She sat there with her eyes moist and yet, dry bereft of any tears not even wondering what had brought this one. Broken in spirit, shattered and bruised in the vilest way. All the bruises which were visible at least had accountability. One could wait for the passage of time to heal them from the eggplant purple to the dirty yellow fading into nothingness. But what about the scars which were engrained into her, they were getting deeper, bleeding and rotting the core of her leaving a fetid stench …..Which engulfed at all times.
She thought about her existence, given birth by loving parents who pampered her, loved her at every step and held her hand at every turn guiding, nudging her to the highest levels of education. And, when the infernal rishta (that’s how she saw it) she was married tethered to a man who was all prevailing. It seems time stands still and whatever advancement is like a smokescreen, promising the sky but leaving one with a lot of grey smoke on the face. He was all what one wanted in an ideal partner (do these utopian fantasies exist?).A whirlwind marriage with all the trappings was played to the hilt and she settled into her marriage with the excitement and coyness of a blushing bride.
All was well, till alcohol surfaced and reared it‘s ugly head. She tried, appeased him but nothing... The beatings started as a vent of his frustrations, because of his inner demons which tormented both of them. Turning to her parents, and having long discussions and promises of him turning into a new leaf led her down the merry path that all would be great. No one gets divorced in our families; just learn to live with it, give him another chance. These placations carried on with the beatings and the last one was which broke the camel’s back.
This is a true rendition of a case which came to the chairman pswc…I don’t want to give any reasons, explanations’ or arguments about what drive women to this utter desolateness and sheer helplessness. This scene is played out in countless households; tell me when we will stop it and let the stench fade away to sweet smell…
The woman in question had everything going for and has been killed by her so –called in laws and her parents and society by repeated attacks on her body with electrical shocks, while her soul frittered away the first time..
By the way, what do you think is an adequate financial compensation? What a laugh …
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
ireport6
My holiday sojourn is over after picking up the pieces of my life after a mumble-jumble hectic activity filled days w/ my boys and a magical trip to Hk. Well back to ground reality (unlike Ground Zero)and life which is orderly, disciplined minus the late night binges of chocolates, malteasers and trying to appease the calories by eating dark chocolate which is no match for sinful good ol’ basic chocolates.., and yes, must share with you all a new recipe courtesy Gobind, popcorns dipped in pizza pasta sauce. Enough of me and my bacchas …. Throughout the month I have been reading reports, notes, blogs, comments bemoaning Punjab, its infrastructure, the sheer moral break down of its cultural values and yes the lack of basic facilities in every sphere and the constant comparison with our elitist countries where we all have had the fortune to visit.
I agree to all our complaints, woes and all your arguments regarding our politicians, the problems which plague us year after year, with consistency of the lack of monsoons and our sheer dependence on them.
I wonder what gave us all the right to just crib. It’s in fashion to put your state down (started in all elitist drawing- rooms talked over a glass of the finest grey goose or is it wines, these days??)I t seems it is increasingly intellectual to put one’s own identity down.
Take stock , for a minute this is the state which gives us our identity, our existence, we are first class citizens here and not second class ones who even if they try to emulate the “white skin” would still always have a teeny-weeny brown somewhere. Whitening creams do a roaring business but trust me we have our own appeal this wheatish complexion is unique and is our USP (agriculturally speaking, too!!)Finding faults is like fashion and we all have our two bits of money on it, but I wish we would all do something about it collectively. It’s this WE which makes the society the state and so on... Do not at this pt. if you are reading nod your head and say this woman has lost it, and just because she has a cushioned life she is preaching, we all can give back to the society, or at least try aka Pargat singh.. Imagine if he didn’t even try for the elections for IHF president!! Suppose he took this stand that, I can’t fight because of the politics involved, where would we be? Resigning to fate is the worst crime, according to me.
Why don’t we take pride in being a Punajbi? We ape the west, we dress the way they do, and we follow whatever is trending in the streets of New York, Milan or London. The craze/ obsession for designer bags, glasses the newest pair of Tod’s or the Birkin is driving /fuelling their economy and not ours. When was the last time you decided to own something Indian except for the solitaires??
Any expat- Punjabi realises his value only and only when he can come back to his pind and builds a monstrosity of a house which is empty year after year and opened only during fleeting visits but which are tantamount , to his wealth there.
Independence Day is around the corner, there is this upcoming event in Chandigarh called “August Kranti”. It is my wish that this kranti takes place first in our minds about our identity, our ethos which is fast disappearing, when our mind is not held high how we can teach our children, escapism to the west is not the solution.
Punjab, has so much to offer. Be patriotic , if we are not going to be proud of it the next gen
is definitely going to walk out...Try changing yourself and your attitude and see the difference. Where else would be get the flavors? Do you think thi smitti can be replicated in a clinical germ-free atmosphere? Try the golgappas via a commercial chain or the nukkad rehri wala and you'll know what I'm talkin about
so, ppl stop condemning start appreciating
I agree to all our complaints, woes and all your arguments regarding our politicians, the problems which plague us year after year, with consistency of the lack of monsoons and our sheer dependence on them.
I wonder what gave us all the right to just crib. It’s in fashion to put your state down (started in all elitist drawing- rooms talked over a glass of the finest grey goose or is it wines, these days??)I t seems it is increasingly intellectual to put one’s own identity down.
Take stock , for a minute this is the state which gives us our identity, our existence, we are first class citizens here and not second class ones who even if they try to emulate the “white skin” would still always have a teeny-weeny brown somewhere. Whitening creams do a roaring business but trust me we have our own appeal this wheatish complexion is unique and is our USP (agriculturally speaking, too!!)Finding faults is like fashion and we all have our two bits of money on it, but I wish we would all do something about it collectively. It’s this WE which makes the society the state and so on... Do not at this pt. if you are reading nod your head and say this woman has lost it, and just because she has a cushioned life she is preaching, we all can give back to the society, or at least try aka Pargat singh.. Imagine if he didn’t even try for the elections for IHF president!! Suppose he took this stand that, I can’t fight because of the politics involved, where would we be? Resigning to fate is the worst crime, according to me.
Why don’t we take pride in being a Punajbi? We ape the west, we dress the way they do, and we follow whatever is trending in the streets of New York, Milan or London. The craze/ obsession for designer bags, glasses the newest pair of Tod’s or the Birkin is driving /fuelling their economy and not ours. When was the last time you decided to own something Indian except for the solitaires??
Any expat- Punjabi realises his value only and only when he can come back to his pind and builds a monstrosity of a house which is empty year after year and opened only during fleeting visits but which are tantamount , to his wealth there.
Independence Day is around the corner, there is this upcoming event in Chandigarh called “August Kranti”. It is my wish that this kranti takes place first in our minds about our identity, our ethos which is fast disappearing, when our mind is not held high how we can teach our children, escapism to the west is not the solution.
Punjab, has so much to offer. Be patriotic , if we are not going to be proud of it the next gen
is definitely going to walk out...Try changing yourself and your attitude and see the difference. Where else would be get the flavors? Do you think thi smitti can be replicated in a clinical germ-free atmosphere? Try the golgappas via a commercial chain or the nukkad rehri wala and you'll know what I'm talkin about
so, ppl stop condemning start appreciating
Saturday, July 17, 2010
for better or for worse
For better or for worse
The woman with one ear
Saroj, a diminutive woman, frail with vacant haunting eyes always looked at me as if, pleading me to save her from these invisible and some not so invisible bonds of matrimony which bound her till death do us apart for better or for worse. It seemed as if, this had been coined for specially, I learnt later.
What stood out on her was her wiry hair which somehow managed to escape the tightly bound dupatta covering her head. It seemed omnipresent, always there as if waving a red flag to me…we took her in one late evening when she came outside the farm gates crying for help, asking to be saved from her alcoholic , abusive husband, Sikander.
We gave her shelter that night and she started working, assimilated into the domestic work-force. It seemed she would never stop working, rising early and working late so no one could find fault with her and send her back into the village. I would see her sweeping the floors, picking up a stray leaf from the gardens (which had the temerity to fall under her watch!!) and always dusting with her trademark dupatta .This continued with her content to get her 3 square meals and some hand me down clothes from me. One day, in the middle of the afternoon post lunch someone was frantically ringing the bell, when I went out to check, there she stood with hair all astray wild swirling like a dervish. She looked different and it struck me her dupatta was missing. Saroj cried, “He’s got her, he took her away from the gates”. Please get her back; I want my daughter. I made her sit down and was just patting her when I realized she had a gaping hole on one side with the ear cut up and sewn on one side. A crisscross of stitches in the middle of the skull stared at me telling me a story of their own.
I was shocked and stunned at the violence meted out and the scars on her. When I asked her, she just answered nonchalantly,” Oh! These, he hit me with an axe one day when he came home drunk and I refused him sex.” “I had to pay for my refusal, as it’s his right and he can do what he pleases.” Forget this, get my daughter back she said , wiping her tears .Indian women , gritty, have a genetic default , an inbuilt transmitter where they can bear all pain, abuse in the basest form all in the name of marriage, vivaah. What are these bonds, these ties where one woman can be debased, beaten by an alcoholic husband and she bears it all in the name of those rounds she takes around the ceremonial fire. The moral fiber is weakened where a woman is hacked grotesquely just because she refuses, but the irony is that she still stays with her…
Saroj got her daughter back but I wonder the woman with one ear would/could sever her ties as easily as her ear was hacked. These shackles which tie an Indian bride’s soul need liberation.
Van Gogh cut his ear in a fit of madness and was heralded as an unparallel genius; I wonder when madness will strike the Indian women!
The woman with one ear
Saroj, a diminutive woman, frail with vacant haunting eyes always looked at me as if, pleading me to save her from these invisible and some not so invisible bonds of matrimony which bound her till death do us apart for better or for worse. It seemed as if, this had been coined for specially, I learnt later.
What stood out on her was her wiry hair which somehow managed to escape the tightly bound dupatta covering her head. It seemed omnipresent, always there as if waving a red flag to me…we took her in one late evening when she came outside the farm gates crying for help, asking to be saved from her alcoholic , abusive husband, Sikander.
We gave her shelter that night and she started working, assimilated into the domestic work-force. It seemed she would never stop working, rising early and working late so no one could find fault with her and send her back into the village. I would see her sweeping the floors, picking up a stray leaf from the gardens (which had the temerity to fall under her watch!!) and always dusting with her trademark dupatta .This continued with her content to get her 3 square meals and some hand me down clothes from me. One day, in the middle of the afternoon post lunch someone was frantically ringing the bell, when I went out to check, there she stood with hair all astray wild swirling like a dervish. She looked different and it struck me her dupatta was missing. Saroj cried, “He’s got her, he took her away from the gates”. Please get her back; I want my daughter. I made her sit down and was just patting her when I realized she had a gaping hole on one side with the ear cut up and sewn on one side. A crisscross of stitches in the middle of the skull stared at me telling me a story of their own.
I was shocked and stunned at the violence meted out and the scars on her. When I asked her, she just answered nonchalantly,” Oh! These, he hit me with an axe one day when he came home drunk and I refused him sex.” “I had to pay for my refusal, as it’s his right and he can do what he pleases.” Forget this, get my daughter back she said , wiping her tears .Indian women , gritty, have a genetic default , an inbuilt transmitter where they can bear all pain, abuse in the basest form all in the name of marriage, vivaah. What are these bonds, these ties where one woman can be debased, beaten by an alcoholic husband and she bears it all in the name of those rounds she takes around the ceremonial fire. The moral fiber is weakened where a woman is hacked grotesquely just because she refuses, but the irony is that she still stays with her…
Saroj got her daughter back but I wonder the woman with one ear would/could sever her ties as easily as her ear was hacked. These shackles which tie an Indian bride’s soul need liberation.
Van Gogh cut his ear in a fit of madness and was heralded as an unparallel genius; I wonder when madness will strike the Indian women!
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