I will always be a princess

Why I will always be a Princess?

I am I, a female born, who has lived her life with happiness, sadness and sorrow, but as I lay on my final deathbed I just realized something like an epiphany, or the way Newton discovered gravity when apple was falling down from the tree. I will always be a Princess, a Kaur, a Kumari and nothing and no one can take it away from me till I let them.

It’s the same as giving someone the key to happiness of your life, we can only be happy if we want to be; yes there are external forces that dictate it but we have to be at peace with oneself to let happiness seep around us.

From time immemorial our Gods and Gurus have given us equal place to Man. Imagine a society where women were considered inferior, they did not have any say in the society, they were actually considered distractions to advancement in spiritual advancement. . It was Guru Nanak who led the path breaking change in the society and revolted against the stringent attitude of men who considered women as chattels. Guru Nanak, equated man and woman equal, he made no distinction in their status. This was un heard of. Women have had to fight for this fundamental right of equality and it is still continuing down the ages and times. This remains till now.

He was the first person to allow women in sangat, congregation without any discrimination on the basis of their sex, they could engage in all religious practices. He also, said man is born of woman, within woman man is conceived, it is she who he becomes engaged to, he marries her, and when she dies, he seeks another woman, he is bound to Her. So why call her Bad? From her, Kings are born. From woman, woman is born; without woman, there would be no one at all. (SGGS, p.473).

In Sikh religion all credit of nobility is given to a woman. In our religion, countless warrior women have changed and shaped the destiny of the race. Guru Amar Das, condemned sati, purdah practice and refused to meet the Queen of Haripur as she was wearing a veil. He all (women as well as men) acknowledges the same God as his or her own; Show me anyone who does not. Each person is responsible for his (or her) own actions and shall have to settle his (or her) own account.”(Guru Amar Das in ‘Suhi ki Var’) “They are not suttees who burn themselves with their dead husbands; rather they are suttees, Nanak, who die with the mere shock of separation from their husbands. And they too, are to be considered suttees, who abide in modesty and contentment, who wait upon their Lord and rising in the morning, ever remember Him.” “Women burn themselves in fire with their husbands; if they appreciate their husbands, they undergo sufficient pain by their death. If they appreciate them not, Nanak, why should they burn at all?” (GG, 787)”

When all this was in my genetic code, how can I not be a royal regal person? I am a princess is what I reaffirm to myself. When the Gods have blessed me, how can a mere mortal take my title away?

In the end, we as women need to remember one thing, we have been given this stature, this title by our Gurus, how can another mortal, who is born of us take it away.

Girls, young and old, women beautiful and pretty do not let any make you feel any less. You are you; no one can take it away from you! The name given to men when they were baptized was Singh, a lion; a woman is given the name Kaur, a princess, which remains with her till she dies. Guru Gobind Singh gave her equal rights; he condemned feticide and also forbade any proprietary rights by men over women captured in battle.

My last breath, reminds me that even if the body dies, the soul still remains a princess and that is how I fight back to live another day. 

Rats are jumping!!

Houston, we have a problem, is one of the iconic lines you’ve ever heard, but that was for a space problem and well that anecdote is for another day, I have one closer to home. We have been run over by rats in the outer quarters of our farm.  The rat here is not be mistaken for oh cho chweet Jerry of the famous childhood cartoon partner, nor is he the Ratatouille rat who became a chef in the heart of Paris, this is the common type garden variety rat that has invaded our farm

. A huge number of you are going to make fun of me, and say what do you expect, you do live on the farm? The rest are going to make fun and be the smart Alec and reply, they are meant to be there in the eco system, some of the fanatics who swear by Maneka Gandhi and her particular animal activism.

One of the persons so affected had tried everything in his quarter. He went for work in the morning, leaving his room perfect and when he came back for lunch, he was in for a surprise. He came to the main house and told me, ‘ In the morning when I had gone for work, the curtains were in place and were of full length, the mattress was fine, and my trouser was hanging behind the door.’ Now the curtain is of half-length, the mattress has holes and the trouser has been bitten at all places.

He was ready to cry and went away after I consoled him that we would look into this matter. I handled everything in the perfect government manner and a bureaucrat worth his service would have been proud of him. The minute he went, I turned and burst out laughing, the curtain reminded me of the chocolate advertisement, where the tailor invariably shortens the trouser to shorts, thanks to mumbling by the boys eating chocolate.

One of the operators at the cold store, who is an ex-army Subedaar sahib, even submitted a letter in English worthy of a classic piece to be kept in the archives for future generations, it was addressed to the Manager and had the usual salutations. The line that jumped out was, Sir, the rats are jumping a not letting me sleep. Mind you, the rats there are white furry albino alien type ones that can scare the enemy away! We think breeding them is a better defense against the enemy of the country.

Rats are vermin for us and we set traps everywhere to catch them. The karigars have a good answer; they say the rats don’t eat or spoil their clothes, they have this reasoning, you respect them, and they respect you back. One of them Raj, said that just because his tadka (seasoning was so good) to his vegetables and dal, did the rats get tempted.

The gatewallah, who was a pro at this, got Rat kill, these are small round balls of poison, chocolate in color and they are put in corners, the rat comes in and eats them and goes out in the open and dies.

However, the ones here on the farm are smart and I think due to genetic modification that has invaded them also, they just jump avoid all these poisons. They also cut the wires to the new hi- tec equipment sold to us unsuspecting Punjabis by this company; they promised that the frequency emitted by the contraption would not let the rats come near the premises of the farmhouse!

However, these rats have outwitted us by not eating the poison, not being affected by the hi tec equipment we put up as surveillance equipment or even being trapped by the rat traps dotting the house by the dozen.

The servants and the others have started wearing shorts; they aren’t cutting them shorter, and also have left them alone. We have perfect harmony now, we live with the rats, and they let us co-exist by not spoiling our food or eating away our curtains. 

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Her grandmother had kept her name; she was Nanaki to the world, but pyaar se nanu to her Daadi. All those loving endearment, love showered to her and the gentle prodding to do better had all stopped when Raj had presented to her parents. Matches made in heaven, don’t worry she can study later, she will have a comfortable life, what more does she want and well she was married. How easily we let a girl be manipulated by these words by our well-wishers? It was as if she wasn’t a living human being who didn’t dream or have hopes , but just the fact she was a girl , her only raison de arte in life was to get married. God had let her take birth so she may marry and procreate.

Shrugging these thoughts, she was rudely woken out of her day dreaming when someone dropped a bag on her feet. Curbing an expletive, she looked up shaken from her reverie, and met a little girl who was holding tightly a harassed man’s hand, presumably her father. She said sorry was ready to cry, as her father kept on saying Rukhsana what is wrong with you? Can’t you be careful? Look what you did. Aunty is hurt.

N didn’t know what to say, she got up and her bag fell in the same way again on her feet, and she looked at the little girl with the dimpled cheeks and started laughing. This was so typical of her, to have things falling at her and she would get hurt and smile and move on.

Taking the little girls hand she said, ‘Its ok’.

It doesn’t hurt; look all the fingers are fine!

Nothing prepared her, for the little girls answer, who said, Aunty I can see your tears.

She made space for the little girl, who sat with her on the same berth. Her father, apologetic, uncomfortable in front of two females who were clearly bonding and he was the alien amongst them.

He sat in front of them, taking off his skullcap and just put his bag on the side and said, Hi! I am Anwar and am travelling to Malerkotla to drop off Rukhsana with Ammi.

He looked so tired, with hair all over the place , some seem to be sticking in all angles, and he seemed awfully young . And, then she was caught like a deer which gets stunned and paralysed with lights from an incoming car.It was his yes that just were so beautiful ,like melted chocolate.

She quickly averted her eyes , and looked out of the window, what was wrong with her?N , was a sucker for sexy eyes, eyes that were the windows to the world, to the honesty that reflected in them but at this point.Mad, mad she was.

A Summer quilt made of life

Chapter 1

Patchwork of life, a widow at 42 she should be given a shot at life? The way she wanted to; she reflected back on her life, lulled in to a daze by the monotonous clack of the train. This journey was a journey full of finality; she was finally going back home where it all had started. A sleepy town in Punjab where everyone still bothered about everyone. Everyone poked their nose in others; no one was above this particular habit. She had lived all her life after marriage in Chandigarh’s elitist sector, where no one would even bother to look at the next door, apart from the ever important maid. It was funny, how maids figured more in everyone’s conversation than anything helse. Is she coming? How much do you pay her? Is she stealing? Look at her fashion, her nakhra.

If the society matrons would pay attention half the time to what was happening in their homes and not turn a blind side life would be smoother and there would be less pain,

She , was over this , pain , hurt and sadness . Finally she had packed her bags and was moving back to her town. She could have taken a taxi , someone would have dropped her , or she could have taken the new buses running up and about in the state .However, she wanted the romance of the train. Something about the movie Jab We Met, appealed to her … romance maybe.

It was so missing in her life , she think fate had skipped this particular chapter in her destiny . It just was not meant to be. Why did we endlessly look for romance? She had to add this in the note to self list : Do not look for love, if its meant to happen it will  otherwise just chuck it . Her motto for life was Koi na ..

The train kept on lurching and making it hypnotic noise and she drifted in and out of sleep . It was this laziness she craved after the hectic few months.

Divorce , death , drama , she had seen it and experienced it all.

Paani re paani

Water was a very precious resource one used it for everything. Cook, clean drink , wash but the most important was to sustain .It was the life- source. Kiran loved when water slid off her hair in rivulets, neck and then her back. It made her clean, whole and pure. Happiness to her was an unlimited water supply and to bathe with it non – stop using the small tikki of khushboo daar soap from the nukkad wali shop. Swarna Ram had new, brightly wrapped soap cakes from the city that promised a lingering perfume, and also made the person white.

Kiran was a good, obedient but a very shy girl who used to do all her work before going to the next village with her brother to attend a private school. They used to walk to school, she obviously carrying Hari Om’s bag. Girls were taught to be docile, servile and they did all their brothers work. It was in their genetic code. This is how it was and she could not imagine going against her brother. In fact her mother made her press her father and uncle’s feet everyday. When they came back from home, they were obviously tired and she had to press their feet. Kiran knew of nothing else, or she could object to this.

Life kept on moving at its pace and then she heard of this evening school where she could go and improve herself for free. No questions asked, she just needed to study, attend school and she would also get clothes, books and sometimes the stationary like her friend had got. The new Princess sharpener in pink with glitter was so beautiful. It was a few villages away. She would have to convince, cajole and also promise to her mother that she would come back on time to help her with evening chores. In fact she gave the logic that she would get clothes and stationary free thus her mother would save money also; which could be used somewhere else.

Kiran loved going to class, listening to her teachers, the  gentle coaxing by her teacher to speak out loud, to not be afraid. To use her voice, to think , to dream of a life where she could earn and to be independent .

Kiran was excited , next week they were going to travel in a bus and they were all going to the city and to the biggest hospital in Jalandhar where they were getting a dental and eye exam .

Kiran had never had had a dental or an eye exam . Plus , the catcher was getting a frooti to drink and a meal there. She , just knew what she was going to wear .

Finally the day came, they all went to the hospital , dressed in their finery , hair oiled , combed and plaited . They all had their little name tags and had a hanky each . It is something It was something all kids carried, as if it was a security blanket. Some carried a white one, some a little printed bright towel.

Hospitals are always intimidating but this one was huge. Kiran had never seen such a big building ever. It was bigger than anything plus it was very clean. They kept on visiting new rooms, eyes done, and teeth done. They had just finished there, exams when ma’am started distributing juice and samosas.

Kiran and her friends loved samosas and were eating them when the teacher made another announcement.

She had decided that the older girls would all have another physical test .

What was a physical test? She didn’t understand. Were they supposed to run, and then they would test them. It must be that, she thought in her mind. And, she was wearing her mother sandals. She didn’t have other shoes. How would she compete with the other girls? Now, she would come last and Madam would be unhappy, she was failing the trust that had been given to her. Kiran loved the way she called her Kiran Kumari.

Kiran went to room no. 21 with the nurse.  Dr. Gurpreet looked at her and when asked her to go lie on the bed where she would be examined. Kiran vomited. The lady Dr. was taken aback. Was it the samosa or just too much excitement? She let her lie on the bed with the help of a nurse. When Kiran woke up, she looked at her; Kiran had marks around her mouth, dark stains, and a boil on the side of her lip.

When she asked her to pick up her shirt, to just examine her, Kiran burst out crying and laughing at the same time.

She said, Dr sahib aap bhi …

Kiran , suffered from sexual abuse at the hands of her father and uncle. She thought the Doctor was also going to use her sexually . 90 percent of the cases go unreported and the mother always knows of this sordid act. Kiran Kumari was my student , she stopped coming to my evening school and is missing . Her brother is still seen around the village and has the same boil marks around his mouth and has the dark discoloration like his sister. This abuse was admitted and it carried on when she would press their feet. Kiran Kumari is 14 years old.