer unpredictability of the appearence of the thought and its kind. 

I just need one answer from YOU,

"WHY WAS I MADE THE HANDICAPPED PAWN IN THIS FIGHT??"