Status: Unmarried

Domestic violence, domestic abuse, domestic beating...how domestic to I have to be to qualify as domestic. Does abuse in a committed relationship qualify for abuse? A person in a relationship publicly declared as formal, liable to punishment if he or she abuses the other! A lot of young men and women do not want to get married, for the fear of the detour that they have to take if they decide to separate. Also, they are spared from rules that apply to domestic abuse.

So, if I am committed to a man, and he tortures me emotionally, beats me when he is drunk or tortures me to the extent that am mentally and physically bruised, is there nothing I can do about? He has the license to misbehave because he can always claim not to know me, and wander scot free. It leaves a man or woman at the receiving end so vulnerable. Men or women who are commitment phobic, fear taking responsibilities as much as they fear being accountable for their actions.

The man I loved ever so much left me in a jiffy. Because I exposed his infidelity. He had no remorse, no apologies for me. He was fearless. He knew, I will not be able to charge him, or drag him to the legal corridors. But if he were married, he would have had questions to answer, battles to fight and alimony to pay. Now that he could not stop cheating, he threw me out. So, did I or can the system do anything to ensure he does not emotionally wound another girl. That he does not mentally abuse and destroy a human life?

Why does being in a relationship leaves me vulnerable to all sorts of atrocities. Is intangible loss of peace, respect and confidence so intangible, that we find it hard to quantify it? Every man or woman, who has suffered at the hands of his or her lover would vouch that the wounds heal but bitterness remains. It would subside when there is justice met out. You feel defenseless, exposed and so helpless despite all the wealth and education.

People on the other side of the fence would always find reasons such as "you were in the relation out of choice", "you could have walked out",. Well, marriage is also out of choice. Then why do the rules that apply to two so different. They will not be able to understand or empathize with the gravity of damage, till they go through it. If parents can be punished for making their children work, why a man who damages the mental balance of a human being can’t be pulled up and made to pay for his doings. Is the value of a human life so low, or makings laws for man-woman relationship, not married, beneath the dignity of the tall and mighty court of justice.

I am no lawyer, so my knowledge about my rights and laws that exist for me is very limited. But, if there are rules that apply to relationships, we need to spread awareness. With India Inc. changing the face of the country, there needs to be provision for respecting emotions and acknowledging emotional pain as pain. Monetary loss, physical loss is all well taken care of (actually not so much, the speed of justice met out is glacial); is emotional loss no loss, is giving love exposing me without any resort. Being abused behind the closed doors, not abuse till my status is "Unmarried". Do I have to be married to be eligible for justice? Does the court of law discriminate between the tears of a woman who is married vis a vis one who is equally committed, just not married. What changes so drastically after a wedding that tables turn, the equation of the citizen and court gets altered.

All NGOs and women supporters rise on the occasion of domestic violence. But, no one comes to rescue the unmarried girl who has committed the sin of loving a person. If a husband has no right to beat up his wife, which article of the Indian constitution advocates a guy to do so with his partner? The fact we don’t discuss this topic actively is a reflection of our perception of a relationship which is not marriage.

We despise human relations and fight for protection. So self contradictory. The guy, who was never dealt with, when he was an abusive partner, will surely go on to be an abusive husband. We’d rather treat the crisis when it is nascent than allow it to become a habit and make the picture rancid.

I for one want to get married, for the right reasons like love and passion; Not for legal security and social cover.

Phone Call with Earth - Part 1

It has been a daily ritual to call home everyday and speak to Mumma. So today when I finished speaking to my mother and giving her a detailed description of my food and obviously "doodh", I decided to call up Earth. Yes, I called up mother Earth today. I wonder why I did, because turned out to be quite a rocky call.
I dialed the number, and the caller tune was the sound of a storm with rain splashing and wind making spooky noises all over.
A breathless lady, coughing loudly answered the call.
"Yes, what do you want" she asked. The voice was stiff and old.
"Gunja here. Hope you doing good", I said.
E: "Why? How does it matter how I am. You know, I am old and weak. I have served you and your ancestors since time immemorial. But, now my end seems near".
Me: "Don't say so. We all love you."
E: "Don't try to charm me girl. You just depleted me of some fresh water when you used the restroom. Can't you reuse water"
I apologized profusely.
Me: "Did you finish dinner?", food always works in conversations that get uncomfortable.
E: "Yes, loads of it. All the insecticides and medicines, and no fresh manure. It smells disgusting. It sucks my nutrition and that is why I can't even serve you good food. I need a break I feel. A break from all the digging and toiling.
Me: "Hmm.."
E: "I wouldn't mind being farmed on, I still have truck loads of minerals and metals. But, why suffocate me with concrete. You know when you put concrete on me, I get suffocated as my breathing pores get blocked. I am not able to breathe well since a few decades now. And if I cannot breathe, I will not be able to carry on for long."
Me: "Anything I can do Mother?"
E: "You are a spec in this planet. But, if you post on FB, may be.."
Me: "Please tell me, Mother. I will surely post it on FB and twitter as well."
E: " Can you ensure you don't change your phone for next 3 years"
Me: "Why??", I was not very polite, obviously.
E: "See, you can't. The silicon is getting over within me and piling over me. If I load plates of food on your table but don't allow you to eat any, how long will you survive?"
Me: "Hmm..and?"
E: "Stop buying so many bottles. I feel like a dustbin, and how much you guys waste? Why use if not required? Can't you just stop throwing away stuff? Your cousins at US throw much more but then they don't multiply as much. Am sick of your country"
Me: "Am sorry"
E: "Don't be", she was strict this time.
Me: "Uuuuu.."
E: "Look am very upset with the way you guys have been behaving. Just no respect for elders like me or rivers or hills. Make a mess wherever you go. Who do you think you are? If the rivers dry or hills erode, I will see how you make all tall buildings. And what is this with layers of packaging even on a candy. Gone off your head?? Anyways, I will let you know so that you can let others know that what happened at Kedarnath was a snapshot. Behave, else I will punish you all.
Me: "Urrr.."
E: "Okay, I will hang up now. Got to see what your friends at Japan are upto"
Click.
She hung up.
Mother Earth, spare us of your fury and wrath.
Next phonecall when I am dying of the chilly winter..I sincerely hope not.

Poor, Not Really

India is a diverse country and with so much variety, there is varied understanding and varied notions. But, as a country if we had to define poor, in monetary terms we ought to have a benchmark. It cannot be so difficult to ascertain how heavy a citizen's cash box is. But, we have certainly made it difficult. A farmer who farms on his own land is underlined as 'poor', even without batting an eyelid and exempt from all sorts of taxes, not to forget the sack of subsidies that come along. Even if he is debt free, with enough yield to make him eligible for tax, he still doesn't pay tax. A man staying in the carnivorous metro, earning just enough to pay rent and food bills is rich. Working in swanky offices, earning peanuts and saving flakes makes me rich, owning land double its size still keeps you poor. Irony! When dad got transferred to Nagaland, and we moved to our bungalow, I felt nothing short of a Yash Chopra set up. Sprawling gardens, pond of my own and a huge bedroom all for myself. The next morning, the gardener walked in. If you looked at him, you could mistake him for an official off to work. He came with no tools, no spade. He had come to inform my mother that 'his servant' (you got it right) would look after the garden. The house we occupied belonged to his father-in-law and he owned a nursery. Dad explained us that under Income Tax Act 10 (26), people staying at certain states in India are exempt from taxes if they operate a proprietorship. "But how did he manage this huge bungalow with a pond and garden", Mumma asked. Dad didn't really have one text book answer to this one. Perhaps, surrender ALPHA, may be forefathers, or just struck pots of gold while gardening. There are so many such instances where the beneficiary has amassed significant wealth just by being eligible to government benefits. So, is my gardener poor? Does he pay tax? The best is yet to come. His nephew was sent on state scholarship to Singapore for higher education. He was the first ST to score more than 85% in 12th standard. Statistics never fails to amuse me. The state topper struggled for admission at Kolkata, because he scored 92%, what with no tuitions and professional coaching like metros. Poor guy..you may guess whom I am referring to. It is disdainful how a man who is struggling to make ends meet in the wake of inflation is forced to shut shop to fight for LBT, while some people enjoy lazy evenings and still find claim to poverty. Why would a child, whose grandfather is an IAS, dad from IIM A and mother from LSR need support of reservation while writing his CAT exam. It amazes me how common sense is defeated so easily by all the laws and amendments. What happens behind the closed doors of the parliament, I shall never know. Who votes for whom, you will never know. All you know is you are poor when you have to compromise on your ambitions because your surname is not qualified enough. Brain drain has hit us worse, when we needed it most. The drain has been steady and consistent. Any specific reasons we never bother to discuss it at the Indian diaspora? The questions that the migrated will ask the country will exceed the number of articles its constitution boasts of. Rajdeep Sardesai recently tweeted while walking at his alma mater, Oxford “Yet to meet an Indian who is not successful abroad”. I asked him, are Indians successful in India. I hit the block again. The varied definition of success, the diverse interpretation of the word; doesn’t look like I am getting anywhere. So much like my motherland. India is a young country. It is, without doubts. But, with constant struggle for life’s basic necessities like public transport, clean toilets and nutrition the young are ageing faster than ever and anywhere. Blame it on whom? Blame it on my parents for the surname, blame it on the company for not paying me well, on the government for being as lousy as it gets, on the country for being so diverse, on British who didn’t divide it small enough to be managed, on myself for still sticking around and being able to do nothing about it. Am a rich man’s poor daughter, rich in values and patience and perseverance. Poor in being so stranded by the norms and the pitiful state of affairs that my motherland goes through.

O dear India, Yours is a struggle, your children can fathom, for what you see is the dashboard of each Indian’s life. You have some selfish children who want to eat it all, leaving their siblings hungry, asking for more. Don’t blame them if they abandon you soon, they will cry when you die, which thou shall, very soon.

Goodnight India!! This one seems to a long winter night..

Aunty Matt Kaho..

My love hate relationship for all the Aunty's I ever came across is directly proportional to my age. And its rate of growth is much higher than the rate at which their waistline grows. They have the most unsophisticated sense of humor and the loudest laugh you ever heard of. Their taste for lip colors remains unmatched (dark red is the color of week, season, year, and forever), all their efforts to lose weight in vain, and their gossip is so limited (just their husband, husband's colleague, kids, their friends, neighborhood, city, country, even Obama is not spared when he kisses his wife in public!) I always wondered, that these bunch of women would walk everyday without fail but not lose weight. I felt sorry for them. I decided to speak to them. One breezy evening in Bangalore, I waited for them to finish their daily regime. They finished 10 rounds walking on the jogging track. "Hello Aunty, how are you?", I walked up. "Ohh look who is here", they said in chorus. "Want to come over, we are going for a cup of tea at Balaji", a close friend of my mother invited me. I took the opportunity, considering I would be able to speak to them at peace. After 45 minutes of non-stop chatter and a hot "benne" dosa each and milky coffee with extra 'sugar free', their calorie count was back, if not more before they left homes for their daily exercise. I had obviously not discussed their weight. They discussed my marriage, career, my eyebrows, my vital stats and also ways to attract (read: phaanso) men. Grass is always greener on the other side", just like each aunty's son was worse than the other, her husband more careless and mother-in-law gave more tortures than the others. It is infectious. My mother is much stricter than others! They are blessed with the inane ability to nag me for marriage each time; each of them will always have a nephew in US, looking for a bride exactly like me. I am impressed how on every occasion they tell me about a new guy, with whom I will be super happy and rich. You can never reason them, and certainly not argue. They will go to the extent to say, that the guy is good at cooking and laundry, but not leave you till you agree to meet him, or at least add him on Facebook. (Some marketing skills here). But, there is something about them which is warm and so affectionate. They are forever there for a warm hug when you are tired of your parents' lectures. They make sure you eat when Mumma is away, design dresses better than expensive boutiques and give the best skin care tips. They are women who made their husband and kids their universe since decades. They were always busy packing lunch and coordinating tuition classes. Now, when the kids have grown wings to fly, they have more time and less to do. A phone call to her from me, makes the entire "park gang" talk about it for a week. They are an integral part of an Indian household, and certainly an extended family. Only if they would be little subtly with colors and jokes. Will the aunty clan dissolve with time? I hope not, and am sure will not. We will always have women leaving at the helm of their careers, to take care of kids. And join the park gang. To all my auntys out there, please put on those expensive reading glasses. This one is truly for you.
PS: I will not add anymore nephews on FB and not showing cleavage. :-) :-)

My First Love

We are in the age of “Double Income No Kids” (DINK) couples, surrogacy, and women climbing the corporate ladder keeping their biology at stake. However, at the very core of every woman lies a yearning desire to be a mother. Nature blessed her uniquely, and she is ever so grateful of it. With enough mothers around me, young and old, successful and not so successful, they have always vouched that nothing made them feel better than holding the bundle of joy for the first time. But, what made them anxious, eager and proud was when their husbands held the baby, and felt like proud fathers. A man who shows absolutely no signs of being a caring father will never make it to the best husband list. A woman is not looking for a Greek God, a sex symbol, rich suave man driving in expensive cars and has impeccable sense of humour. She is looking for someone exactly like her father. A man who can hold her the way her father held when she feared the lightning; who can be proud of every achievement, even if it was making the first cup of tea; who will walk with her in the rains just to see her smile as water tickles her tiny toes; who will wipe her tears and tell her it is okay to fail but still be with her as she pursues her dreams (very silly at times). It is not because she wants to be fathered by her husband, or be her guys’ princesses. Plain, ‘cause she wants her little ones to be fathered as she was. A woman is constantly living with the mother within her. And, at each stage in life there is a strong reflection of the same. Women take better calculated and less aggressive risks; she cannot afford to take chances when she has nascent lives or a young project alike. A woman learns to trust a man when she knows her father can solve all the problems that exist on this planet. She knows men cry, when her dad cried because his daughter’s heart was broken. She knows men are messy when her father leaves the kitchen like a tornado hit region. All that a girl knows about a man is all that her dad is. She wants a man with a strong head, as according to your girl, you have to be there when she goofs up, when she doesn’t know what to do at the family function and when she has had a bad argument with your mother. When your girl gets paranoid about your regular flu, she thinks you are helpless by yourself like her father. And if you don’t escort her at midnight, its criminal, she is a princess after all, her dad’s princess. I might stretch this a little further and say, while no girl can cook like your mother, no guy can care like her father. He never broke promises, so when the first time a guy broke my promise, I was destroyed. Never blame a girl for being an independent woman, just speak to her dad; He set the benchmarks high for you. He never lost trust in her decisions, and held her hand each time she tripped. He taught her that life is a wave of countless troughs; but just believe in yourself and rest shall be taken care of. A father makes sure his daughter grows by allowing her to explore her world, reason out those fairy tales and make a name for herself. He is apprehensive of others around her; will never stop his daughter from riding the bicycle but would keep a constant guard on the wheels. Guys, you might compare and crib your wife’s culinary skills and housekeeping ratings; you have a man to match with, who is the only benchmark in a woman’s life. Each time a girl thinks of the man of her dreams, the obvious qualities that flash her mind are those that her dad has. A father is not only the first man in her life, his nature and ways become a determining factor in her life. So, when she falls in love, she falls in love with the man who loves her like her father, points flaws like her father, and forever stands like a pillar so strong. A woman is a blend of her father’s daughter, and her offspring’s mother. I hope I make you proud Daddy just like your proud daughter.

 

Sukima's Fears - Short Story

“Jeenal, where are you?” Sukima called out. “Coming Mom. I am running late. Make sure coffee is ready”, Jeenal cried from her room as she hurriedly worked with the dryer. Jeenal was her parents’ only child. She was born eight years after their wedding. Sukima was all of 16, when she fell in love with Jeenal’s dad, Sarthak Patel from Gandhinagar. Sarthak was looking for business opportunities in Assam. His uncle owned a furniture shop there. Sarthak was staying in Dibrugarh. Sukima was the daughter of Mr. Barua, manager of the furniture shop. She would deliver lunch for her father. As fate would have it, two young people met day after day, and love blossomed. Sukima’s father threatened to kill her if she did not quit the idea of marrying the Gujarati businessman. On one cold night of December, Sukima fled with Sarthak. They came to Kolkata, the then Calcutta and struggled with new beginnings. Sarthak set up a tea stall outside the Secretariat. Sukima assisted him. Their hard work and Sarthak’s business acumen bore fruits. They started a tea-shop, and by the time Jeenal was all of five years old, Sarthak was running a sweet shop. Life became busier and as Sukima’s love became richer for Sarthak, his feelings faded. Sukima loved the wine growing better with age; Sarthak saw the dust settling on their relationship. Sukima always wanted another child. Sarthak never denied her. But, their relationship had become so dead, that only signs of its existence were those occasional moments in bed when two bodies united, satiated their desires and parted ways. Sukima could never conceive thereon. Jeenal became the center of her life. She ensured she provided for Jeenal in all ways. Sarthak loved his daughter like every doting father. He ensured she had the best possible amenities and loads of love from her dad. I am unsure if Jeenal ever received parental affection. The unison of her father and mother was a moment that was still alien to her. Sukima often told her daughter, that she felt guilty of hurting her father. She often felt she should not have fled with her dad. Jeenal would just exclaim how filmy her parents’ lives had been. “I also want to run away and get married”, Jeenal often told her friends. Her mother dreaded the thought of not being able to select the “right guy” for her daughter. “What if Jeenal makes a hurried decision like me? What if her husband’s love diminishes with time? What if her man leaves her? Will Sarthak support her, or become indifferent like my own father?” These thoughts had begun to race Sukima’s mind as she saw her daughter’s growing affection for a Muslim guy, whom Sarthak would never accept. He was a staunch Hindu. Sarthak would rather poison Jeenal than accept a Muslim. Sukima knew Jeenal was exactly like her. Same firmness, same fire for love, and same passion. That night, Sarthak slapped Jeenal, locked her in the room and went out of the house. The dreaded day was here. Jeenal had expressed her plans of getting married to Aatish to her dad. Sarthak slapped Sukima, then Jeenal. He broke a few artefacts in the process as well. Next morning, Sukima went to Jennal’s room to wake her. The bed was empty. Cupboard intact; Jewellery on the side table. Jeenal was nowhere in sight. Sukima looked around and screamed. “Did she run away, like you ran away from your house”, Sarthak broke in the room. He was silent. The daughter he doted on had gone. She had left him. He had lost his only reason to smile. Jeenal hung from the ceiling fan. She wore her favourite kurta, that Aatish had gifted her on their anniversary. Sukima saw herself in the mirror. Her daughter was not like her. She did not leave her dad for another man. She left herself for both the men. Would Jeenal’s life be as monotone like her mother? Why was Sukima so sure that Jeenal’s life would be an impression of her life? Why was Sarthak so against her daughter, when he himself ran away with Sukima. Did his definition of love change in 23 years? Jeenal had gone; Sukima was rid of all her fears now. Sarthak was busy managing the hotel. Life was as same as yesterday once again.

Black and White: So Grey

"I can't go on a vacation with my boyfriend, I cannot break my parents trust", the dilemma in her voice was evident of the fact that she wanted to go but just couldn't go due to shackles of trust and emotions that had chained her for decades."But, you did break their trust by falling in love, when you were sent her to study", I argued. We are not confused; we are driven mad by our mind that has attached degrees to everything. According to the mind, it is okay to love but not to kiss. It is okay to sit together in a cozy position, but not sleep. I am not sure who told us that we can break rules, as long as we stay in the boundary. But, whoever did, was not aware that whether in or out, rules broken are broken. Whether I copy one answer, or copy the entire answer sheet, the quantum of punishment is the same. We need to be courageous enough to break rules, and also, not measure the degree by which we violated the rule. The Indian parents are okay with their little ones finding their own partners, as long as they are taken for consent and the partner fits in their SRS (Spouse Specification Requirements). We are okay with copying in exams from neighbors but not buying a leaked question paper? We don't mind paying 20 rupees extra at the hostel entrance to enter post curfew time. It is okay to pay Rs.5, 000 for a quick passport? My friends think there is no liability in falling in love and breaking hearts, as long as they didn't "do it". This an upshot of the conditioning that we have been undergoing since ages. Even our mythology says that it is okay to lie, if it is for the benefit of someone. Now, who decided the beneficiary? Beneficiary will depend on the side of the fence you stand on. If I were to go find that a thief is stealing to pay hospital bills, will the theft become philanthropic? The fact that we reason behind an action to justify its rightness, is the root of all troubles. Spot fixing, be it out of pressure from the king-pin or to buy designer denims for your girl friend, is equally bad. The reason does not make up for the action. The reaction is the same either ways. A man who cheats on his wife in a drunken stupor, or in complete senses amounts to infidelity either ways. We cannot live in the root-analysis phase, where we try to see each action from the perspective of the doer, to give him due doubt benefit. When Rama tried Sita, was the doubt of whether Ravana forced himself on her considered? She was treated without any surrounding noise, no echo of circumstances. Let not perspectives and situations creep through the crevices of our actions, blotting the black or white, turning them into grey. A lot of people speak of severity of the situation, impact of the action and everything that helps in confusing the picture, by robbing the canvas of its original primary colors. How does the severity matter? We are not dealing with a software bug tracker, where the degree of urgency and severity are of utmost importance. In life, actions cannot be classified in the continuum of shades; you hurt someone by hitting them, whether you slap them or hit them. A few bright minds would counter argue saying that the "consequence" is not as significant when I slap someone. Once again, we have successfully divided the consequences in varying degrees of impact. It is all about levels and degrees. In reality, life is all about actions and reactions. “Black O White”, a lovely song. Why did the two colors unite to create the most mysterious shade, the shade that leads to all uncertainties, the shade that is devoid of all the properties its base colors have, courage, crime, peace, assurance and no grey!!