Every person worth his weight in gold oops votes is at the khatkar kalan rally today where more will be said about the party powers rather than the revolutionary who died for the freedom of our country. No, no I am not going to write what the country should have been or what it would have achieved if Bhagat Singh had lived on, we are way too familiar over all this and I ‘m sure you don’t want another long winding gas bag theory which you’d leave half way anyway. I read an article yester day, today and have been hearing news snippets about him and all the imagined conversations over a cup of coffee.
Here is my imagined coffee with him, the venue being heaven (well I presume that’s where they send martyrs like him and semi-sinners like me). Bhagat Singh is associated with uncommon valor, influential revolutionary, and Marxist and anarchist ideologies and was an atheist. Bhagat singh raised courage, bravery to a platform unheard of –he went on a 64 day fast demanding equality between Indian British political prisoners, equality which is still unheard of. His legacy prompted the youth to fight against British oppression and he also contributed to the rise of socialism in India.
Bhagat Singh says over the best cup of coffee he’s had in the recent times,” Immense movies have been made highlighting my legacy which I saw from the Pearly Gate Amphitheatre with Ramunanjan’s newest acoustic speakers and I am impressed by the jazba, the spirit with which they have portrayed me. But the sheer romanticism in which I’m shown saddens me. There is an air of romanticism where I am portrayed, truth be told it was a collective effort with support from a band of people who I can never thank enough. The yellow colored cloak, Rang de Basanti was chosen by me as it depicts one of the two colors of the sikh rehat Maryada ( code of conduct ) , the song written by ram Prasad Bismil and Sarforshi ki Tamana a desire to do something for the nation. This was shaped in my mind as early as 12 years. These feelings which I had harbored were not so that I would have a following or become popular or become a sticker craze which is what I have been reduced to, And the yearly marches of men wearing yellow turbans to commemorate me. Sadly, every person in the nukkad is sprouting my ideology but forgets my theory of socialism. Why did they start using me as a political weapon to garner votes? I fought for the nation, laid down my life for principles but now am being used to mud sling and even as we talk used for competitive politics rather for the common good.
Forget the common man that is where I rose from, the common man is herded in numbers to fill in the huge areas demarcated for rallies with the lure of music, free food to forget his miseries for one day. To return in the evening with some liquor given for his support forgetting that his family sits at home hungry, desolate but now caste –ridden politics and divisive forces rule the day.
I wondered at the pain in his eyes and saw a glimpse of the poet, the thinker who got forever imprisoned by his ideology masking the young revolutionary who was shaped by heavy weights but had wanted independence for India along with economic freedom. India would only be free if the cudgels of poverty are lifted. The mystique remains, to demystify the myth it seems Bhagat singh would have to take birth again and I wonder who would fill his lofty shoes.
Well, that would be written by one of the mortals , this was a report from the one and only Angel Times.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
contentment in a discontent world
Contentment in a Discontent world
Stress, frustrations, emptiness grief, loneliness, anger, sadness, suicidal tendencies, self-pity and most important Why me? Are the main markers of the modern living and these when overpower us have a devastating effect on us hurtling us towards bleakness, despair. We lose our balance, our friends, career, spouse, and children and if you have an fb account the virtual world too.
Every part of your existence cries out why me, what went wrong? Contentment is what we all treasure but real contentment is the treasure of few. I would say 100% of us not even 1% is spared we all have a burning discontentment with the who and what we are and what place do we have in the society. Do a flashback, one keeps on asking question since an early age, only the intensity of the questions change but the why remain the same. There is a burning desire in all of us to leave a mark in the society, to move onto a higher platform. Strangely, it is said,’ Contentment comes not by the fulfillment of what we want but the realization of what we already have”. How many of you have ever looked out of the window and just smelt the roses, taken a walk outside in the moonlight until unless it’s been drilled into you because of the super moon effect, or better still woken up a bit earlier than your usual time and seen the sunrise, heard the bird’s first cry of the day? But you’d rather do this when a) you take out specific time i.e. a holiday, b) in an expensive resort so you can name drop that you went to X miles stayed at Y resort which cost you ZRs. And has the no 1! rating according to the travel magazine. No wonder in this unbalanced world we’d rather pay 100 rupees for a glossy magazine which tantalizes one with a photo shoot of an airbrushed resort in the Mediterranean rather than give somebody alms. Umm, there I go ranting again and off the track but it’s hard to be balanced.The commerce student in me sticks its nose everywhere…
Spiritual life begins when we learn the futility of unfolding our divinity outside of ourselves. By the way, the mad rush to balance homework, raise kids, pay cheques, serve meals in tandem to the fulfillment seeker by the yogi sitting in the mountain; we all try to find God within. Both struggle to unfold, unleash. The former is caught up in conflict of life, balancing it with materialistic pursuit while the latter does to find his inner atman, the eternal spirit within.
Contentment does not depend upon external factors but with mental attitude. John Milton wrote,” The mind is in its own place and in itself, Can make a heaven of hell and hell of Heaven”. We can only change ourselves, we can’t change the world. You know that story where they tried to straighten the dog’s curly tail and no matter how hard they tried it would curl up. The only thing we can straighten is oneself and I’m not talking about posture here.
To find contentment we need to go the source- Atman. Since we are the atman- we must realize it and consciously manifest it every day. We need to do this in every action so that all acts become focused in attaining God. Some of you would so why it so” …”elusive? Pardon the missing expletive. For eg: when we face a crisis you focus all your energies to safely come out of with all the three forces of body, mind , soul working in unison.
There are six principles which when followed help one to attain contentment or a degree of contentment.
1. Do something for yourself
2. Do something for someone else
3. Do something you don’t want to
4. Do a physical exercise
5. Do a mental exercise
6. Count your blessings.
Do something for yourself: When was the last time you did something for yourself? Meditation acquaints us with our minds, we need to control the drunken monkey stung by a bee! The mind which has a mind of its own wanders in the most inexplicable fashion in all directions needs reigning in. Meditation helps in leashing it, it becomes subdued and is controllable.
Do something for someone else: The joy in doing something for someone without acknowledgement or platitudes is unparallel. God exists in all creatures, the atman in all living things. The first step in attaining unity is to show kindness towards others. If we can make it a daily practice to do even one act of kindness it will bring us some measure of peace. We begin to experience joy through the happiness we give others. And the more we do for others the greater will be peace.
Do something you don’t want to: Procrastination is a stumbling block tour mental practice. We , are the only creatures on this planet who will postpone doing chores, love accumulating work for alter date, even unkept promises, a job undone, hurt inflicted or a wrong committed. Unfinished chores nag, distract us, and diminish our incentive until we face them and finish them. Daily self analysis can bring these disturbing actions to our attention. By keeping our word, finishing what we start and correcting our mistakes, a psychological load is lifted from the mind and we feel a greater sense of peace .When the dust and debris of the mind is shoveled out, the capacity of the mind to think is clearer and it is calmer.
Do a physical exercise: Sri Krishna, warns” Yoga is not for the man who overeats.” All those lessons drilled in to one when we were growing up that the body is a temple of God are true, don’t abuse this vessel, safeguard it , exercise it so that one can have muscles of iron and nerves of steel are so true. Yoga, daily exercise helps one to attain a calmer focused mind a prerequisite for meditation. Let a man be moderate in his eating, and his recreation, moderately active, moderate in sleep and in wakefulness. He will find that yoga takes away all his unhappiness.
Do a mental exercise: Spiritual study feeds the mind, nourishing thoughts which provide the aspirant with an undercurrent, a high unmatched by anything else. Even when the stress and turmoil and the daily grind becomes a burden mental study helps us to remain calm to face the demons. The exercise helps to gather the forces of the mind into an unbroken thought of God. A careful study of the lives of masters , their teachings will always give one positivity and conviction; and it is with conviction calmness of mind comes.
Count your blessings: This is the most important step towards contentment. If you are forever going to lament about what you don’t have you are never going to enjoy what you have. We are what we think. If we dwell on the negative aspects of life, we narrow our approach to life. We change into small, puny, petty egos where our outlook shrinks into a pinhole. But if we strive to have a constructive attitude to others, to ourselves we take the first major step towards to self improvement. We expand ourselves and manifest to our higher nature. When we focus on what we have rather than over small, petty trivial problems we lose the larger picture. It is important to keep the spiritual goal as our focus which is larger than life than ourselves as the prime aim. It is said, “Every wall can be a door”. We need to readjust our priorities so that we can face life’s tragedies, discomfort. If we keep on hankering over the utopian dream we lose out on the life we have been blessed with. It is important to imbibe the skill and determination to learn spiritual jujitsu .
Last but not the least let compassion be a part of you for others. No matter what we encounter , we need to be humble, compassionate to the person in front of us , because don’t forget in him resides the Atman also.
Stress, frustrations, emptiness grief, loneliness, anger, sadness, suicidal tendencies, self-pity and most important Why me? Are the main markers of the modern living and these when overpower us have a devastating effect on us hurtling us towards bleakness, despair. We lose our balance, our friends, career, spouse, and children and if you have an fb account the virtual world too.
Every part of your existence cries out why me, what went wrong? Contentment is what we all treasure but real contentment is the treasure of few. I would say 100% of us not even 1% is spared we all have a burning discontentment with the who and what we are and what place do we have in the society. Do a flashback, one keeps on asking question since an early age, only the intensity of the questions change but the why remain the same. There is a burning desire in all of us to leave a mark in the society, to move onto a higher platform. Strangely, it is said,’ Contentment comes not by the fulfillment of what we want but the realization of what we already have”. How many of you have ever looked out of the window and just smelt the roses, taken a walk outside in the moonlight until unless it’s been drilled into you because of the super moon effect, or better still woken up a bit earlier than your usual time and seen the sunrise, heard the bird’s first cry of the day? But you’d rather do this when a) you take out specific time i.e. a holiday, b) in an expensive resort so you can name drop that you went to X miles stayed at Y resort which cost you ZRs. And has the no 1! rating according to the travel magazine. No wonder in this unbalanced world we’d rather pay 100 rupees for a glossy magazine which tantalizes one with a photo shoot of an airbrushed resort in the Mediterranean rather than give somebody alms. Umm, there I go ranting again and off the track but it’s hard to be balanced.The commerce student in me sticks its nose everywhere…
Spiritual life begins when we learn the futility of unfolding our divinity outside of ourselves. By the way, the mad rush to balance homework, raise kids, pay cheques, serve meals in tandem to the fulfillment seeker by the yogi sitting in the mountain; we all try to find God within. Both struggle to unfold, unleash. The former is caught up in conflict of life, balancing it with materialistic pursuit while the latter does to find his inner atman, the eternal spirit within.
Contentment does not depend upon external factors but with mental attitude. John Milton wrote,” The mind is in its own place and in itself, Can make a heaven of hell and hell of Heaven”. We can only change ourselves, we can’t change the world. You know that story where they tried to straighten the dog’s curly tail and no matter how hard they tried it would curl up. The only thing we can straighten is oneself and I’m not talking about posture here.
To find contentment we need to go the source- Atman. Since we are the atman- we must realize it and consciously manifest it every day. We need to do this in every action so that all acts become focused in attaining God. Some of you would so why it so” …”elusive? Pardon the missing expletive. For eg: when we face a crisis you focus all your energies to safely come out of with all the three forces of body, mind , soul working in unison.
There are six principles which when followed help one to attain contentment or a degree of contentment.
1. Do something for yourself
2. Do something for someone else
3. Do something you don’t want to
4. Do a physical exercise
5. Do a mental exercise
6. Count your blessings.
Do something for yourself: When was the last time you did something for yourself? Meditation acquaints us with our minds, we need to control the drunken monkey stung by a bee! The mind which has a mind of its own wanders in the most inexplicable fashion in all directions needs reigning in. Meditation helps in leashing it, it becomes subdued and is controllable.
Do something for someone else: The joy in doing something for someone without acknowledgement or platitudes is unparallel. God exists in all creatures, the atman in all living things. The first step in attaining unity is to show kindness towards others. If we can make it a daily practice to do even one act of kindness it will bring us some measure of peace. We begin to experience joy through the happiness we give others. And the more we do for others the greater will be peace.
Do something you don’t want to: Procrastination is a stumbling block tour mental practice. We , are the only creatures on this planet who will postpone doing chores, love accumulating work for alter date, even unkept promises, a job undone, hurt inflicted or a wrong committed. Unfinished chores nag, distract us, and diminish our incentive until we face them and finish them. Daily self analysis can bring these disturbing actions to our attention. By keeping our word, finishing what we start and correcting our mistakes, a psychological load is lifted from the mind and we feel a greater sense of peace .When the dust and debris of the mind is shoveled out, the capacity of the mind to think is clearer and it is calmer.
Do a physical exercise: Sri Krishna, warns” Yoga is not for the man who overeats.” All those lessons drilled in to one when we were growing up that the body is a temple of God are true, don’t abuse this vessel, safeguard it , exercise it so that one can have muscles of iron and nerves of steel are so true. Yoga, daily exercise helps one to attain a calmer focused mind a prerequisite for meditation. Let a man be moderate in his eating, and his recreation, moderately active, moderate in sleep and in wakefulness. He will find that yoga takes away all his unhappiness.
Do a mental exercise: Spiritual study feeds the mind, nourishing thoughts which provide the aspirant with an undercurrent, a high unmatched by anything else. Even when the stress and turmoil and the daily grind becomes a burden mental study helps us to remain calm to face the demons. The exercise helps to gather the forces of the mind into an unbroken thought of God. A careful study of the lives of masters , their teachings will always give one positivity and conviction; and it is with conviction calmness of mind comes.
Count your blessings: This is the most important step towards contentment. If you are forever going to lament about what you don’t have you are never going to enjoy what you have. We are what we think. If we dwell on the negative aspects of life, we narrow our approach to life. We change into small, puny, petty egos where our outlook shrinks into a pinhole. But if we strive to have a constructive attitude to others, to ourselves we take the first major step towards to self improvement. We expand ourselves and manifest to our higher nature. When we focus on what we have rather than over small, petty trivial problems we lose the larger picture. It is important to keep the spiritual goal as our focus which is larger than life than ourselves as the prime aim. It is said, “Every wall can be a door”. We need to readjust our priorities so that we can face life’s tragedies, discomfort. If we keep on hankering over the utopian dream we lose out on the life we have been blessed with. It is important to imbibe the skill and determination to learn spiritual jujitsu .
Last but not the least let compassion be a part of you for others. No matter what we encounter , we need to be humble, compassionate to the person in front of us , because don’t forget in him resides the Atman also.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
expectations 1
Expectations
Anybody who spends any time in the bazaars of my loved country, India comes to face with the many beggars and the countless people begging all the time. They have numerous deities, a ready beckoner of lines where they are blessing you with two sons, healthy life unaccountable riches. It is a part of life, we ignore them carrying on with the hustle bustle of our lives, not even acknowledging them, just letting be a part of the background. I happened to see one lady who was carrying a snotty nosed kid on her side and she would wander from one car to another asking for money to fill her stomach and to buy milk for her child. There was a young boy who had his hand stretched out holding out for anything. A person walking by had a bag of oranges and he looked at the boy and gave him one of the oranges which he promptly took. It seemed that the person who was giving him felt good responding to him, reaching out. But the little boy just walked away. NO smile, no thank you, not even a nod, nothing.
To me an interested onlooker, it seemed that the person giving wanted something back. An acknowledgement, the absence of a response made him shake his head and smile to himself as if saying that the motive in giving was an acknowledgement. He probably did not want effusive thanks but he sure did want some kind of response after giving the orange, but he did want something. And the child just took the orange and walked away.
Anybody who spends any time in the bazaars of my loved country, India comes to face with the many beggars and the countless people begging all the time. They have numerous deities, a ready beckoner of lines where they are blessing you with two sons, healthy life unaccountable riches. It is a part of life, we ignore them carrying on with the hustle bustle of our lives, not even acknowledging them, just letting be a part of the background. I happened to see one lady who was carrying a snotty nosed kid on her side and she would wander from one car to another asking for money to fill her stomach and to buy milk for her child. There was a young boy who had his hand stretched out holding out for anything. A person walking by had a bag of oranges and he looked at the boy and gave him one of the oranges which he promptly took. It seemed that the person who was giving him felt good responding to him, reaching out. But the little boy just walked away. NO smile, no thank you, not even a nod, nothing.
To me an interested onlooker, it seemed that the person giving wanted something back. An acknowledgement, the absence of a response made him shake his head and smile to himself as if saying that the motive in giving was an acknowledgement. He probably did not want effusive thanks but he sure did want some kind of response after giving the orange, but he did want something. And the child just took the orange and walked away.
the kitty brigade
THE KITTY BRIGADE.
She wondered why all the weight went straight to her boobs and the butt. Agreed it made her more voluptuous and sexy but have men ever realized that the strap really cuts in or the butt looks big and huge in a pair of jeans. Oh! The follies of nibbling on those party snacks, and just the tiny bit of cake; just sampling it over the winter wedding scene had made her gain these pounds. The summer was here before one knew it, and she had her coffee kitty tomorrow. It seemed time just flew in her life. She didn’t know why people kept on moaning that they were bored or life was so slow, they were in a rut. She, Mrs Dhillon couldn’t hold on to time. It just slipped out of her hands like sand. Peering in to the mirror she wondered if she needed to get one of those miraculous face-lifts/peels which Dr. chamkiwala advocated in Delhi. This Parsi doctor who had just returned from gay Paree last year was in a greater demand than the maid agency guy on whom life revolved in Chandigarh. Hmm, that was another thing on her –to –do list. Her own dear maid was leaving right after Holi and she wondered in her heart and her mind whether she could function without her…
Anjali her maid could do everything, she was the one who knew all about her nuances, the right way she wanted her coffee, tea her toast ( secret indulgence with butter) the way she was fanatical about her whites, her shoes which had to be dusted , cleaned and kept in a row or her sweaters which had to be color-coded. She could do without her husband (he was anyway so busy in his political career) but without her she knew life would lose its order. Well, money always bought everything, she thought smugly.
Right now the pressing thing was the weight which was giving her a more fulsome appearance and finally the cleavage which she had always wanted! Should she, shouldn’t she? Simrat, wondered whether she could get away with wearing the new strappy blouse and cause a sensation, and heads to turn. It would be fun to break away from the mold of those crisp Fab India kurtas and voluminous dupattas which were her trademark every summer. Hmm, dialing quickly to her comrade –in arms she told her about her newest quagmire and in the same breath asked her to book the beautician who would wax-shax her and do her hair for tomorrow.
With a pen in her mouth, music blaring in the background, the soft strains of Atif Aslam, she said, ‘anjali hurry up!”
Anjali, kept on ironing, she was lost in her thoughts. She was thinking about Nandu, the new help. Oh! How handsome he was, just like Akshay Kumar. She planned to sneak out at night when and Bhaji and bibiji came back from one of the dinners they routinely attended. It all seemed like a dream when she had first come to Punjab from the sleepy hamlet of uria situated far way in Jharkand. Three years ago when she had had been sent to Punjab, it all seemed so alien, frightening; to hear a foreign language, their boisterous voices and imagine no rice! And they wore clothes so differently, no saree a three-piece contraption with a chunni which was a death-trap forever getting caught in places unimaginable. But, now she wouldn’t trade Punjab for any place, she loved the family like her own, had grown to love the food, a mixture of roti daal ,more daal and the vegetablesand the omnipresent lassi. Agreed, she missed the spices, the watery fish curry but she was living a dream compared to her brethren. Daarji in his soft tones, who forever slipped fruit, mithai to every worker, in his cool white kurta-pajymas, he radiated serenity just like her gods. Vade bibji the fist which ruled the household was full of love, short in temper but magnanimous in her approach to all. Thank god, summer was here, the first winter she recalled froze her to death. Nothing had prepared her for the frigid air which pierces one to the core or the cold which just seeps into one’s bones and no amount of tea would warm one. Summer made life so much better, the air just buzzed with activity, the flowers flowing out of their pots, bees and birds adding to the general madness. Even her skin had lightened, she thought now she was gori due to an unending supply of betnovate cream (bibiji) and all the used creams shampoos she gave her. It was good she changed brands faster than one could blink.
Haanji, aayi, she said coming out of reverie. One thing was that she could dream anywhere at any time, getting lost in the sands of time. She hurried with the suit and shouted for the anticipated coffee before it being ordered.” Jaldi, jaldi leh ke ayoo.”,she told the cook.
Simrat thought to herself that today she would finish all the pending jobs on the home front before her visit to the salon to pamper herself and also get ready for the first of the summer coffee kitties. 4o’clock heralded the return of Ranbir and his cronies who kept the ‘majma’ going on till late evening. Life had changed so much, since the time he had become a MLA and she feared she had lost her husband to a mistress who was unfaithful, unapologetic in discarding one as quickly as a used napkin- politics. This heady mix of power, ambition was an aphrodisiac unequal to any other addiction. She did not know when he shifted from her urbane, smart modern husband to this hard-core Punjabi who had started wearing the crisp attire of kurta pajyamas ; not that she was a snob. Nobody could carry it off than him with more élan’ and sophistication but the ideology change worried her. Why did politics narrow one’s thought and lead to a change in outlook? The desire to lead Punjab onto greater heights was admirable but the stifling narrow approach to freedom in regards to women was disturbing; he had slowly and slowly started making indirect suggestions to her style of clothes, her appearance and even rebuking her over her politics. Emancipation was fine as long as it was in a speech for the masses and to garner votes. She had to suddenly present herself in the right kind of woman, demure, in the background, and not to have any opinion in the world just be an efficient, effective organizer of all sorts at a multilevel. It seemed like déjà vu for her as her Biji ( paternal grandmom) who was also an MLa’s wife from pre-partition times said that she had to walk behind Sardarji , covered with a dupatta relegated in the Zenana quarters. She, Amar Kaur a daughter of a Captain from the British Army who was one of the educated women of her times from Lahore College of women was asked to stop wearing lipstick and just be responsible for bringing up the kids. It seemed women of every generation be it the 1900’s to the 1960’s to the 21st century faced the same set of problems. The circumstances, settings changed in feudal Punjab but the problems remained the same as Father Time.
Oh! Where had her thoughts taken her? It was the start of summer, the laziness which sets in; she needed coffee, to get her work done and to stop this dreaming. As her mother said, she had a lot of things which she should be thankful for. Not many women in the society had what she had; there was no point in fancifully raking coals. She needed to hurriedly organize the evening tea, order her books her passion, and to delicately quell the romance which brewing between Anjali and Nandu.
All this and the treatment and what the hell! She would wear her clothes, the oomph! Factor would definitely outweigh the extra weight she had put on. Summer anyway, made her diet and she would be off her favorite chocolates ….
The next morning came and Ranbir was checking the papers impatiently for the articles which had him featuring him as the next messiah of the poor.
She wondered why all the weight went straight to her boobs and the butt. Agreed it made her more voluptuous and sexy but have men ever realized that the strap really cuts in or the butt looks big and huge in a pair of jeans. Oh! The follies of nibbling on those party snacks, and just the tiny bit of cake; just sampling it over the winter wedding scene had made her gain these pounds. The summer was here before one knew it, and she had her coffee kitty tomorrow. It seemed time just flew in her life. She didn’t know why people kept on moaning that they were bored or life was so slow, they were in a rut. She, Mrs Dhillon couldn’t hold on to time. It just slipped out of her hands like sand. Peering in to the mirror she wondered if she needed to get one of those miraculous face-lifts/peels which Dr. chamkiwala advocated in Delhi. This Parsi doctor who had just returned from gay Paree last year was in a greater demand than the maid agency guy on whom life revolved in Chandigarh. Hmm, that was another thing on her –to –do list. Her own dear maid was leaving right after Holi and she wondered in her heart and her mind whether she could function without her…
Anjali her maid could do everything, she was the one who knew all about her nuances, the right way she wanted her coffee, tea her toast ( secret indulgence with butter) the way she was fanatical about her whites, her shoes which had to be dusted , cleaned and kept in a row or her sweaters which had to be color-coded. She could do without her husband (he was anyway so busy in his political career) but without her she knew life would lose its order. Well, money always bought everything, she thought smugly.
Right now the pressing thing was the weight which was giving her a more fulsome appearance and finally the cleavage which she had always wanted! Should she, shouldn’t she? Simrat, wondered whether she could get away with wearing the new strappy blouse and cause a sensation, and heads to turn. It would be fun to break away from the mold of those crisp Fab India kurtas and voluminous dupattas which were her trademark every summer. Hmm, dialing quickly to her comrade –in arms she told her about her newest quagmire and in the same breath asked her to book the beautician who would wax-shax her and do her hair for tomorrow.
With a pen in her mouth, music blaring in the background, the soft strains of Atif Aslam, she said, ‘anjali hurry up!”
Anjali, kept on ironing, she was lost in her thoughts. She was thinking about Nandu, the new help. Oh! How handsome he was, just like Akshay Kumar. She planned to sneak out at night when and Bhaji and bibiji came back from one of the dinners they routinely attended. It all seemed like a dream when she had first come to Punjab from the sleepy hamlet of uria situated far way in Jharkand. Three years ago when she had had been sent to Punjab, it all seemed so alien, frightening; to hear a foreign language, their boisterous voices and imagine no rice! And they wore clothes so differently, no saree a three-piece contraption with a chunni which was a death-trap forever getting caught in places unimaginable. But, now she wouldn’t trade Punjab for any place, she loved the family like her own, had grown to love the food, a mixture of roti daal ,more daal and the vegetablesand the omnipresent lassi. Agreed, she missed the spices, the watery fish curry but she was living a dream compared to her brethren. Daarji in his soft tones, who forever slipped fruit, mithai to every worker, in his cool white kurta-pajymas, he radiated serenity just like her gods. Vade bibji the fist which ruled the household was full of love, short in temper but magnanimous in her approach to all. Thank god, summer was here, the first winter she recalled froze her to death. Nothing had prepared her for the frigid air which pierces one to the core or the cold which just seeps into one’s bones and no amount of tea would warm one. Summer made life so much better, the air just buzzed with activity, the flowers flowing out of their pots, bees and birds adding to the general madness. Even her skin had lightened, she thought now she was gori due to an unending supply of betnovate cream (bibiji) and all the used creams shampoos she gave her. It was good she changed brands faster than one could blink.
Haanji, aayi, she said coming out of reverie. One thing was that she could dream anywhere at any time, getting lost in the sands of time. She hurried with the suit and shouted for the anticipated coffee before it being ordered.” Jaldi, jaldi leh ke ayoo.”,she told the cook.
Simrat thought to herself that today she would finish all the pending jobs on the home front before her visit to the salon to pamper herself and also get ready for the first of the summer coffee kitties. 4o’clock heralded the return of Ranbir and his cronies who kept the ‘majma’ going on till late evening. Life had changed so much, since the time he had become a MLA and she feared she had lost her husband to a mistress who was unfaithful, unapologetic in discarding one as quickly as a used napkin- politics. This heady mix of power, ambition was an aphrodisiac unequal to any other addiction. She did not know when he shifted from her urbane, smart modern husband to this hard-core Punjabi who had started wearing the crisp attire of kurta pajyamas ; not that she was a snob. Nobody could carry it off than him with more élan’ and sophistication but the ideology change worried her. Why did politics narrow one’s thought and lead to a change in outlook? The desire to lead Punjab onto greater heights was admirable but the stifling narrow approach to freedom in regards to women was disturbing; he had slowly and slowly started making indirect suggestions to her style of clothes, her appearance and even rebuking her over her politics. Emancipation was fine as long as it was in a speech for the masses and to garner votes. She had to suddenly present herself in the right kind of woman, demure, in the background, and not to have any opinion in the world just be an efficient, effective organizer of all sorts at a multilevel. It seemed like déjà vu for her as her Biji ( paternal grandmom) who was also an MLa’s wife from pre-partition times said that she had to walk behind Sardarji , covered with a dupatta relegated in the Zenana quarters. She, Amar Kaur a daughter of a Captain from the British Army who was one of the educated women of her times from Lahore College of women was asked to stop wearing lipstick and just be responsible for bringing up the kids. It seemed women of every generation be it the 1900’s to the 1960’s to the 21st century faced the same set of problems. The circumstances, settings changed in feudal Punjab but the problems remained the same as Father Time.
Oh! Where had her thoughts taken her? It was the start of summer, the laziness which sets in; she needed coffee, to get her work done and to stop this dreaming. As her mother said, she had a lot of things which she should be thankful for. Not many women in the society had what she had; there was no point in fancifully raking coals. She needed to hurriedly organize the evening tea, order her books her passion, and to delicately quell the romance which brewing between Anjali and Nandu.
All this and the treatment and what the hell! She would wear her clothes, the oomph! Factor would definitely outweigh the extra weight she had put on. Summer anyway, made her diet and she would be off her favorite chocolates ….
The next morning came and Ranbir was checking the papers impatiently for the articles which had him featuring him as the next messiah of the poor.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The green suit / rano
It wasn’t so difficult once you got around to doing it. It was just the question of dynamics of picking up the weight and heaving the gunny sack full of potatoes on her back. Her mother could, her friends could do it and to say the least her grandmother could also pick her share thus ensuring her dihaari( daily wage) . The meticulous, watchful eye of Santosh kept an almost fanatical count of the bags they picked up and any slack was accounted and no leverage was given by him, all excuses fell to deaf ears.Rano had her eyes on the black and green salwar kameez which was being sold by the pheri wala every Saturday under the peepal tree. She had seen it for the first time, last week when they were hurriedly being taken back to their temporary camp in the fields next to the cold store. She knew it would look beautiful when she wore it and maybe Jeeto would like at her with a smile. Her tender, innocent heart had found its first love in the Palledar Jeeto who was the object of everyone’s desire at the store. He belonged to the same caste as her ..from Bhindian Saidan near Amritsar. She knew the dangers of falling in love with anyone who did not belong to her caste. It just meant instant death. Her father, uncles, older brother watched her with an eagle eye, and did not even let her visit the ‘Ghora wal baba” with her friends.
Rano, showed great promise to being a beauty when she grew up. Right now she was the tender, young nubile girl who had just reached her puberty and was catching everyone’s roving eyes. Her rustic beauty and her fair complexion along with her brown eyes which stared into you, not knowing when to avert her gaze she made men uncomfortable. The rights and wrongs were unknown to her; that would come when she had a ‘meaningful talk ‘with her mother later. A young girl blossoming like a flower in the bright sun caught everyone’s fancy. Her tinkling laugh and all her mannerisms just drew you to her. There were rumors of her being Sardarji’s illegitimate daughter as she did not even resemble anyone in her family. Her mother always tightlipped, with no sign of any emotion in her just lived every day as if waiting for death. Seeto which was her name had worked as a maid in her younger days in the village in Amritsar and had been married in haste and shipped off to Jalandhar to live her life with her recently widowed husband. Nothing was known about them, just that they worked in the fields, and his sons had also been sucked into the same existence.
Rano, started working in the fields and then the store to handle potatoes. It was harvest time and this year she would have to pitch in, earning a bigger wage by picking the bags too. Her father had told her in the morning over breakfast which consisted of watery tea and double roti or mitthe rusk if they had had money to spare, that now she was strong enough to pick up the bags and thus would help increasing the family’s income. Rano , wondered how she would pick up the bag? It was heavy, laden with dead weight of potatoes, and heaving it or holding it her on head with one head, keeping the duppatta in place and then to walk the distance, she smiled remembering the nautanki of the monkeys. She would have to become a bandari, it seemed! Oh! There was a brighter aspect to, every two weeks her mother would give her one dihaari i.e. 100 rs to spend. She could buy anything she wished, spend it on those orange yummy toffees, sticky ones or eat the pakoras available at the corner shop, buy bindis, and even save it to buy a new chappal and not a hand-me-down. It also meant the arrival of a new status. She was an adult, ready to share the burden of the family. Life was harsh; it thrust you into its bosom at the not so young old age of 14years. Old enough to work but young to make any decisions, she thought in her mind. She was scared of her father so just kept on dipping the rusk into her tea kept on nodding her head. He also said,’koi puuttha kam na karien”. As if she didn’t know the dangers of talking or doing anything with the boys. It was an unwritten rule in their family near and extended that if a girl was found cavorting with a boy she was married off and if any evidence was found or even the mere hint of intimacy was found she was killed mysteriously… no explanations or questions. There was never a second chance. This unwritten code bore down on every girl like a noose and they were weary of their fathers or uncles who watched them over like a hawk.
Rano , she knew she was on the cusp of adulthood which had its hidden promises , tantalized her seduced her into venturing into a world where all kinds of emotions came to surface. How could she explain, that looking at Jeeto made her want to defy her father? Or, that she wanted to visit the Ghode wala Jagah where all the boys and girls could slyly, yet freely talk under the guise of prayers. It was said that if a young unmarried girl visited the sacred place with a plastic horse for consecutive seven thursdays , her wish would come true. Oh! How she wanted to fulfill this particular vow, so that she could win over Jeeto. He epitomized all that was lacking in her life; love, freedom, romance.
She went to the store, sitting on the tractor trolley wondering how she would finish her quota of bags allotted to her. Well, she’d have to work; otherwise she would bring embarrassment to her father who worked outside in the machine room. The silver lining was that jeeto worked in tandem with their group, and she had worn her good suit and worn kajal to look attractive. A young heart cries with a thousand emotions, the object of one’s desire so near yet so far.
The day started as any ordinary day, no bugles, no fan fare heralding her elevation to an adult, her increase in duties or the fact that she was contributing to the family income by rs 100 every day. Picking up the first bag broke her back, there was a particular way when the bag was put on one’s back it hit you in the middle and one felt that walking even one step was difficult. How she wished, that the stupid, fat ugly Santosh would pick up one bag and try to walk the distance, maintaining the pace, speed and also trying to balance the weight? This carried on for hours, it seemed. Every bone, muscle in her body cried for relief. Forget Jeeto, she didn’t even want to look at anyone. The pain, agony was indescribable. It started off as backbreaking and settled in like a dull pain like a scab which refused to heal. What was all this talk of adulthood, the false promise of money, allure seduction was just a trap to fool her into working herself to a death? The chemicals applied on the potatoes hennaed her hands to a new shade of purple blue, ugly just like bruises. That night, she didn’t eat or talk just cried herself to sleep, the aches finally dulling her to an uneasy sleep.
This all continued till she had become hardened into the rest of them, the ink –blue kept on darkening, a reminder of the erosion of the fate lines. She felt her days started with the quota of potato bags, mingled with a few smiles with her friends and carried on drearily. The only time she felt her heart quicken was looking at Jeeto who was oblivious to her. He had however looked in her direction when they were giggling the other day a raunchy joke which had everyone in splits; over sahibji and the local thekadarni. She felthis gaze whenever he was nearby and she would steal glances at him . her friends would keep on whispering ,’dekh la’. She would smile and would keep on working. It seemed ever sice that day her spirits had been lifeted, ther was aquickness inher step,it seemed as if the burden wasa just a light load and she wondered why she made a fuss about it.
The pheriwala had still kept her suit an dshe anted to buy it today with the money which was rightfully hers. Masterji, was goingto hand it in the evening, chutti time. This was one day allowed to her and her friends where they could roam around in the village and walk back to their camp later on. She wanted to buy the suit, wear it for him the next day, knowing that the colors would look great on her. Everyone from mindho chichi, to pasho the one tooth mai to her friends told her that black made her sohni’, hor vi sohni….
She bought the suit, took it with her home wrapped in the old newspaper and she knew tomorrow would be different. She would wear the suit, it would fit her tightly, and accentuating her curves and it had a special dori at the back to tie. The salwar was made in the latest style, it had a piping on the side contrasting with black the brightness of lime green shocked. She wanted to look desirable in his eyes, to make him want her, she thought. It would mean an escape from this menial labor, if she could marry him. A palledar earned much more and their wives never worked in the store. She showed the suit to her mother who knew with a mother’s intuition what was happening. Mothers are mysterious, all knowing, how so ever a child may try to hide or think that they know better. She said, ‘don’t wear the suit to the store, and keep it for a special occasion.’ It will be spoilt; working in the dust and the dawaai”
Rano, shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, no, no it’ll be all right. We all are planning to wear something new tomorrow for work. Her mother looked at her, resigned to the fate that her daughter was growing up fast, too fast. This time, tide waited for no one. She walked away to go and attend to the evening meal. Rano ran behind her to go and help in the meal. She knew if she helped her in the chores, next morning her attitude would be softened towards her. Her only aim was to wear the suit tomorrow so that Jeeto would start looking at her.
Next morning came, the dawn heralding a new day. She had uncontainable excitement as she wore the new suit, applying kajal and eyeing herself in the half-broken mirror. She wrapped the duppatta tightly, so that her father would not remark at her. It was a bit tight, but she felt beautiful, attractive and she borrowed her mother’s chappals leaving behind her twice mended jooti which was scuffed, dirty and falling apart despite the twine wrapped around one of them.
Today she felt special, grown up, viewing the world with different eyes ready to defy the norms and for once to give into her emotions for once. To try to talk to him, she had been building dreams for so long and her friends had stolen romances with so many boys, nothing had happened to them It was also simple just a little stroll when went to attend nature ‘s call . No one stopped you or questioned you, but you had to take one girl with you. She planned on taking Banti, her childhood friend who would not tell anyone. She was going to pass on the message to him asking him to meet them outside after half time. This was the laziest, slowest time of the day, everyone was half-asleep, work was at its lowest and every supervisor looked for a chair to snooze the 20 minutes before the rush of the evening. She hoped he would agree and something would culminate with her taking all the risk and the bold overture.
He did and she kept on glancing at the big clock in the shed. The time passed so slowly, she could hardly concentrate on her work, and avoided picking up any bag, for the fear of dirtying her clothes. Everyone kept on ribbing her, passing comments on her figure, her looks and she kept on smiling and laughing.
They went out, to go behind the store where he was supposed to meet them next to the motor. And, there he was standing and looking at her, with amazement. He came forward to meet her and she suddenly got all tongue-tied, all shy. He came closer and Banti slipped away giggling and warning her to be careful.
It was like a dream come true, he spoke so sweetly, teasing her that why did she never come to the village shops or the square. He asked for her mobile number, to which she replied that she had no phone. Ashamed, she averted her eyes. He took her hand and held it, promising her one the next time she met him. Rano was stunned, he would give her phone, and she would be the toast amongst her friends. Smiling at him, she didn’t realize when he came close and started to touch her in a way which was foreign, invasive. She knew what he was going to but she knew stepping into the circle would lead to shame and she would be labeled as easy..
And that would slowly filter to her brother. How could she explain to Jeeto the wrath of her brothers, the scorn and the punishment if anything was heard of her in the village? She wanted to be with him, this forbidden passion was enticing to her, something was pulling towards him and she gave into his arms.
Just the very moment she gave in, her brother s friend happened to pass by and saw Jeeto’s back and said Hun kedi eh? Hearing this she was startled and she jumped out of his arms, to suddenly look into her brother’s friends eyes. Just her luck, she ran and shouted to Banti that she was going home. Running from the store, thinking of the consequences, wondering if her mother could hide her, whether she would be able to save her tonight from the beating she would get. She knew she would plead her innocence and tell them all that nothing had happened. It all sounded so feeble to her ears but she mentally kept on arguing to and for herself.
She came home to a lock on the door and waited. She knew her mother would be back first, so she would be saved. Whatever might happen she would not let them kill her, she hadn’t even done anything, but she was so afraid. Afraid of the beatings, the abuses, or the fact that they might marry her off in haste to someone. Jeeto would tell them nothing had happened, she thought to herself. Banti was also there, she would corroborate. Wrapping the dupatta tightly around her like a shroud waiting for them to come home. The wait was worse; she didn’t know what would be her fate by nightfall. Her mother came, seeingher sitting there, all tear stricken, eyes with kajal all smeared. She assumed the worst and asked her, “ki hoya”? When she had finished telling the incident, Rano felt her burden lighten, it was an embrace nothing all, nothing illicit had happened she told her again and again. Fibbing a little, she said that he also likes me so, all would work out. Pleading to her to save her she kept on whimpering to her mother to save her this once, promising never to trouble her ever in her life.
The next morning vernacular papers had a small news item which stated that a fire broke out in the temporary camps in the nearby village where a young girl died due to an explosion of the stove, and her mother was badly injured. The news reporter states that the mother was in shock and she clutched in her hands a piece of black dupatta and kept on sobbing incoherently, sobbing Rano , rano.
Rano, showed great promise to being a beauty when she grew up. Right now she was the tender, young nubile girl who had just reached her puberty and was catching everyone’s roving eyes. Her rustic beauty and her fair complexion along with her brown eyes which stared into you, not knowing when to avert her gaze she made men uncomfortable. The rights and wrongs were unknown to her; that would come when she had a ‘meaningful talk ‘with her mother later. A young girl blossoming like a flower in the bright sun caught everyone’s fancy. Her tinkling laugh and all her mannerisms just drew you to her. There were rumors of her being Sardarji’s illegitimate daughter as she did not even resemble anyone in her family. Her mother always tightlipped, with no sign of any emotion in her just lived every day as if waiting for death. Seeto which was her name had worked as a maid in her younger days in the village in Amritsar and had been married in haste and shipped off to Jalandhar to live her life with her recently widowed husband. Nothing was known about them, just that they worked in the fields, and his sons had also been sucked into the same existence.
Rano, started working in the fields and then the store to handle potatoes. It was harvest time and this year she would have to pitch in, earning a bigger wage by picking the bags too. Her father had told her in the morning over breakfast which consisted of watery tea and double roti or mitthe rusk if they had had money to spare, that now she was strong enough to pick up the bags and thus would help increasing the family’s income. Rano , wondered how she would pick up the bag? It was heavy, laden with dead weight of potatoes, and heaving it or holding it her on head with one head, keeping the duppatta in place and then to walk the distance, she smiled remembering the nautanki of the monkeys. She would have to become a bandari, it seemed! Oh! There was a brighter aspect to, every two weeks her mother would give her one dihaari i.e. 100 rs to spend. She could buy anything she wished, spend it on those orange yummy toffees, sticky ones or eat the pakoras available at the corner shop, buy bindis, and even save it to buy a new chappal and not a hand-me-down. It also meant the arrival of a new status. She was an adult, ready to share the burden of the family. Life was harsh; it thrust you into its bosom at the not so young old age of 14years. Old enough to work but young to make any decisions, she thought in her mind. She was scared of her father so just kept on dipping the rusk into her tea kept on nodding her head. He also said,’koi puuttha kam na karien”. As if she didn’t know the dangers of talking or doing anything with the boys. It was an unwritten rule in their family near and extended that if a girl was found cavorting with a boy she was married off and if any evidence was found or even the mere hint of intimacy was found she was killed mysteriously… no explanations or questions. There was never a second chance. This unwritten code bore down on every girl like a noose and they were weary of their fathers or uncles who watched them over like a hawk.
Rano , she knew she was on the cusp of adulthood which had its hidden promises , tantalized her seduced her into venturing into a world where all kinds of emotions came to surface. How could she explain, that looking at Jeeto made her want to defy her father? Or, that she wanted to visit the Ghode wala Jagah where all the boys and girls could slyly, yet freely talk under the guise of prayers. It was said that if a young unmarried girl visited the sacred place with a plastic horse for consecutive seven thursdays , her wish would come true. Oh! How she wanted to fulfill this particular vow, so that she could win over Jeeto. He epitomized all that was lacking in her life; love, freedom, romance.
She went to the store, sitting on the tractor trolley wondering how she would finish her quota of bags allotted to her. Well, she’d have to work; otherwise she would bring embarrassment to her father who worked outside in the machine room. The silver lining was that jeeto worked in tandem with their group, and she had worn her good suit and worn kajal to look attractive. A young heart cries with a thousand emotions, the object of one’s desire so near yet so far.
The day started as any ordinary day, no bugles, no fan fare heralding her elevation to an adult, her increase in duties or the fact that she was contributing to the family income by rs 100 every day. Picking up the first bag broke her back, there was a particular way when the bag was put on one’s back it hit you in the middle and one felt that walking even one step was difficult. How she wished, that the stupid, fat ugly Santosh would pick up one bag and try to walk the distance, maintaining the pace, speed and also trying to balance the weight? This carried on for hours, it seemed. Every bone, muscle in her body cried for relief. Forget Jeeto, she didn’t even want to look at anyone. The pain, agony was indescribable. It started off as backbreaking and settled in like a dull pain like a scab which refused to heal. What was all this talk of adulthood, the false promise of money, allure seduction was just a trap to fool her into working herself to a death? The chemicals applied on the potatoes hennaed her hands to a new shade of purple blue, ugly just like bruises. That night, she didn’t eat or talk just cried herself to sleep, the aches finally dulling her to an uneasy sleep.
This all continued till she had become hardened into the rest of them, the ink –blue kept on darkening, a reminder of the erosion of the fate lines. She felt her days started with the quota of potato bags, mingled with a few smiles with her friends and carried on drearily. The only time she felt her heart quicken was looking at Jeeto who was oblivious to her. He had however looked in her direction when they were giggling the other day a raunchy joke which had everyone in splits; over sahibji and the local thekadarni. She felthis gaze whenever he was nearby and she would steal glances at him . her friends would keep on whispering ,’dekh la’. She would smile and would keep on working. It seemed ever sice that day her spirits had been lifeted, ther was aquickness inher step,it seemed as if the burden wasa just a light load and she wondered why she made a fuss about it.
The pheriwala had still kept her suit an dshe anted to buy it today with the money which was rightfully hers. Masterji, was goingto hand it in the evening, chutti time. This was one day allowed to her and her friends where they could roam around in the village and walk back to their camp later on. She wanted to buy the suit, wear it for him the next day, knowing that the colors would look great on her. Everyone from mindho chichi, to pasho the one tooth mai to her friends told her that black made her sohni’, hor vi sohni….
She bought the suit, took it with her home wrapped in the old newspaper and she knew tomorrow would be different. She would wear the suit, it would fit her tightly, and accentuating her curves and it had a special dori at the back to tie. The salwar was made in the latest style, it had a piping on the side contrasting with black the brightness of lime green shocked. She wanted to look desirable in his eyes, to make him want her, she thought. It would mean an escape from this menial labor, if she could marry him. A palledar earned much more and their wives never worked in the store. She showed the suit to her mother who knew with a mother’s intuition what was happening. Mothers are mysterious, all knowing, how so ever a child may try to hide or think that they know better. She said, ‘don’t wear the suit to the store, and keep it for a special occasion.’ It will be spoilt; working in the dust and the dawaai”
Rano, shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, no, no it’ll be all right. We all are planning to wear something new tomorrow for work. Her mother looked at her, resigned to the fate that her daughter was growing up fast, too fast. This time, tide waited for no one. She walked away to go and attend to the evening meal. Rano ran behind her to go and help in the meal. She knew if she helped her in the chores, next morning her attitude would be softened towards her. Her only aim was to wear the suit tomorrow so that Jeeto would start looking at her.
Next morning came, the dawn heralding a new day. She had uncontainable excitement as she wore the new suit, applying kajal and eyeing herself in the half-broken mirror. She wrapped the duppatta tightly, so that her father would not remark at her. It was a bit tight, but she felt beautiful, attractive and she borrowed her mother’s chappals leaving behind her twice mended jooti which was scuffed, dirty and falling apart despite the twine wrapped around one of them.
Today she felt special, grown up, viewing the world with different eyes ready to defy the norms and for once to give into her emotions for once. To try to talk to him, she had been building dreams for so long and her friends had stolen romances with so many boys, nothing had happened to them It was also simple just a little stroll when went to attend nature ‘s call . No one stopped you or questioned you, but you had to take one girl with you. She planned on taking Banti, her childhood friend who would not tell anyone. She was going to pass on the message to him asking him to meet them outside after half time. This was the laziest, slowest time of the day, everyone was half-asleep, work was at its lowest and every supervisor looked for a chair to snooze the 20 minutes before the rush of the evening. She hoped he would agree and something would culminate with her taking all the risk and the bold overture.
He did and she kept on glancing at the big clock in the shed. The time passed so slowly, she could hardly concentrate on her work, and avoided picking up any bag, for the fear of dirtying her clothes. Everyone kept on ribbing her, passing comments on her figure, her looks and she kept on smiling and laughing.
They went out, to go behind the store where he was supposed to meet them next to the motor. And, there he was standing and looking at her, with amazement. He came forward to meet her and she suddenly got all tongue-tied, all shy. He came closer and Banti slipped away giggling and warning her to be careful.
It was like a dream come true, he spoke so sweetly, teasing her that why did she never come to the village shops or the square. He asked for her mobile number, to which she replied that she had no phone. Ashamed, she averted her eyes. He took her hand and held it, promising her one the next time she met him. Rano was stunned, he would give her phone, and she would be the toast amongst her friends. Smiling at him, she didn’t realize when he came close and started to touch her in a way which was foreign, invasive. She knew what he was going to but she knew stepping into the circle would lead to shame and she would be labeled as easy..
And that would slowly filter to her brother. How could she explain to Jeeto the wrath of her brothers, the scorn and the punishment if anything was heard of her in the village? She wanted to be with him, this forbidden passion was enticing to her, something was pulling towards him and she gave into his arms.
Just the very moment she gave in, her brother s friend happened to pass by and saw Jeeto’s back and said Hun kedi eh? Hearing this she was startled and she jumped out of his arms, to suddenly look into her brother’s friends eyes. Just her luck, she ran and shouted to Banti that she was going home. Running from the store, thinking of the consequences, wondering if her mother could hide her, whether she would be able to save her tonight from the beating she would get. She knew she would plead her innocence and tell them all that nothing had happened. It all sounded so feeble to her ears but she mentally kept on arguing to and for herself.
She came home to a lock on the door and waited. She knew her mother would be back first, so she would be saved. Whatever might happen she would not let them kill her, she hadn’t even done anything, but she was so afraid. Afraid of the beatings, the abuses, or the fact that they might marry her off in haste to someone. Jeeto would tell them nothing had happened, she thought to herself. Banti was also there, she would corroborate. Wrapping the dupatta tightly around her like a shroud waiting for them to come home. The wait was worse; she didn’t know what would be her fate by nightfall. Her mother came, seeingher sitting there, all tear stricken, eyes with kajal all smeared. She assumed the worst and asked her, “ki hoya”? When she had finished telling the incident, Rano felt her burden lighten, it was an embrace nothing all, nothing illicit had happened she told her again and again. Fibbing a little, she said that he also likes me so, all would work out. Pleading to her to save her she kept on whimpering to her mother to save her this once, promising never to trouble her ever in her life.
The next morning vernacular papers had a small news item which stated that a fire broke out in the temporary camps in the nearby village where a young girl died due to an explosion of the stove, and her mother was badly injured. The news reporter states that the mother was in shock and she clutched in her hands a piece of black dupatta and kept on sobbing incoherently, sobbing Rano , rano.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
now: ireport11
Now! ireport 11:
There is no time like the present, there is no generation which is the it generation. Ask your parents they thought they belonged to the most happening times, they did all we just think of doing. Beetles, the new age fad, the feminist movements, the bra-burning, the spiritual ashrams, the spiritual minded boutiques, the psychotherapy, the massages, Ayurveda. Every generation just thinks they’ve discovered something new. It’s actually old wine in a new bottle (of course the packaging just improves and its get shinier, glitzier with bling thrown).
People all want the same things which has driven us since time immemorial or I’ll say from the time of Adam or if it offends anyone’s religious sensibilities, Moses, Rama, Shiva! People scheme, promote, deceive, conquer, and pray for their loved ones, long to free misery and to escape death as eternal it is. We all think the era before us knew God a little bit closer than us; they were selfless, courageous or were well versed in literature or fine arts. And the apocalypse is upon us. In fact, the opposite is true. God is available to everyone and at anytime in every age. There never was amore holy age than ours, and never less.
There is no less holiness at this time then it was when Moses parted the waters, or Nanak founded Sikhisim or Krishna answered Arjuna the moral dilemma question which still plagues us. The trees planted in Punjab can also give you the same enlightenment like the Bo tree under which Buddha sat. There is however the question that the trees remain!!
There is no less might in heaven or on earth than there was the day Jesus said, “ Maid arise’ to the centurion’s daughter or the day Peter walked on water or the night Mohammed flew to heaven on a horse. In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant as I say one might pop off.
In any instant you may avail the power to forgive, to love your enemies, accept failure slander, grief or to endure torture (I know I sound very sanctimonious here)
Purity is what I’m driving at. IT’s time is always now. You can’t mark it on a calendar or a diary or set an alarm on your iphone saying well, this my time I’ve allocated for Purity. It is not something which one can buy like antique furniture or a jamavar shawl which somehow one’s grandmom forgot to buy!
Joel Goldstein says,” God has nothing to give you that he (IT) is not giving you right now. God is available at all times, just reach out. God is the awareness of the infinite in each of us. Repeatedly and reassuringly, God tells him that “I am on the field”.
Ps: for us crazy cricketaholics: he’s playing..
There is no time like the present, there is no generation which is the it generation. Ask your parents they thought they belonged to the most happening times, they did all we just think of doing. Beetles, the new age fad, the feminist movements, the bra-burning, the spiritual ashrams, the spiritual minded boutiques, the psychotherapy, the massages, Ayurveda. Every generation just thinks they’ve discovered something new. It’s actually old wine in a new bottle (of course the packaging just improves and its get shinier, glitzier with bling thrown).
People all want the same things which has driven us since time immemorial or I’ll say from the time of Adam or if it offends anyone’s religious sensibilities, Moses, Rama, Shiva! People scheme, promote, deceive, conquer, and pray for their loved ones, long to free misery and to escape death as eternal it is. We all think the era before us knew God a little bit closer than us; they were selfless, courageous or were well versed in literature or fine arts. And the apocalypse is upon us. In fact, the opposite is true. God is available to everyone and at anytime in every age. There never was amore holy age than ours, and never less.
There is no less holiness at this time then it was when Moses parted the waters, or Nanak founded Sikhisim or Krishna answered Arjuna the moral dilemma question which still plagues us. The trees planted in Punjab can also give you the same enlightenment like the Bo tree under which Buddha sat. There is however the question that the trees remain!!
There is no less might in heaven or on earth than there was the day Jesus said, “ Maid arise’ to the centurion’s daughter or the day Peter walked on water or the night Mohammed flew to heaven on a horse. In any instant the sacred may wipe you with its finger. In any instant as I say one might pop off.
In any instant you may avail the power to forgive, to love your enemies, accept failure slander, grief or to endure torture (I know I sound very sanctimonious here)
Purity is what I’m driving at. IT’s time is always now. You can’t mark it on a calendar or a diary or set an alarm on your iphone saying well, this my time I’ve allocated for Purity. It is not something which one can buy like antique furniture or a jamavar shawl which somehow one’s grandmom forgot to buy!
Joel Goldstein says,” God has nothing to give you that he (IT) is not giving you right now. God is available at all times, just reach out. God is the awareness of the infinite in each of us. Repeatedly and reassuringly, God tells him that “I am on the field”.
Ps: for us crazy cricketaholics: he’s playing..
To be or not to be
To wear a bikini or not to wear one is the question which is the foremost in everyone's minds..
The modern woman is faced with the quandry of wearing one and denying it. It's similar to being painted as a scarlet woman. Youre damned if you do and youre damned if you don't.Today morning, I was surprised by two newspaper items :one which extolls that vidya balan denies that she wore one..somebody's morphed her , she says and this was the respectable hard-hitting journalistic one-stop complete news channel..CNN-IBN! Everything as they say boils down to TRP's...
The men salivate over the perfectly,toned photo-shopped body in the itsy bitsy two-piece ( in this case charcoal colored!!)and women wonder and drive themselves to distraction how that body which was till now covered in a Sabyasachi Mukherjee sari has suddenly metamorphised into having the perfect bod. A thin percentage like me , wonder about world being a stage and our part in it.. Shakespeare certainly is being remembered by me but for all the wrong reasons,today.
It's strange we get killed for wearing clothes or the lack of it ! And then we have the clerics who will declare fatwa for all they think is right in the eyes of God. The second news item was that condoms are being blamed for sexual anarchy. maybe, they think that ovepopulation would help them in making a straight line to GOD , you know it would be easier to reach HIM in a queue.Seriously , this was in the Times today.
I wonder if men actually use their brains .( This is not directed towards the few who would read this post.)
The modern woman is faced with the quandry of wearing one and denying it. It's similar to being painted as a scarlet woman. Youre damned if you do and youre damned if you don't.Today morning, I was surprised by two newspaper items :one which extolls that vidya balan denies that she wore one..somebody's morphed her , she says and this was the respectable hard-hitting journalistic one-stop complete news channel..CNN-IBN! Everything as they say boils down to TRP's...
The men salivate over the perfectly,toned photo-shopped body in the itsy bitsy two-piece ( in this case charcoal colored!!)and women wonder and drive themselves to distraction how that body which was till now covered in a Sabyasachi Mukherjee sari has suddenly metamorphised into having the perfect bod. A thin percentage like me , wonder about world being a stage and our part in it.. Shakespeare certainly is being remembered by me but for all the wrong reasons,today.
It's strange we get killed for wearing clothes or the lack of it ! And then we have the clerics who will declare fatwa for all they think is right in the eyes of God. The second news item was that condoms are being blamed for sexual anarchy. maybe, they think that ovepopulation would help them in making a straight line to GOD , you know it would be easier to reach HIM in a queue.Seriously , this was in the Times today.
I wonder if men actually use their brains .( This is not directed towards the few who would read this post.)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Adding value to Farming
Cell phones: anytime, anywhere tool for empowerment
The 4 inch mobile device which brings the world together in a nanosecond, sooner than you can blink has become the most indispensable tool in today’s modern world. It even in its small yet big avatar threatened to bring down the UPA government unearthing the mother of all scams. It’s used to connect, check the news, weather , send messages , you name it the mobile is capable of doing it all except for reproduction. From the huge bulky cumbersome device which was horrendously expensive and always a status symbol to flaunt has now become cheap, easily available and affordable. From the bai to the maali to the rickshaw wallah to the nukkad wala karayana shopwale uncle...Everyone has them. It is in fact one thing which has the highest salability and the prices have gone down something inverse to inflation in our country! Also there has been a dramatic shift in our lives from the real world to the virtual one where everything be it news, games, bank statements, stock prices, maps , information all is a finger tip away.
This tiny device which fits anywhere offers just a tiny bit more than two-way communication! It is used by teenagers to text; lose themselves in a world away from adults to a world of networking, music and online games, by housewives to network or as they say these days! It is increasingly being recognized by market companies as a tool for providing value –added services to the consumers. The VAS providers have exhausted themselves with the rest of the different segments of the society and have directed their attention to the farmer who generally has less access to accurate, timely, relevant information about farm operations from sowing to harvest to prevailing market rates of crops and commodities to recommendations from experts in the field of agriculture and allied services.
With the expansion of cellular services in rural India, reaching out to farmers has become easier. Though gathering data about their information needs maybe a pain staking task; as the data base needs to be established to set up the network. First of all clearing the apprehensions in the mind of farmers is the biggest hurdle to explain the pros and cons, it is the biggest challenge to get the farmer to innovate, to adopt the change because they always suspect that the service provider is out to make a fool of them or make quick money or doubt the reliability. The behavioral change is the most important when trust is established the farmer is ready to embrace the change which will help him eventually. There has been an emergence of one such VAS provider in Punjab called INFOPLUS MEDIA which has been started with a lot of zeal and promise by two such enterprising people by the names of Ikhlaq Singh Aujla and Jugraj Sohi. There firm has stepped in to provide agricultural information to farmers free of cost. The medium of dissemination of information is the mobile phone via the text message (SMSes). The content of the service include crop information, market information (prevailing rates in local areas to bench mark market, MSP, future price trends, exim policy), weather information, crop advisory and other handy trips sourced directly from PAU, ICAR, and the CPRI. They have also given impetus and have promoted allied services like floriculture, animal husbandry, apiculture, and agro forestry.. They also aim to be a one-stop information bureau in regards to loans, subsidies, insurance etc..
Jugraj Sohi, remarks, that they stepped in to provide this service in a state which subsists itself on agriculture and is the major contributor to the food bowl of the country. She, herself a postgraduate agriculture
from PAU felt the need to provide information which if received timely by the farmers would result in saving of costs and help them in making timely and critical decisions.
Her partner Ikhhlaq Singh Aujla, a cultivator himself says, that they stepped into empower the farmer as there was a gap between the information and it reaching the ultimate user. They wanted to bridge the gap and to fill in the grey area via the mobile which helps in transmitting information anytime, anywhere.
There unique firm has covered 26 districts impacting 6000 farmers and counting. All the service provided is free of cost and one can subscribe by a simple SMS of their name, village, block and district to 9815766442 or 9888036099.
Jang Bahadur Singh Sangha , Secertary General of POSCON , the largest seed potato organization of Asia says that agricultural VAS presently available in the country area huge asset to the farmers for services such as weather forecast, commodity prices in various markets and even future trading prices. But sometime the accuracy for instance weather is questionable and therefore can have negative bearings.
Thus the potential of mobile phones as a medium of information dissemination and revenue generation is huge provided the gaps in communication are addressed rightly, and accuracy and timely delivery of information is ensured.
ravneet sangha
The 4 inch mobile device which brings the world together in a nanosecond, sooner than you can blink has become the most indispensable tool in today’s modern world. It even in its small yet big avatar threatened to bring down the UPA government unearthing the mother of all scams. It’s used to connect, check the news, weather , send messages , you name it the mobile is capable of doing it all except for reproduction. From the huge bulky cumbersome device which was horrendously expensive and always a status symbol to flaunt has now become cheap, easily available and affordable. From the bai to the maali to the rickshaw wallah to the nukkad wala karayana shopwale uncle...Everyone has them. It is in fact one thing which has the highest salability and the prices have gone down something inverse to inflation in our country! Also there has been a dramatic shift in our lives from the real world to the virtual one where everything be it news, games, bank statements, stock prices, maps , information all is a finger tip away.
This tiny device which fits anywhere offers just a tiny bit more than two-way communication! It is used by teenagers to text; lose themselves in a world away from adults to a world of networking, music and online games, by housewives to network or as they say these days! It is increasingly being recognized by market companies as a tool for providing value –added services to the consumers. The VAS providers have exhausted themselves with the rest of the different segments of the society and have directed their attention to the farmer who generally has less access to accurate, timely, relevant information about farm operations from sowing to harvest to prevailing market rates of crops and commodities to recommendations from experts in the field of agriculture and allied services.
With the expansion of cellular services in rural India, reaching out to farmers has become easier. Though gathering data about their information needs maybe a pain staking task; as the data base needs to be established to set up the network. First of all clearing the apprehensions in the mind of farmers is the biggest hurdle to explain the pros and cons, it is the biggest challenge to get the farmer to innovate, to adopt the change because they always suspect that the service provider is out to make a fool of them or make quick money or doubt the reliability. The behavioral change is the most important when trust is established the farmer is ready to embrace the change which will help him eventually. There has been an emergence of one such VAS provider in Punjab called INFOPLUS MEDIA which has been started with a lot of zeal and promise by two such enterprising people by the names of Ikhlaq Singh Aujla and Jugraj Sohi. There firm has stepped in to provide agricultural information to farmers free of cost. The medium of dissemination of information is the mobile phone via the text message (SMSes). The content of the service include crop information, market information (prevailing rates in local areas to bench mark market, MSP, future price trends, exim policy), weather information, crop advisory and other handy trips sourced directly from PAU, ICAR, and the CPRI. They have also given impetus and have promoted allied services like floriculture, animal husbandry, apiculture, and agro forestry.. They also aim to be a one-stop information bureau in regards to loans, subsidies, insurance etc..
Jugraj Sohi, remarks, that they stepped in to provide this service in a state which subsists itself on agriculture and is the major contributor to the food bowl of the country. She, herself a postgraduate agriculture
from PAU felt the need to provide information which if received timely by the farmers would result in saving of costs and help them in making timely and critical decisions.
Her partner Ikhhlaq Singh Aujla, a cultivator himself says, that they stepped into empower the farmer as there was a gap between the information and it reaching the ultimate user. They wanted to bridge the gap and to fill in the grey area via the mobile which helps in transmitting information anytime, anywhere.
There unique firm has covered 26 districts impacting 6000 farmers and counting. All the service provided is free of cost and one can subscribe by a simple SMS of their name, village, block and district to 9815766442 or 9888036099.
Jang Bahadur Singh Sangha , Secertary General of POSCON , the largest seed potato organization of Asia says that agricultural VAS presently available in the country area huge asset to the farmers for services such as weather forecast, commodity prices in various markets and even future trading prices. But sometime the accuracy for instance weather is questionable and therefore can have negative bearings.
Thus the potential of mobile phones as a medium of information dissemination and revenue generation is huge provided the gaps in communication are addressed rightly, and accuracy and timely delivery of information is ensured.
ravneet sangha
Friday, March 4, 2011
monitor
An interesting situation has risen and it just makes me want to comment. Do you remember the time when we all were growing up (please have a Technicolor flashback aka... Hindi movie ishtyle)? WE were all studying in school and it was the desire, an ambition for all of us to become the class monitor and becoming one was the ultimate recognition that one has arrived. Being a class leader, deciding what where everyone has to sit and ensuring discipline and lording over everyone with authority, it gets ingrained in quite early. You know this could be a basis of a psychology debate for all- a revolutionary study would be conducted and I would go down the annals of history! Maybe Hitler, Napoleon, Gandhi were picked on as school kids and that led them to being leaders who swayed millions albeit in different paths.
Well getting back to the Punjab political scenario, it can be compared to the monitor being the respected CM who shepherds his flocks and one errant sheep MB is sent to sit on seat 90. The papers are full of this sensational news where discussions are being done, in context to the strategic shuffle. It is amazing that the fortunes of Punjab are being made over the strategic placement, never mind what is actually happening...How many of us actually read the PM’s speech and the honest apology of a man of integrity before making fun of his predicament?
We will continue to fight over petty things and miss the larger picture, as they do not affect us. Remember India is just a country we live, someone else is going to clean the act, meanwhile we will continue to wonder whether MB will sit at 90 number or the rebel MLA’s will sit or abstain from attending the session. The focus has shifted not on the common man but on resurrecting the ghost of the freedom fighter Shaheed Bhagat Singh who was un-mourned or revered upon till a few years ago.
I wonder if the ideals, revolutionary fervor will in fact rouse Punjab or only be worth the granite upon his name or the hologram sticker which adorns every SUV. The color yellow has suddenly become the ‘it ‘color and the mills are working overtime to manufacture the bales….
Ravneet Sangha
Well getting back to the Punjab political scenario, it can be compared to the monitor being the respected CM who shepherds his flocks and one errant sheep MB is sent to sit on seat 90. The papers are full of this sensational news where discussions are being done, in context to the strategic shuffle. It is amazing that the fortunes of Punjab are being made over the strategic placement, never mind what is actually happening...How many of us actually read the PM’s speech and the honest apology of a man of integrity before making fun of his predicament?
We will continue to fight over petty things and miss the larger picture, as they do not affect us. Remember India is just a country we live, someone else is going to clean the act, meanwhile we will continue to wonder whether MB will sit at 90 number or the rebel MLA’s will sit or abstain from attending the session. The focus has shifted not on the common man but on resurrecting the ghost of the freedom fighter Shaheed Bhagat Singh who was un-mourned or revered upon till a few years ago.
I wonder if the ideals, revolutionary fervor will in fact rouse Punjab or only be worth the granite upon his name or the hologram sticker which adorns every SUV. The color yellow has suddenly become the ‘it ‘color and the mills are working overtime to manufacture the bales….
Ravneet Sangha
Thursday, March 3, 2011
chai...
CHAI BANAO
Chai banao, chaa banaa, these two words are the bane of every woman. The favorite word we hear, be it from the start of the day to the end of our daily grind...It’s the answer to every life’s situation even a friends answer to writing a letter to a loved one.
Even the Pm’s query to the budget, the rising inflation and the way he handles Madam Chairman is all done by drinking tea. It’s amazing how much is decided over a cup of tea! Clandestine meetings between lovers, the drinking of tea in the canteen, the dhaba joint which makes the best tea , the one which it gets it flavor from being made in the same pan day in and day out without ever washing it. They say it adds to the intrinsic flavor. Business executives working, striking deals, authors drinking their fancy-schmancy peppermint tea and the tea which has ruined all of us poor straight simple drinkers...Green Tea. It does seem to me that it’s a conspiracy by these MNC’s to sell their product rather than give us actual health benefits. If I sound a bit like George Fernandes , blame it again on the tea.
Housewives, servants start their day not by chanting the lOrd’s name but injecting themselves with tea. It acts like rocket fuel-jumpstarts our cables to work as unpaid, unrecognized, taken for granted homemakers. For amoment , think of all that a woman does, she cooks , cleans, nurtures , acts as a cohesive to the structure of the society and all this without any murmurbut is she recognized, nope all she’s told is Chai banao!! Kudiyan de kam hunde ne
Chai banao, chaa banaa, these two words are the bane of every woman. The favorite word we hear, be it from the start of the day to the end of our daily grind...It’s the answer to every life’s situation even a friends answer to writing a letter to a loved one.
Even the Pm’s query to the budget, the rising inflation and the way he handles Madam Chairman is all done by drinking tea. It’s amazing how much is decided over a cup of tea! Clandestine meetings between lovers, the drinking of tea in the canteen, the dhaba joint which makes the best tea , the one which it gets it flavor from being made in the same pan day in and day out without ever washing it. They say it adds to the intrinsic flavor. Business executives working, striking deals, authors drinking their fancy-schmancy peppermint tea and the tea which has ruined all of us poor straight simple drinkers...Green Tea. It does seem to me that it’s a conspiracy by these MNC’s to sell their product rather than give us actual health benefits. If I sound a bit like George Fernandes , blame it again on the tea.
Housewives, servants start their day not by chanting the lOrd’s name but injecting themselves with tea. It acts like rocket fuel-jumpstarts our cables to work as unpaid, unrecognized, taken for granted homemakers. For amoment , think of all that a woman does, she cooks , cleans, nurtures , acts as a cohesive to the structure of the society and all this without any murmurbut is she recognized, nope all she’s told is Chai banao!! Kudiyan de kam hunde ne
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Woman empowerment In India – A Reality Check
Like the clockwork, the podium is dusted, the sashes taken out, aired out to get the stinking moth-ball smell out and the token sashes and awards ordered. The wilting flowers ordered, wrapped in cellophane to be handed out with the fixed smile. One can compare the wilt to the life of us women.
India proudly proclaims to be a superpower, a developed nation, a power to be reckoned. We cry ourselves hoarse “ Mera Bharta Mahaan” but are the woman empowered . Are they free from the clutches of the evils which befall her?
International Women’s day is a day which is an occasion marked by women’s group around the world. It started in the year 1910. This day is commemorated to merge the lives of women across different continents that are divided by national boundaries by ethnic, linguistic, cultural, political, social economic differences. They all come together to celebrate the day which represents the struggle of decades for the fight of equality, against oppression, and towards all round development. It is a move to recognize to the ordinary women who has become ‘extra-ordinary”.
There is however, a reason to worry , where the picture gets dismal and one wonders whether this is just a token day , one which has lost its meaning and is just a mere eye-wash.
Some truths:
1. Girls are killed, aborted and if born are killed in the most inhumane, horrific way thrown in the alleys, by lanes, dust-bins and sometimes even with their umbilical cord wrapped around them and blood smeared.
2. Certain sections of society do not send their girls to school when they attain puberty.
3. Dowry harassment, deaths are not new, they all have become old news. We all have become so de-sensitised that we do not even read the news, just merely skipping it for salacious gossip.
4. Sexual harassment goes on and on, at least 60% of the cases are not reported for the fear of society pressure.
5. Legislative strength is 10%
6. Crimes on woman are on the rise, working women face, assault, rape, murder, eve-teasing is rampant. An increasing number of disfigurement cases have come into the limelight, acid throwing being one of them.
7. Widows are still looked down; it is still a traditional closed society. Re-marriage is frowned upon.
8. Gender disparity is still rampant, rearing its ugly head in Punjab, Haryana.
9. Men only a select few look upon women as sex objects!
India ranks a miserable 53rd out of the 58 nations in the report called “women Empowerment: - Measuring the Global Gender Gap.”This gap measures the difference between men and women in economic participation, economic opportunity, political empowerment, and access to education, access to reproductive health care. We reflect the largest disparity.
Women play roles in a multi-faceted way: be it a mother, sister, daughter, learner, worker and she is the only one who begets LIFE.
It is important that this empowerment which is making its way be all year around for every minute every second and not a mere tokenisim. Like the way the requisite quota seats are filled by companies to show gender equality. We want respect, self esteem, our birthright and not one day to commemorate woman-hood. Aren’t we special everyday?
Like the clockwork, the podium is dusted, the sashes taken out, aired out to get the stinking moth-ball smell out and the token sashes and awards ordered. The wilting flowers ordered, wrapped in cellophane to be handed out with the fixed smile. One can compare the wilt to the life of us women.
India proudly proclaims to be a superpower, a developed nation, a power to be reckoned. We cry ourselves hoarse “ Mera Bharta Mahaan” but are the woman empowered . Are they free from the clutches of the evils which befall her?
International Women’s day is a day which is an occasion marked by women’s group around the world. It started in the year 1910. This day is commemorated to merge the lives of women across different continents that are divided by national boundaries by ethnic, linguistic, cultural, political, social economic differences. They all come together to celebrate the day which represents the struggle of decades for the fight of equality, against oppression, and towards all round development. It is a move to recognize to the ordinary women who has become ‘extra-ordinary”.
There is however, a reason to worry , where the picture gets dismal and one wonders whether this is just a token day , one which has lost its meaning and is just a mere eye-wash.
Some truths:
1. Girls are killed, aborted and if born are killed in the most inhumane, horrific way thrown in the alleys, by lanes, dust-bins and sometimes even with their umbilical cord wrapped around them and blood smeared.
2. Certain sections of society do not send their girls to school when they attain puberty.
3. Dowry harassment, deaths are not new, they all have become old news. We all have become so de-sensitised that we do not even read the news, just merely skipping it for salacious gossip.
4. Sexual harassment goes on and on, at least 60% of the cases are not reported for the fear of society pressure.
5. Legislative strength is 10%
6. Crimes on woman are on the rise, working women face, assault, rape, murder, eve-teasing is rampant. An increasing number of disfigurement cases have come into the limelight, acid throwing being one of them.
7. Widows are still looked down; it is still a traditional closed society. Re-marriage is frowned upon.
8. Gender disparity is still rampant, rearing its ugly head in Punjab, Haryana.
9. Men only a select few look upon women as sex objects!
India ranks a miserable 53rd out of the 58 nations in the report called “women Empowerment: - Measuring the Global Gender Gap.”This gap measures the difference between men and women in economic participation, economic opportunity, political empowerment, and access to education, access to reproductive health care. We reflect the largest disparity.
Women play roles in a multi-faceted way: be it a mother, sister, daughter, learner, worker and she is the only one who begets LIFE.
It is important that this empowerment which is making its way be all year around for every minute every second and not a mere tokenisim. Like the way the requisite quota seats are filled by companies to show gender equality. We want respect, self esteem, our birthright and not one day to commemorate woman-hood. Aren’t we special everyday?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)