30th March, Bombay Central

15.30
I wait for the Mumbai-Delhi Rajdhani
I hate train journeys
I feel like a matchstick
stacked in a blue rectangular metal box.
I crouch on the dusty bench
The garbage bin is retching
much like my heart was
when I was forced to forget
the touch of your hand.
That evening, I was looking into
the black sky
murmuring for a miracle
the pole star had vanished
I yearned to blow a wish.
''I'll hire a cab.''

India's Daughter documentary. Watch it but don't buy it fully

This is the season of bans it seems. The ban on Cow meat in Maharashtra. The ban on a documentary.The  ban on "freedom of speech". 
The Modi government with its strong hindutva school of thought seems to dive into a cathartic escapist ideology to deal with issues that they do not have a say in.
BBC and Leslie Udwin meanwhile decided to exploit the petrified patriarchal sentiments of a nation where patriarchy is tradition. I did find a few more opinions that out rightly blasted Ms. Udwin for not making a documentary film on countries like Somalia or Saudi Arabia where the voices against patriarchal misogyny are lulled every day by beating, raping and killing women who dared to raise a finger against the inhuman apathy they are meted with. Thankfully, this movie was made, even though not for the right reasons. 

I watched the documentary with hope, because for the starters I expected it to not be a clever scripted rendition of  the gory evils that Jyoti Singh and her friend had to bear witness to. While Jyoti's friend had testified to the fact that she was brutalized by all the men riding in the bus with them that evening, Mukesh Singh was made to take a call in his favour by lying about it. It's too difficult for me to believe that he was driving the bus throughout the fateful incident and wasn't a culprit. Will lying help him in any way and his shameless patriarchal patronized lawyers to push for his release? And if that happens I will surely loose all my faith in the Indian judiciary system and thousands like me who decided to brave the December chill in 2012  to demand for justice.
Thirdly why did his admission of the "she deserved it" attitude come as a shock? He further added fuel to the fire by condemning death penalty and inspiring the rapists of the country to kill their victim, to leave no witnesses or proofs behind. Sigh! I wish they could have edited this portion of the video, because for a troubled rape ridden culture like ours this spells doom.
Again, this predetermined policing of the script failed to achieve what it was aiming to portray in the first place. Talk of gender violence and the feminist movement in the country. It was more like a Bollywood movie that had characters, incidents and the stories of the people starring in it.
Fourthly, people like the defence lawyer A.P Singh and the impunity with which he still admits to owning his daughter send shock waves down your spine. The other defence lawyer was the Shakespeare of the movie.  It's high time that women stop being the flowers, they must learn to be the thorns.
Why was the documentary named "India's daughter"? It could have been given any other title, but this, fearfully strips naked the male privilege that we women are forced to lean on, for our safety, respect and dignity.
Last but not the least, this documentary is a must watch. For the minor biases that it carries, should not give you a reason to ignore it. It makes you aware of the nerves of India's sons, who have been raised on an unhealthy dosage of poor education, patriarchy and poverty. Who are thriving in the backyard of male dominated homes to replace the filthy rotten fishes that will be thrown out of the sea. Rotten fishes like Singh, who deserves capital punishment or rigorous life imprisonment.
And yes, Jyoti Singh is not India's daughter. I so wish she wouldn't have taken birth in this wretched country.

Picture Credit: http://trak.in/tags/business/2015/03/05/indiasdaughter-youtube-bbc-documentary-blocked/

1397 kms and beyond

Distances makes hearts grow fonder

Is it?

1397 kms across rivers, roads and melting sands

I've sometimes heard you sob

silently in the death of the night

wishing that these 1397 kms 

didn't eat your voice.

Rain is ripping apart the womb
of her mother,

here loneliness lies prostrate in my belly

like a dead child.

Insomnia. Paranoia.

Words I am trying to memorize

when sleep refuses to stalk me

like a sick smitten lover.

You may have traded headaches with me

when you complain of them 

I laugh it off

saying aspirin is paying me

for being migraine's favourite child.

Some song coos into my ear

taking me back to the sea

that strolled with us

on a strange September evening.

1397 kms. The yardstick of longing.

Only if distances made hearts grow fonder.

                             

                                                Picture Credit: www.publicdomainpictures.net

Story of the Honest Roadside Tea Vendor in Andheri

Living in Mumbai was a learning lesson in my life. I had to grapple with every irritating issue on my own, since the protective hearth of my home wasn't a reality anymore. I had to make a move to Mumbai for six months, but those testing times showed no signs of coming to an end. From doing my laundry without a washing machine, to having bland food to shopping for groceries on my own. The list of the endless atrocities that life had in store for me, had lost count.

I was living in the university hostel at that time. The food was tasteless and flavorless, but I had no other options but to resign to fate. The only saving grace was the tea I had in the morning and evening, which was available in those glossy coffee shops outside the campus. This seemed to be a great idea initially, until it started creating bigger holes in my pocket. Soon, I started to look for local roadside tea vendors, who would serve me two cups of tea or coffee and make my day.

I had to make peace with the reality, for the struggle to find a good roadside tea vendor was all in vain. I did find a few tea vendors, but their tea made me throw up, since it wasn't served with hygiene.  I used to guzzle numberless cups of green tea which was to cater to my health needs. Sadly, it didn't give me the kind of kick that 'tea with milk' gave me. As my mom puts it rightly, I can imagine living without food but surviving without tea is like being slapped with a curse for a lifetime.

Building a Gender Equal World

This is utopia for a woman. To imagine a world that will treat her as an equal. That gave me all the right reasons to write about it. The world we now live in, treats her as a build of mass and bones or a helper to the man, as religious books like Bible put it. Perhaps, all the religions of the world would have conspired against Eve and her daughters to hold her guilty of a sin she may have not even committed. 

Sometimes I can't come to terms with the life I have as a woman. I can't imagine walking down the streets without being ogled at, or travel without being prodded at. As if there was nothing more to me than a body that has breasts, legs, arms, without the brains of course. I can't think of living a day of my life, without being asked the pertinent perennial question about my marriage or being a prey to the hate the world throws at me for being ambitious. 

If a tired dejected woman like me were to tear down the world and rebuild it again, then I would want the world to look something like this.

To My First Roommate, on her Wedding

Hey S,

I still remember meeting you for the first time. Mom was feeling the fear deep inside her bones, for it was the first time her beloved daughter was going to stay on her own, and I was counting the number of minutes left, before she would leave. A plethora of thoughts were ransacking my mind, most of which were revolving around the camaraderie I will share with you. You looked confident in your black shorts and pink see through top, which my sister-in-law didn't approve of. I could hear her muttering to mom, about how perilous it would be to live with you. I think everyone at home had got used to seeing me in clothes that couldn't be touted as vulgar or bold. 

Infact my bhabhi, had many times after that sent messages through my mom to shift with that malayali girl next door who wears kurtis and wouldn't pose a threat to my humble habits.

I did try my best to make friends with the other women in the place, but at the end of the day I decided that it is best to befriend the person who lives with me, no matter how shady she may seem. 

Infact you maybe amused to know that mom never raised a finger on your character unlike my sister-in-law. She always used to tell me that she found you polite and cheerful, and my roommate will be my friend in need, and not my neighbours. I know she may have turned the pages on her past while having said that, and she was doing all that talking based on her own experiences.

Your Voice

It's been a flight of fancy
the gold splashing on silk curtains
dancing in air, to entice the summer
that has stretched its legs.
Birds crawl on a creek bathing
half the city.
Hallucinate. Inhale. Exhale. Exist.
The grey statue silently gazed
into the sky with a finger pointing
towards north, telling me of the times
to come,when your car whizzed past
vegetable vendors putting weights
for a price, fishes were being stripped
cut and salted. The city reeked of life.
September was our meeting place
when candles lighted in prayer
waxed wishes,we came face to face.
Eye to eye. Holding hands.