Nirbhaya

She died at last and along with her a part of me has died too.

It could have been Me. It's just that I was plain luckier and she was not. Once, I too along with my boy-friend was surrounded by such uncouth men in a bus which took us to the reputed Jaypee Institute located in the heart of Noida. We only suffered an act of pick-pocketing and a violent push from behind when we were about to step down. If not, it could have been Me. I am sacred and sad and terrified beyond words. I can’t thank my stars enough. But that doesn't make me feel any better. That does not does not make me to wipe my tears and count my blessings.

Not to mention how we girls get assaulted every single fucking day that it has become such an integral part of our lives and hence has stopped bothering us. We have accepted it as a part of our daily life. Just the way we are unaffected by the change of days to evenings and finally to nights, we are impassive to the assaults we go through. So much so we don’t even bother to tell our family and friends about it until and unless it is not a li'l more than the regular things. Yes! eve-teasing, molestation, getting raped through those bastards’ lustful eyes, ugly/vulgar remarks, and lewd comments have become a regular and a very normal thing for/to us.

I have stopped boarding buses long back. But I could never tell my parents that how actually the men molest us there. They do it not only by touching us here and there and by passing comments, but also by masturbating then and there right inside the bus. I have suffered it myself many a times. It had always made me feel disgusted, used, like an object, dirty, and many more such things for which I am finding hard to express. But on the face of that man I have always seen a SMIRK that marks his filthy satisfaction. Satisfaction of trampling and objectifying one more girl. Satisfaction of being the Powerful and THE REAL MAN. I, on the other hand, like many other girls, had shed silent tears and had left the bus. Later on I learned to shout and yes had made it a habit to always carry a pin with me. But since the time I started earning; I, over being subjected to such filthy acts preferred not to travel by bus anymore. I stopped. Many more girls stopped. Majority of us remain silent. But they- the REAL MEN continued forever. Passing the baton from generation to generation.

Nevertheless Safety, Respect, Freedom still elude me. While I left travelling via bus for good, in Auto, I am never sure about whether he will ever take the right rout or not. A recent episode where the Autowala was so keen to drop me someplace else all in the pretext that it would be nearer to my place and by that I won’t have to walk that extra 5-10 min or so. He even dared to turn towards the other side and stopped only after I gave him my solid piece of mind. “Madamji aap to vishwas hi nahi karti ho.” was his gory reply. It left me baffled and induced in me the habit of being extra vigilant of the routes from now. On the other hand while I walk on the roads, I am unsure of which path would be the safest one to tread upon. I have been verbally abused by men even on so called safe roads too. Don't ever think that Residential roads are safe and sound. These Real Men become Animals not only in shady areas and at nights only. Don’t forget there’s no place for a Woman. Their barbarism knows no end be it Anywhere, Anytime, Anyways. Else there would have never been any act where a girl- be it an old, grown-up, child or even a baby is raped in places like office, school and colleges and not-to-mention inside the four walls of her own HOME- the safest place in the whole world.

Like my own shadow, Rape and Assault and Barbarism follow me everywhere. He takes it as his birthright and I take it as one of the many normal things that take place in my day-to-day life. And no I am not complaining about it, neither protesting nor am I affected by it. Not anymore. But I did once and for that the society snapped ME back. So Not anymore. Not anymore. And why to? Isn't it as natural to me as breathing is?

Image courtesy: Cartoonist Satish Acharya. 

From the depths abyssal.

The earth ponders and keeps the fire burning. I witness it with wide open eyes. There is something so very mean and uncultivated there. Uncultivated and bereaved of many things out of which some fickle and frivolous emotions top the list. Emotions – the most talked about but very much overrated somethings. We play around and make merry all in the garb of some pretentious fallacies and in the process we keep on hurting while obnoxiously shouting about how hurt we ourselves are. And we do it all in the name of something called 'emotions'. Every drop of tear that leaves its abode tells a story. A kind of story that’s smeared in falsity and brevity. 

And what comes handy is the withdrawal syndrome. But how far one can run away from those fallacies made out of erroneous efforts that consumed no less than a lifetime? When life itself is just a mere notion of something unknown. 

Palpitating emotions and its accompaniments would not hold even a mere substance when the sun would celebrate over the other side of the sky. Till then let me enjoy the excruciating pleasure covered under the thick wrap of uncouth pain for some more time. Perhaps just perhaps it will keep me going for few more steps when the sun is yet to shine.

Let’s see for how long felicity eludes me!

...and meanwhile the world is in chaos, one Olive writes to her Popeye.

Dearest Popeye

It's now been more than a year that you have left with your ship. While waves after waves you conquer the mighty ocean and taste the salt flavoured air of many different countries spread across the continents, I, your Olive, still miss you, remember you, and wait for your mails, calls, and precisely your comeback with the same eagerness and desperateness that was there in me exactly at the time when you disconnected the call and your ship sailed away leaving the comforts of my embrace and the safety of the harbour behind. 

I still lead a plain and simple life and the world still continues to do what it was doing. Rising-Falling-and like a phoenix, again Rising up. Against my will, I have finally donated those dog-eared old books to the neighbourhood library. Surprisingly, I feel good about it. I wonder why not I did it all these while! Guess what! Your wheedling was not forceful enough! Damn! How could it be not! 

The fuchsia plant finally is in full bloom. And it still carries the smell of McLeodganj. Crisp and fresh. This season it’s after a long wait. Isn't? And I still continue to make lemon cheesecakes even though it’s that time of the year when carrot cakes are made. And I have not yet finished that maroon pullover. But I am sure you will be happy to know that the matching muffler is long done. I wanted to add some woollen snowflakes in them but I messed the pattern and now those weird shapes look straight in my eyes and make funny faces to me. But boy! Do I get teased! I totally do not. What a win it is! Isn’t?  By the way I have asked Dorji to arrange for a second hand recipe book on soup. He said he will get it post Diwali. I cannot wait for six long months more for you to get me a soup book. Or should have I?

Without my knowing my eyes still tell stories to the people around me and very curiously once in a while they ask me, who is he for whom your eyes are longing for? I stumble and then fumble but all I give them is an answer in return that consists of a silent pressed smile. In your words, the Olive signature smile. The answer also consists of a pair of eyes that blinks as a result of certain surge of something called tears or the like. And my heart, it slows down, beat by beat. 

कुछ मद्धम सांसो के दरमिया 

तेरी यादों ने डेरा डाला है.

आज चाँद भी कुछ इस कदर इतरा के आया

के दूब की घास पर ओस की उस धुन्द्लि सी बूँद ने

कुछ पल और जीने का फ़ैसला लिया है.

इन यादों में तेरा कुछ इस कदर बसेरा है

के मैं भूल भी जाउ तो तू चौखट पर आ के 

मुझे हौले से आवाज़ दे जाता है.

चंद पीले फूल और उनमे वो बैंगनी सी छटा

उलझी उलझी सी ज़ूल्फ़ो में उन पंखुड़ियो का उलझना

तेरी आँखों के वो बदमाश इशारे और तेरा 

तेरी उंगलियो का मेरे बिखरे ज़ुल्फ़ो में पिरोना

और दूर कही सूरज का मेरी आँचल से फिसल जाना.

कभी कभी फ़ुरसत के नर्म छादर में

बेतरतीब तेरे बिना जीना भी-शफ़ाफी है.

दूरिओं में भी महकी नज़दीकिया है.

सच! उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है

उम्मीद कितना खूबसूरत है.

Bublé is growing fast. The bone you have bought for him is already finished  I have clicked a photo just now and am about to attach it. But wait, let me not send you any photographs as I am afraid your almost no net connectivity would not let you see it. I better not clog the server.

If time and network finds you, take the ordeal(pleasure?) to make a call. Lemon cheesecakes are in the oven and they now need my complete attention. Will write to you soon again.

With much love
~Olive

We are a FAMILY!

We- the Indian bloggers- together are no less than a Family and hence very aptly justify the punch line of our beloved Indiblogger that goes as ‘No other place I would rather be’. Calling Indiblogger just a ‘group’ is downright offence to our emotions and attachment towards each other. The only world that describes us precisely is FAMILY.

Because it’s in a family only where there is an amalgamation of every kind people and yet we never fail to accept and love each other completely. Where else a shy and reserved girl like me would be accepted so wholeheartedly? I have always find it difficult to find my own space amidst a large crowd and hence was a bit terrified to be a part of this amazing Pantene Nature Fusion Women's Indiblogger Meet even though it was going to be my 2nd meet.

As I have already tasted this vintage wine by attending the Meet sponsored by Dove hence this time the fear was much less but the jitters were still there. But yes then again the excitement to be a part of such a wonderful event never left me alone.

Inside my mind the ‘Reserved Me’ and the ‘Excited Me’ were going through a tough battle. Even though the ‘Excited Me’ won the battle, the ‘Reserved Me’ was not ready to let it go that easily and hence I decided to be a part of this Meet only after the ‘30sec of Fame’ part was over. The partner in crime in this atrocious act was none other than my blogger BFF Akanksha. Instead of heading the venue on time we both decided to hit Select City walk instead. After a satiable amount of window shopping and sulking over the fact that we can’t buy anything because of the Shrads, we decided to make a move to ITC Shereton that too only after gorging on junks available in McDonalds.

We were already late by an hour or so but were basking in the glory of skipping the intro session. Giggling all the way we finally entered the ‘Ballroom and Dynasty’ and were mesmerized by the breathtaking beauty that was awaiting inside. Large round tables surrounded by comfortable chairs were welcoming us. It was truly a grand affair with beautiful satins and fresh flowers in earthen pots adoring every table. Shades of green and white soothed my eyes and soul instantly. But the excitement that rushed through my body when the blogger friends whom I have only known virtually till then recognized me and asked me to join them, was matchless. I mean I am just an ordinary blogger who does not even blog regularly is recognized by these famous bloggers! And not only that they immediately showered their immense love on me. I was truly touched. Where else this happens? Nowhere else other than in a family called ‘Indiblogger’.

Mahisasuramardini- A Tale of Idol Makers

Dilli has been through the hands of many rulers and they say, Mughals are the creator of this COLOSSEUM. Like a newly wedded bride, Dilli had been decorated by the hands and hearts of the Mughal Emperors and others alike. Be it Eid or even any Hindu festival, emperors like 'Akbar The Great' had always accepted and celebrated them with equal aplomb. The mighty emperors are all gone and their empires are in ruin now but still the charm of those merry making festive colours are as fresh as the first mist of the season. That’s what life is! Nothing remains but the memories associated with it.

As a Delhite Bong, this seems to be a déjà vu. Durga Pujo for me is like 'The Nectar of the Gods'. Like a skylark I patiently wait for the essence of 'Kaash flower' buds to bloom, the hermes of autumn. Just a soul is needed to hear the melancholy of the celebration and to view the riot of colour which Dilli is holding tight in every nook and corner.

I frequently miss the beats of DHAK and the 'Nilanjana' of a maiden here. But, far behind, what we really pass over are those who are the actual impressionist of all this essence, the clay idol makers, a small community fighting for their existence. I've made a little effort to present them with, if not the lime light then at least its shadow. I visit them every weekend and see the idols of 'Maa Durga' slowly coming to life. A visit to the backyard of C.R. Park, Kali Bari, New Delhi, this weekend, has finally made me ask some heart touching, self-rendering questions, intending to feel the depth of their hearts, as deep as possible, their challenges and their struggles.

The idol of Durga has already taken shape in the backyard but is yet to take colour.. now is the time to ask what then is this Durga - the central figure of the Bengali heritage? After giving it considerable thought I came to the conclusion that Bengalis are schizophrenic and simultaneously exist in parallel realities.

Celebrations live long. Generations after generations.

This work is dedicated to all the Idol makers who are in the dark side, far away from recognition. It might be God's blessing that motivates them to keep doing their job with undiminished pride. 

Let’s listen to them ...

When there is nothing much to say.

My search for solitude

Stops at the threshold of your eyes

The ethereal peace swims there

For a split second I am revived

The search goes beyond

And rests on your lips. 

~*~

Up in the lonesome mountains there was this shanty tea stall. Rain, fire, old kettle. And two wooden stools...still robust. Rain drops dripping in. And Chai in some cheap paper-cups. :)

काश ऐसा होता के तू

मेरी इन् अँखियो को
पढ़ पाता.

कहने को तो कुछ भी नही है
सिवा दो चार बून्दो के.

तू ढूंड तो ज़रा...
और कुछ भी नही है.

सिर्फ़ तेरे
सिवा तेरे.

You & Me

i Dream

of You.

with table-spoons of

Sugar.

A li'l salt

crystalized.

Reflecting on

You & Me.

a li'l tea

and lots of soup.

Simmery

drops of love

Floating on

Diving deep

Spilling around

You & Me.

~Untitled

The caricatures on ones walls are not always the reflection of their souls. There are layers of layer in between and by the time the reflected images hold your attention, they are all contorted. 

To a certain Someone-

आपमें और मुझमें
कई परतो की दूरी सी है.
कुछ रेशम के धागो सी
तो कुछ रंगीन शामों की.

वो ग़लती से मेरा तुझको छू देना
ग़लती तो शायद ही थी!
तेरा मुस्कुराना भर ही काफ़ी था
धड़कनो को बे-लगाम करने के लिए.

उन हवाओ संग बहते हुए
मेरी ज़ुल्फो में कुछ तमन्नाए सी थी.
कुछ सैलाब सा था जो
गरज बरस के इंतेज़ार में बंजर सा रो रहा था.

तू आता है तो एक
सुकून सा महसूस होता है.
तू जाता है तो भी
सुकून सा ही महसूस होता है.

रूह को शायद
तेरे होने भर से ही...

एक लगाव सा कुछ हो गया है.

मरासिम

इस अजनबी सी दुनिया मे 

इत्तेफ़ाक से ही शायद 

कई मोड़ पे तुम हमे मिल गये l

रन्जिशो को सांसो मे दबाए 

दबि हुई आवाज़ मे- कई बार तुम्हे 

पुकारा भी l

दस्तक तो तुम्हारे दिल ने भी सुनी थी शायद

हा ! सुनी थी न? 

पर जज़्बात उन आँखों से बयाँ ना हुए l

हमने  कई बार - कभी रुक के 

तो कभी मुड़ के  

चोर नज़रों से तुम्हे जताया भी l

यकिनन छूती थी तुम्हे  

हवाओ मे बहते हुए ये शब्द 

पर जानकर भी अन्जान से रहे बने तुम l

वरना हैरानगी ने तो कम से कम 

तुम्हारी नज़रों से मेरी नज़र तक का सफ़र

तय किया तो होता ll 

~*~

=D

Image Source: Best Quotes

Cigarette~ Part I

“Cigarette?” Ana finally broke the awkward silence with her shrill voice.

A puzzled smile ran across Madhavi’s face. A kind of smile-whose genuineness was shrouded in mystery-, was all she could reply for.

"O! common girl! You are a smoker and still you don’t smoke. I mean how do you manage to do it?”

“Hang on! Hang on! I only know how to smoke but I don’t.”

“So?”

“So I am not a smoker at all, you stupid girl”

Madhvi’s life was dancing at her own tunes but suddenly a beat was changed by this unexpected re-entry of Anima in her life.  Today, without any prior information, Anima was standing at the threshold of her small apartment. After a while, it becomes easier for you to avoid those innumerable phone calls, mails and letters from your loved ones. But that does not prepare you to do the same when one of them is standing at your doorstep. Uninvited.  Anima had forcibly intruded her world and Madhvi had no choice other than to accept her with open arms.

The eerie silence prevailed throughout their stay inside the apartment. “Madhvi has changed for sure!” Anima retorted to herself little knowing that the caricatures on ones walls are not always the reflection of their souls. There are layers of layer in between and by the time the reflected images hold your attention, they are all contorted.

After futile attempts at making some conversations, it became almost a necessity to step out into the open. Anima portrayed as in she remembered every beautiful thing, whereas Madhvi retaliated by pretending not to care anymore about anything. Separating their existences, the invisible glass wall stood upright, which they dared not to break.  The reminiscence of all those tears painted on crushed papers of life and the memories of hearty laughter they have shared once, made their hearts choke but not a single drop of tear was rescued.  The ebb and flow of time has thrown these two friends at two different corners from where the road that lead to each other was all weary and zigzag.The element of zigzag only suits some games of puzzle that one solves as a child. Life is all together a different board game.

Life has not been the same again since Madhvi has chosen to follow the path of her dreams. The rebel in her has snatched her away from everything and everyone she has once considered her own and have hold them so much close to her heart. Once upon a time, pulling them away would have teared and sliced many parts of her heart. But she survived.

***

Crossing down nine floors, the lift finally hit the floor. For a moment the left-over of a forgotten childhood engulfed them both. How much they have admired those skyscrapers and gawked at those illuminating capsulated elevators! How much they have wanted to get lucky enough to travel in one such time machine! The nostalgia of the day when they first stepped inside an elevator is still unmatched. It didn’t matter to them that that elevator was nothing close to those time machine kind of ones. The thrill encompassed by the initial feeling of nausea was still afresh in both of their memories. The feeling of that bygone era was so fresh that it could be read in their eyes and then could be rejoiced without uttering a word.

To be continued...(Perhaps)

P.S: Originally drafted way back in 2009. Edited on this very night.

Meaningless? How long?

~The pieces of life between two Konkans.~