the hole

i dig and dig
and fill the pit

the digging does not stop
the pit does not fill

i look at my hands
muddy bloody hands
i wince at the rawness
i gag at the stench
of decaying life in the mud
that was once alive and kicking
i find a torn piece of writing
a love letter perhaps
that may have been a smile on someone's lips
it is blotched words
on a fraying paper

but if you want
let's imagine it was a note
a grocery list
maybe something else

and now it lies in layers of mud
what is that smell of decay?
is it human?
an animal?
a bird maybe?
strange how the smell of decay
smells the same

i am digging as a constant
to fulfill my karma

but oh the futility of it all
the digging will not stop
the pit will not fill

A ritual more than anything else.

so another year another year has passed me by. i realize i have become older, calm on the outside, patient and mature as well some say.

but there is a storm brewing inside. a tsunami maybe, by storm standards. it is churning the past few years in a fast pace and is at that point of puking it all out. And do not be fooled by false demeanors. beneath the calm and patient mask, there lurks a highly cynical and sarcastic impatient being that is smirking at everything, including my own responses. if you could tear off the mask, you would see an 'eyebrow-raised-smirk' face that doesn't give a dime to anyone or anything.

i believe we live in cycles. not concentric, more like a venn..some circles overlap with your past cycles, some more than other and some very detached. i also feel that we live in the current cycle more than the others- like if you color coded them- the past would be a lovely lavender, but hazy. the present a bright indigo and the future a soft haze of some color unknown. strangely, either ways you look, towards the past or the future, it's through a purple haze. i digress. the current cycle. yes, it takes over everything else, the bright indigo, making you feel this is life, today is living. not that cycles are bound by years or times, they have their own lives.but year ends somehow are the times you sit down for a short breath before you start on the next leg. circles- when you look at your life in hindsight, it so many different sized circles of lavender, or so many different shades. sitting in your indigo circle that overpowers everything in present you wonder if all those circles are yours, if all those lives are yours.

i also wonder sometimes, if someday i come to a crossroad and suddenly meet myself from years before- would i recognize her? would she recognize me? i know one thing though. if i met her some day i would hold her and cry to my heart's fill. just hold her tight and cry, cry till the warning goes off of another flood.

there i digress again. the year gone by. what have i achieved? what have i learnt? feels a bit empty the last year.usually i stock them up pretty tight. this year, it looks like a house of zen- minimalist. but it does not give me peace. It makes me feel empty. i feel empty of feelings, of doing anything meaningful for myself. i have pretty much lived my life on my own terms. but this year i feel like a zombie that went through the chores without even being a part of anything. i did not write a lot, i did not read many books, i did not watch that many movies, i did not travel that much, i did not do anything that makes me feel good. strangely, even the music was random strains of past songs that i couldn't carry the tune of. quite an empty year. even as i try to carry out this annual ritual , hoping that my mojo in writing will get back, i feel the churning , where words make no sense and bang into each other, creating a cacaphony making me nauseous..

the year will end. the cycle will end too. I hope this feeling of emptiness moves to that of calm.

Tamaso Ma Sad Gamaya. lead me to light from darkness.

Beginners guide to girl child issues in India

‪#‎dayofthegirlchild‬ : 
India has one of the worst under 6 sex ratios in the world, a mere 914 girls to a 1000 boys. What it means is that if this continues (which it will if we don't change it) in a population of 100,00,00,000 there will be about 91, 20,00,000 girls.. a whopping 8.8 crores missing. Some questions that you may want to think about:

1. Why are there less girls? natural selection? Here's a fact. India would kill it's girls- so laws were made to stop female infanticide. Girls started being killed before they were born- India brought in it's Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (Regulation and Prevention of Misuse) Act, 1994 (PNDT). The doctors and parents got smarter and started eliminating the girls children even before fertilization. The country revised the Act in 2003 and with added clauses it came to be known as The Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (Prohibition Of Sex Selection) Act (PCPNDT Act). It's been 10 years and the sex ratio keeps declining alarmingly.

2. It's relation to family education and incomes: You would think that with education and more buying power the families would be empoered. I have heard this. People say only people who don't have education kill girls. Let's get our facts. Refer to the map. Surprise, surprise- hey we have lesser girls in the developed states!! How is that possible, eh? But that's how it is.

image coutesy- Actionaid india

3. Today only 65% of girls go to school compared to 82% of boys. Even after the right to free and compulsory education of every child. And more and more girl children drop out as they grow. They drop out because of reasons that range from taking care of siblings, to no toilet in schools, to household chores to child marriage. ( 47% of girls in India and one third of the world’s girls are married before the age of 18 and 1 in 9 are married before the age of 15. There's a lot of this statistic available , please take a moment to read them )

4. Health Rights and Decision Making: Women rarely have a say in their own well being. Let alone anything, they have no right on when to have children, what kind of family planning (Please look up contraception statistics. ) Even their body does not belong to them. Who takes a call on aborting the child ? Dont go far off, think who takes the call in your family, in your grandparent's , parent's and your generation.
(Girls younger than 15 are five times more likely to die in childbirth than women in their 20s. Pregnancy is consistently among the leading causes of death for girls ages 15 to 19 worldwide. This % is much higher in girls and families with lack of education.)

Let's fast forward to the future- what do you think will happen to the generations then? Let's specifically talk about those 8.8 crores men who will not have a female partner. Let's also take off a % assuming some may like men- a valid choice and great . Let's bring it down to 8 crores who need a woman as a companion and sexual gratification? Will they all turn monks and abstain. We certainly hope so- or else ,

• there will be polygamy- by force, (It's not that distant a future- instances like this are becoming far more common in UP and Haryana than you would care to think)
• they will start borrowing from future generations. Welcome back child marriage.
• More flesh trade, bride price, treating women as mere commodities, gender based violence, rapes?
• Welcome purdah? As we enter this , the vicious circle will keep getting more viscous . More girl children being killed, aborted for fear of violence, kidnapping, rapes.
• Sounds far fetched? Think about it.

#dayofthegirlchild

Goodbyes

i do not like goodbyes. But it doesn't matter, does it?

Sometimes i fly away to the skies while i am still half asleep, still dreaming and look at me. From that distance i can see my life. i have moved ever since i remember, from place to place , from house to house.i have nightmares of moving sometimes. of missing my bus, my train, my flight. of being on the wrong bus, of leaving someone special behind.  it's not something i have control over. i'm like a clueless little rootless plant , tossed around from place to place by the river of life. sometimes i like to think that i am the river. when i meet other plants on the way, we tag along for a while and i tell them i am the river. i don't know otherwise. when the river was young, so was i. i was fast and furious like the river itself. When i spoke of river i spoke of myself. At that point i was moving, looking, exploring , looking, touching, looking, moving, looking. looking for the direction, for a purpose, becoming stronger, becoming weak, fighting odds, making friends, losing friends, moving, looking. finding purpose.

the river had its phases, when it slowed down, when it became fast, when it reached the end of the road and suddenly found another way. sometimes it made its own way. i went along the river. i didn't have any choice. i moved with her, fastening my pace, slowing my pace. saying goodbyes, moving, moving. never stopping.

sometimes i made a corner my home. i held on to it with my feeble little arms that i thought were roots. sometimes i wanted to stop. Foolish me, i didn't know i was a rootless plant. i held on but movement had become me you see. i couldn't stay on. someone told me i could borrow its roots, i could stay. i still hated goodbyes, but i had fallen in love with the river. the river that moved. my love was stronger than my hatred. and so i moved. yet again, with the river of life.

It is strange when your nightmare and dream are the same. i have lost count of the places, of the faces, of friends, of lives lived , of pains, of dreams, of laughter , of tears. i sometimes wonder if it is me, my life i am looking at from the sky. then the alarm goes off and i have to wake up and get ready . ready for movement, ready to say the goodbyes yet again. no point , no time to wait and wonder. but move with -move in the river of life.

afloat

And I float now like a seed 
with wings not knowing 
I carry a tree within.

I float now 
till I find 
that piece of earth 
to make my home, 
that drop of water 
to make me alive.

building conversations

Yes, it's that time of the year.

i always wonder where the years go, where the moments go. do the things we think, we say, we do, the moments that we witness, the feelings that we feel get stored somewhere? are they basking in the sun, getting wet in the rains or are they wrapped up in a blanket in a warm corner in a winter night ? probably they are.

'cause they all come back, sometimes alone, sometimes in hordes to pay me a visit at this time of the year. I look at them all again and try to strike a conversation and i realise that's something i have lost this year. i can't make conversations anymore. They tire me and i don't feel the necessity of words. i look at the year gone by and i look at myself . A blur, of plastic smiles, of words that don't make any sense or moments that are as stretched too long. The emptiness within has grown into a chasm that devours every moment that passes by. 

i often sit in my room, looking out into the drizzle of bangalore through my window on the long nights that stretch into the morning and think about the emptiness. i think that maybe i could open a button in my heart, in my soul and stand in the same drizzle and it would fill me. such thoughts only fill the nights. 

i sometimes try to strike a conversation with a stranger on the street, with the bird that sometimes comes into my balcony, uninvited and sometimes with people who are supposed to be mine. it's a chore really. cause i have lost my words. what do i say really? i would rather listen. no one listens you know.  there are so many words spoken. the words go up, one on another. i think a bridge is being built. i look at the words, the construction with a cynical interest and then suddenly it comes crashing down. i am disappointed. i realise, bridges can't be built on bricks alone. the feeling that binds them together needs to have the right ingredients. i don't have them anymore. so i don't speak. i hear. i mostly hear the bridges breaking, but it is better than trying to make one of my own that i can't even lay a foundation for.

yes, the emptiness. it's teaching me things. to lay off the load. to be calm in the storm that rages outside every moment. life and death. being and un-being. non-negotiables in the negotiables. does it matter really in the end? the end of maya ? someone once said to me that the biggest challenge people face is to cut the chord, the umbilical attachment to things, to people. and i think about that. i think is it that difficult? i have lost what i never had. twice this year. it left me empty. and i think again. am i empty because i chose to be? maybe. but it did help me in a way. to cut the chord. of my attachment with many things. i still can't grieve. i laugh, i sing, i talk and after the role is played , i go back without the baggage of feeling, to my emptiness. it surrounds me protectively.sometimes, i look outside through it , i try to touch the laughter, to feel the tears maybe even anger, but i just don't. every person lives in their own cocoon, maybe of fear, of love, of anger, of satisfaction, of insecurity or security. maybe, to find the real person is not that difficult. all you need to do is to break your own cocoon , break the other person's and then begin. but it is a task and i don't enjoy it now. so i let the words be. let them rest a while and grow stronger. maybe someday i will find the ingredients and the right design for a conversation. till then i am happy to be numb.    

Saying good bye?

we did not know
that you would come knocking
we didn't expect you so soon

you know we had been thinking
we had been dreaming
silently , in our hearts
that you would come
that it was time that you came

but no, we didn't expect you so soon

and you arrived
a surprise
we were scared
unprepared

but you saw the happiness
you saw the glow
the blessings
the little worries
of your ma and pa
of grand moms and grand dads
of uncles and aunts
of the great grand dad and great grand moms
and everyone who knew you had come

but love, the promise was to stay forever
we were preparing the welcome
and you said goodbye

the noises of preparation
of you arrival
are now silent
no words fill up the void
we try to forget that you were there
but it isn't easy love

carelessly some words slip out
and then there are no words
the silent questions
of things we didn't do right

there is nothing now
but an emptiness
empty womb where you were
empty hearts, empty minds

we need to grieve now
and we do not know how

Resonance

walking the distance between silence and noise
holding the railings of memories
i jump over the pits and sometimes fall

the memory of a small baby's toothless laugh
untouched by the expectations
the same baby's breathless cries
so true that i shut my eyes

i sail to the sound
of an adult mirthless laughter
and the tear-less cry
the difference i hold in my hands

i traverse the road to a conversation
that i had with someone is my mind
it was beautiful, i played both parts
in that conversation in my mind

i see it stayed there, comfortable
as if afraid to come out of the lips

and then suddenly the silence speaks
so out of turn, so untrue
it rises and falls
like the ebb and the tide
sometimes it takes away
an expectation from the shore
bringing joy to the waiting spectator
and sometime it washes away
the writing on the sand
that was expected to last forever

a little way ahead,
in between my journey
the words are spoken
a memory is broken
falling from my hands
crashing down like a glass
creating a noise of  thick silence
of should have beens
and could have beens

and it resonates again
between the past and future
between one memory and another
that it is not the silence
it is not the words
but when the silence
and when the words

Benga'lured

Yes, i'm getting lured to namma bengaluru.

While in mumbai, we were discussing various options of places we could move to. Of all places we had an option to go to, we wanted to chose a place that would give us both some time . The last three years have passed us by in a whirlwind, mostly without each other. We've stolen moments from the craziness. Bengaluru seemed very exciting. New land, somewhere neither of us had stayed for long, a completely different language that will take some time to learn, new work, coming away from our comfort zones we had created. We didn't know what to expect and that itself was exciting. 

The beginnings weren't auspicious. but not bad either. We lost some things and we found them. The city gave us a difficult and cold welcome. But then gradually it's warmed our hearts. 

I have time in my hands now, so i cook every day..I experiment cuisines , something i couldn't do in mumbai and absolutely enjoy. I love spending time at home, a place that feels like home already. Even when we found the completely empty house , we both liked from the moment we set eyes on it. Now, bit by bit, we're setting up our little corners, comfort zones. On a completely different note, i practically have spent my first four weekends looking for furniture and can proudly boast of knowing the make, design and prices for every furniture store. Call it beginners luck, i have gotten one of the best deals in town. 

I love the morning jog .I love the evening walk.  I love the greenery. I love getting lost in the lanes and have no purpose to find anything or anyone. I love it when the dogs know me already and wag their tails and the proud owners nod and smile.  I love reading "the hindu". I love the south indian fare everywhere. And i have found a perfect place for amazing gupchup, something i missed in mumbai badly. And he gives me an awesome smile and extra sukha pooris in the end. No one will understand the bliss except a true gupchup connoisseur. I love learning the new words and feel delighted on getting the words right. I love buying vegetables, fresh from the streets. 

And most importantly i feel good. The restlessness, lack of purpose, disillusionment is moving into the background for now. Even though the workload keeps increasing,  there's an excitement of doing new things. I cant decide if it is the city, the weather or just the decision to reclaim my life. The feeling of claustrophobia, of living on the edges is gradually fading. And we both are making time to have great conversations, the long drawn debates, crosswords, reading poetry and books together. Just makes me realise how much the witch took from both of us.  Also there are certain components that i absolutely do not miss. Just can't talk about those in a public forum. Let's call them Bombs of Mumbai (BOM). Dears BOMs, i did not realise how much of my energy and time was being leeched because of the unnecessary discussions, expectations. Also, the self blame and corresponding guilt to measure up to unrealistic expectations was so very unwarranted. i miss the energy of the city sometimes, but only tiny winy some times. The rest of the time, i'm still revelling walking the streets of the new city.

We both are nomads at heart, so we know no place will hold us charmed for long. Even the most perfect place will loose it's sheen in a while, not because there's anything wrong with the place but because the restlessness will seep in, the wanderlust will begin, the feet will itch to go to another place.

But for now, this feels like home.

Except the autowallahs, who literally give people nightmares,as of now,this is the perfect city . 

Nanu bengaluru pritisuttene. 

Tipping point?

The earth is round you see,
There is no tipping point.

you walk to what you think is the horizon
and then it's a race to the other one

It never ends, the cycle

You start something new
It becomes old
and then you do it in a new way
or start something new

you think you've reached
the limits of disintegration
and suddenly you're whole
with new depth, new height

We were someone once
today we are someone else
some days we find the one
we lost in the many ones

the world will end some day
and then there will be another
there is no tipping point
no end

only beginnings, of another cycle
another life
another journey

and so i break, bit by bit

Go look for another house

this time don't find a house of clay
i'm breaking bit by bit
the storms are strong and many
there isn't any respite
and i cannot hold out any longer

i am breaking bit by bit

go, find a stronger house
or build a strong one of your own
i cannot protect you anymore

you deserve better.
don't try to save me
i was never strong

i didn't have the time to bake myself
to turn the mud into strong burnt clay

maybe when i melt into the sea,
maybe i will disappear into the nothingness
but i cannot be this clay house anymore
i'm dying bit by bit
i need to be something else
i need to be something new

The Sense of An Ending

No, this is not a review of the book, though i think it's one of the best books written that i have read in the recent history.

I'm leaving Mumbai. Yes, after three years of the love hate relationship i'm leaving this crazy city. I still have three months to go, but the sense of the ending has already seeped in. Going through my blog list of these last three years i realised i've written so less and less and whatever i have- Mumbai has been the central character, the side character, the background. Strangely, my life has also revolved around this witch, mumbai.

The first year of crazy travels , the second year of new work place, new friends, the third and final year of consolidating a lot of these, cementing something that is for life, at least mine.

i've been trying to ask myself about my feelings about this city. Like everything else in my life, i'm confused. Some times i just adore this city, so safe for women, such a large heart. Sometimes i get annoyed by her and her own, her arrogance. When i came to Mumbai, i took to her instantly. the love hate relationship continued and as i leave her, it's a strange feeling. I want to go away. i don't want to be here anymore. i get tired by her. i get pushed to the brink, always living on the edge.

On the other side of living in the edge, i have learnt so much from her. the professionalism, the equaliser, the city of dreams.i will miss her. i will miss the city.

..a solitary walk, mayhem inside...another turn, a bend in the road, unsure, a bit afraid..

I leave this city with mixed feelings..we've given up on each other, this city and I..we're both tired, broken,crowded, let down by our own. 

I will miss her. She made me crazy in her craziness. She didn't give me any time to think about anything but her. She's been the second woman in my life last three years..now I break away..with mixed feelings..

Feminism and all that jazz

WIKIPEDIA: Feminism is a collection of movements aimed at defining, establishing, and defendingequal political, economic, and social rights for women.^[1][2] In addition, feminism seeks to establish equal opportunities for women in education and employment. A feminist is "an advocate or supporter of the rights and equality of women".^[3]

I have prided myself in being a feminist. Always have. And like the varied definitions of feminism, i have mine. I define feminism as the belief that a woman should assert her right as an individual without any fear. But as evident from this definition i can be a feminist till the donkeys come home without changing, practically,  a sand in the whole universe. 

Unless the belief, that women should have equal opportunities to men,  is changed to actual action- where women start using the opportunities and that is treated with respect, without prejudices, nothing will change. Every feminist will be ridiculed, all action by a woman to be what she deserves and is rightfully hers will be denied. The woman will assert her right at her home, her workplace, family and friends and still feel defeated.

It's the paradox we work in. To make this simpler, a few examples.

You will meet a certain kind of people who hate feminists. They say, it's a fad. Maybe it is. Who cares. But let's have some facts. I will actually leave it on you to research.What is the ratio of men: women in the world?  How many women are in the top management of any country, organisation, force? What percentage of those women comes from economically marginalised community? What percentage of the world's women population has the flexibility to take decisions around her life, her marriage, her child birth, family planning, budgets , what they eat, what they wear.  What percentage actually uses that flexibility? What percentage of the world's population is a part of domestic violence? What percentage of that are girls and women? How many of those are from the economically deprived sections?

let's take the story of any modern woman and man.

She has chosen not to get married till she finds the "right" man. She gets married  to a guy who calls himself a feminist. She is  amazed to finally find that one man in the universe who is sensitive, understands patriarchy, is learned, well read and well versed in world literature. Until the honeymoon is over. Literally.

Then she realises he hates it if she tells him to flush the toilet after use. Because it's his life and he has the right to live like he likes. She starts flushing the toilet then after. On some good days he does it himself. But this scenario pretty much prevails in all matters of matrimony, be it buying groceries, cooking , cleaning, spending money, anything and everything. She tries to understand the history , to understand where it is coming from and then at one point she realises all that both are doing is just a sad effort to gloss over which isn't right in the first place. The well learned  man has made a unconscious(Maybe conscious sometimes) choice to be the "man". Nothing she does will change it. In fact , the more she asserts her rights the more rigid and closed he will become.  It has nothing to do with what the man thinks in his mind. Over the years, without knowing, the belief system of "what women should be" has become a part of the subconsciousness .  Who wins , who loses. One day, she wants to give up and pick up the charade of being the ideal wife.  And that's the charade the wives of the world live in. Not because they love it but the choice of being themselves does not exist.

This results in reaffirming the cycle of patriarchy where the hearts and wills of women are broken down everyday. 

In your workplace, she works hard, gets paid the least , is committed, work in creating a positive environment, smiles and enjoys what she does. And when the promotion comes around, she hears the snide remarks of using her femininity to get higher in her career. Apparently her fault that guys look at her as an object. She has to learn to hide herself, o be unheard , to be unseen, under "proper" attire. 

Also, in a scenario where a wrong has been done and a woman raises her voice, she's accused of being a feminist. "Accused". Really. 

In the same scenario, because this prejudice exists, women actually learn to use the "desirability quotient" to get by in tough circumstances. They have inherently learnt the act of the look, the shake, the smile, the tear, the pathos to get by. It's sometimes hilarious to be  part of these theatricals but i somehow don't blame the women very much. In my mind i have debated this quite often and even while allocating some amount of blame on the woman i always appropriate much of it on the "brilliant" man who's made a choice to be blinded by prejudice.  

My mother keeps telling me i should never pick up fights with my husband, i should keep quiet unless necessary ( my necessity and her necessity have different definitions is a different discussion), i get told about "his" favourite cuisines that i should cook. No one gives a damn that i might have a choice, that i might not want to do all this. You speak your mind and you challenge every laid down stereotype without being the "demure" woman you're supposed to be.

And let me tell you, not all women are feminist either. Most women have deep rooted patriarchy just like the men do. And the reverse is true as well. The feminist or "women sensitive" people as i like to call them are too few and too far in between, amongst men and women equally. It is also difficult for a man to be a feminist as well. 

I still await when the mindsets will change, not in words but in actions. And this is not some random girl's story, it's my story, it's my neighbor's story, it's my friend's story and my family's story. Every woman you see has a story that she's never told. Every woman you meet has a story of broken dreams. It cuts across the domains of family, work and society. Ask the man and his story will have a woman's story that changed him as well.

Patriarchy is the basis of all forms gender based violence, specially against women. I will write about that separately. The violence against gay, lesbian and bisexuals is also because of deep rooted partriarchy and anything that goes beyond or challenges it is dealt with skepticism in most cases and violence is many. 

But beyond the stories, the realities have to change. I've not turned hopeless yet. Things are changing and will change. In one age i would have been burnt at stake for saying this. But today i can argue my case, i can talk about it in an open medium. Look forward to the stoic silences and some ferocious debates after i've posted this.