One Line

Browsing through my #Twitter (Oh! Pardon the hashtag, which by the way was once better known as octothorpe) TL (Timeline) I found an interesting link by @PenguinIndia. It's the link to a guest-post on their blog where the guest-author speaks of how 'one line' can sometimes change one's world forever and by drastic proportions. It could be something one reads or something one is told...

On reaching the end of the blog post I found myself doing what Aakash (Amir Khan's character) does in 'Dil Chahta Hai' immediately after the opera; I closed my eyes and went on a flash'bike' ride, frantically searching for that 'one line' that may have altered my world at some point.Though I can't remember the 'one line' verbatim what I do recall is that it was a series of conversations with one of my college professors that may have influenced my decision to start  my blog: Cuppa, two years ago.

I had had a tryst with writing before Cuppa though, they were brief stints that I didn't take seriously enough. While in school, there were those one off poems that I'd write on loose pieces of paper or on the last pages of old note books; then there was that relatively systematicncontribution of two short pieces and a poem to the youth section of a local daily. In college there was the writing that I did for the numerous public speaking competitions I had participated in, coupled with a few diary entries. None of this though made me feel like an aspirant writer until that one day in October of 2010. Like most of my decisions, this too was spontaneous. What started as a one off post today stands at over 100 articles and a substantial number of unfinished ones which I haven't put on the record.

I wouldn't call myself a writer just as yet because I feel that I've got 'miles to go before I sleep'. That said, it's what I'd call a good start. This one off incident, so well-planned by Him helped me discover a side of me that I always knew existed but never nurtured. We all have certain things that make us, us and doing those things gives our lives meaning. Writing, for me is that 'thing'. It makes me become more of myself each day.

We all have a purpose to fulfill in our lives and discovering what defines us is instrumental to fulfilling this purpose. I believe that in His time every human being is confronted by that 'one line' which alters one's  life to an extent that one is rendered prepared to embark upon the 'journey of fulfillment'; not for onesself alone but also for others; to make this world a better place.. in my case, one word at a time.

Link:

http://penguinindia25.tumblr.com/post/28822164784/dont-you-think-its-time-by-our-guest-blogger-ashraf

21 Going On 21

All of us have, at various points of time in life asked ourselves the dreaded question 'Who am I?'. As evolving beings, we are always in the quest to find our identity. Just the other day I was rummaging through the junk on my desktop (we all have cluttered desktops, don't we?) and I struck gold! Well, for me it was nothing less than gold because reading that Word document rendered me enlightened on many a level. 

Remember Orkut; yes, that oh so interesting social networking site which gradually lost its charm, thanks to Facebook. I can't tell you the number of times I've edited my Orkut profile content, during those days. I don't really blame myself; I had just turned 21 then and my efforts to figure out my identity were at their peak; though eventually I grew out of it. Turns out that I had saved a copy of my profile and here I was, almost half a decade later, sitting and staring at my 21-year old self.

I must confess that I was embarrassed at the utter childishness of my thoughts and may have even turned a deep shade of beetroot-red by the time I reached the end of the page. Nevertheless, I can't deny how amused I was to sense that the basic substance of my personality hadn't changed despite the emotional growth spurt. It was reassuring to realise that we never change, we just find out more about ourselves as we grow up. I too had unraveled the mystery of myself, still am!

What a wonderful feeling it is; the feeling of maturing over time like the cliched old wine in a new bottle!

Orkut Profile

About Me

I  am a very lucky girl! My life rocks and only good things happen to me!

For instance, once I walked right through two TCs without a ticket because I forgot to buy one and didn't get caught...hahahaha..

Another time I got upset over something but it was already time to sleep and so I din't have to break my head over it..hahahaha..

Yet another time I was confused if I should straighten my hair and I saw myself in a trial room mirror. I looked like 'blackielocks' and so my conflict was resolved..hahahaha..

Like everyday..I don't drink eight glasses of water a day and neither do I work out but I have an amazing skin, no acne..no pimples..no zits..hahahah..

I am an extremely sensitive and emotional person. I take a lot of time to trust people but once I do there is no looking back unless you break my trust. Then I'm the kinds who would just stone wall...

I can laugh at the drop of a hat....

 I am obsessed with Punjabi weddings and brides...(blush--flush--gush)

I don't think a mother loves her child more than a father does...

I like a bunch of flowers; no bouquets or single flowers and they don't have to be roses or orchids, just colourful :)

I am not a goodie goodie. I believe that well behaved women never made history...

If you think it's only difficult to go shopping with a woman, wait till you come with me. I drive the sales guys up the wall...
 
I blush when I'm complimented!!!

I love going to the parlour. It makes me feel beautiful...

I believe that beauty is more important than brains because it's when I look good that I feel good and it's when I feel good that I can get the best out of me....

I love listening to loud music....

I am a movie buff...
 
I love amusement parks. I can sit on the scariest of joy rides if you promise to sit with me...

If you think I can hurt you, smile :) because I can only hurt the people that I love...

I am an orator. Holding the mic and speaking in front of millions..debates...elocutions..compereing...it's just pure ecstasy to me...
   
I feel proud to be an Indian when I read Bharatiya Rail or Indian Railways on the trains...

I fancy the idea of girls riding bikes, jeeps...(I will ride a bike someday!)

My favourite F.R.I.E.N.D.S. characters are Ross and Rachel...

I believe in miracles and the strange thing about miracles is that they happen only to those who believe in them...:)

I aspire to be a beautiful and powerful woman someday...

21-year old me.

Rakhi..

Having resolved the problem of the tri coloured wires Aslam, our electrician finally shut the fuse box close. As my neighbour rummaged through her purse for a fifty rupee note Aslam inquired, "Aap raakhi nahi baandh rahe ho madam?" Smiling, she looked up and said, "Hum Hindu nahi hain." Immediately Aslam shot back, "Raksha Bandhan toh sabka tyohaar hai!"

Today is my most favourite festival, Rakhi. My fascination for this festival amazes me because I'm a single child and having never grown up with a brother it's strange that I should harbour a soft corner for Rakhi. Nevertheless I do and probably not having someone to call bhaiya in all these years makes me teary-eyed each time I think of this beautiful age old gesture. I've always wondered about the kind of person I would be if I had a little brat around; if I'd have to share my parents with someone, if I'd have to forgo the bigger piece of fish for someone, if I'd have to pull someone's hair out to get hold of the television remote...someone who would look like me, may be look up to me. Life would be very different and yes I would be very different.

Six years ago God granted my wish. I have two first cousins in Mumbai and that meant two wrists, finally! I did everything that I'd always wanted to do; peruse the endless lines of colourful rakhis in every other lane, buy Cadburys, set up the thread and chocolate on a steel plate, get my shagun...everything. Last year though I moved out of Mumbai and so today I have no wrists. That said I have a strong realisation of what it means to have a brother. It rises above the symbolic gesture of Rakhi. Today to me, having a brother means having a responsibility; having someone to love and care for; having someone to wish well for. And so I wish, and I pray that God blesses my brothers for all that they are and more..and I pledge to keep that sacred thread tied tighter than ever.

Happy Rakhi Bhaiya!

Curator cruelty

“Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” –

Rabindranath Tagore

All generations have one thing in common – their struggle to find common grounds with preceding and succeeding generations. We’ve come to identify this struggle as ‘generation gap’. In the wake of the recent Mangalore resort incident many are trying to analyse in vain as to who is guilty - the partying youngsters or the self proclaimed curators who man handled them? Well, it’s a conundrum easier debated than resolved.

The idea of recreation has evolved over the years and like everything else that undergoes change it too has its pros and cons. The New Indian Economic Policy of 1991 exposed Gen Y (usually those born somewhere from the late 1970s or early 1980s to the early 2000s) to a life style totally different from that followed by those who came before them. We not only started using global products and services but also consequently began imbibing global ideas and aping global culture. Overtime the threads of this ‘new way of life’ were inevitably sewn into the fabric of Indian culture; for better or for worse. Today, we follow a blend of various cultures; not just those since LPG (Liberalisation Privatisation Globalisation) but even long before that. A classic example of unity in diversity, India has tasted many a foreign rule and is the melting pot of a plethora of traditions, customs and cultures that these foreigners brought with them. How then can one individual or institution decide what ‘Indian culture’ is? One could only state inclusive definitions and not exhaustive ideas of the same.

The lifestyle change ushered in by global exposure trickled down to the minutest of aspects – food, clothes, language…Wearing baggy jeans or donning a tank top doesn’t spell indecency; it’s mere evidence of ‘the change’. In the past decade or so we have witnessed an alteration in the male-female rapport paradigm. This can be attributed to many factors like increasing number of co-ed schools, cumulative effects of gender equality initiatives and portrayal of the new male-female equation by media. It’s not surprising that the youth today enjoy a higher comfort level with members of the opposite gender as opposed to those in the past. Again, enjoying recreational activities with the opposite gender doesn’t spell indecency; it’s mere evidence of ‘the change’. So were these youngsters who were allegedly ‘partying’ at fault?

Well, sadly one only posseses control over one’s own actions and so it’s best if the youth today finds safer or alternative recreational zones. Small precautions like trying to get home early, avoiding hard drinks especially during late night parties and avoiding regular late night parties with a mixed gender group wouldn’t cost our generation much. After all, all we want to do is have fun! That doesn’t mean one stops living life by one’s own rules; it only means that ‘tis a bad bad world out there and a certain degree of compromise is demanded from each one of us unless we plan on migrating to mars. No, we cannot go about trying to change world and the sooner we realise this the better it will be for us and for those around us.

Now assuming that the group of boys and girls at the resort in Mangalore were ‘wrongly partying’, is the reaction of the self proclaimed curators justified? Was the violence exhibited by the ‘keepers of our culture’ the only solution – slapping and trashing the girls and man handling the boys? Who gave you right to discern right and wrong for these youngsters? And if you assumed the authority to safe guard your idea of Indian culture wasn’t it your responsibility not to resort to such preposterous behaviour?

The question here is not about who is guilty. Rather, we need to focus on how we ought to deal with what may be a social vice. One wrong thought, word or action doesn’t have the power to correct another wrong thought, word or action. No, we can not make two negatives a positive; this is not mathematics, this is life!

Kargil Vijay Divas

"..and if it pleases you my Lord, do not place my heart
In the hands of a man with a riffle and grenade."

I've always loved a man in uniform. There is, I believe, an unparalleled air around them that commands respect and admiration. If beholding such a man gives me a high I can only imagine the feeling of walking beside one; but I won't because I don't think that I am brave enough. I vividly remember sitting in the chapel when I was younger, praying that I should never fall in love with a soldier. Why? I am selfish and I can't give my country the people I love. That brings me to another breed of people that I admire. The woman beside the man in uniform; someone I could never be. What courage!

It's been twelve years since we won the Kargil war. Browsing through the gory details I shudder to think of what we lost that day! The figures are appalling; over 500 Indian soldiers took to martyrdom, more than a thousand were rendered wounded and allegedly one was a POW. Did we really win? The loss on the other side was as bad, may be worse; allegedly 4,000 died, 800 were wounded and 8 were POWs. They say a war has no winners and the sacrifice that these soldiers, both Indian and Pakistani, and their loved ones made in the 1999 war advocates the same. Marking the anniversary of Vijay Divas Harsha Bhogle aptly tweeted, "Anniversary of Kargil: An event that was wasteful, unnecessary and utterly sad. May it never need to happen again." Does this mean that there is a school of thought which undermines the sacrifices that our jawans made for us. Of course not! What they did for us is priceless. That said, will there ever be a way to avoid a similar loss in the future?

I recently read a book about the assassination of former Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhakh Rabin; a human being who put man before the sabbath. A man who walked the talk putting peace before piece (of land) Laws are put in place to protect man and not to render him vulnerable and helpless. As rational and thinking individuals we need to revisit our beliefs often enough to ensure that we haven't deviated from the core purpose. Many a time, even on a micro level we get so engrossed in an argument that we loose track of what we are arguing about. Arguments, debates, discussions all aim at progress and betterment. It's never about proving someone wrong but trying to see the bigger picture and accommodating the larger good.

There are arguments that could justify war - self defense and survival instinct. You could get back at me saying, "If you think Rabin's giving up that stretch of land was justified are you willing to give up Kashmir?" I really don't know. All I'd say is that we got to start somewhere; and that is possible if each one of us thinks anti-war, if each one of us thinks peace. Well, you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us . And the world will be as one.

"...sarhadein insaano ke liye hain; socho tumne aur maine kya paya insaan hoke!" - Javed Akhtar

"..and the realisation is that we are all born the same." - Aswad

Short Story

---Ruth---

Part 1

The lamp post light, at the turning kept flickering. Ruth watched as two-wheelers zoomed past her in the busy Pune-street. The street light lit the bus stop she was sitting at, in between spurts of cold darkness. December in Pune was unbearable.

Ruth got into the red Maruti 800. “Hi mom,” she said dispassionately as she gently closed the door after her. She stifled a yawn as she pulled her safety belt across her and locked it with a click. An awkward silence ensued and no one uttered a word until they got home. Even at the dinner table conversation was kept to a minimum; just a question or two about the day at college followed by a yes and a no.

Ruth got into bed and stayed there until the lights went out. She avoided conversations with her mother. It had been six months since the fateful incident though Ruth had vivid memories of that afternoon. She had been reading The Holy Bible when she heard a loud noise in the driveway. Eyes widened she had run across the hall way only to open the door and freeze for what seemed like an eternity. Ruth had loved her father even though he had been a heavy drinker and beat her mother every other night. She loved her mother too but may be she just loved her father more. Sometimes she wondered if she really loved him or was it just her reaction to his lack of attention toward her. May be she just craved for his love and approval.

It was dark now and Ruth heard her mother’s bed room door shut close. She smiled as she pulled out her red bound Bible from her bag and turned the pages to the Book of Ruth, her favourite. She felt an inexplicable affinity towards this book in the Bible; as if she’d read it somewhere else before. This was Ruth’s favourite time of the day. She loved the silence that the tinkling chimes hanging at her bedroom window occasionally broke. The lacy white curtains danced to the tunes of the cool night breeze and crickets in the garden outside serenaded the beautiful black night.

Ruth 1:16&17

“Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go, your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die – there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!”

******

The sun was beating down on them and they could barely inch forward. “We must stop to drink some water,” said Naomi to her daughter-in-law and so they halted at a near by well. A clay pot lay beside the well and Ruth used it to draw some water. After Naomi and Ruth had refreshed themselves they continued their journey. Bethlehem was still a few miles away and they had to reach there before sun-set.

“Let me go to the field and glean among the ears of grain, behind someone in whose sight I may find favour,” said Ruth to Naomi the following morning. Ruth and her mother-in-law had reached Bethlehem in time for the barely harvest.

As Ruth was busy gathering the grain a tall man with skin as white as milk and rusty-brown eyes spoke to her. “Now listen, my daughter,” he said. Wide-eyed and startled Ruth turned back to face Boaz, a kinsman on Naomi’s husband’s side. Boaz was a prominent God-fearing rich man in the community. Ruth thought that Boaz had a mysterious face; the thick skin furrowed on his forehead and his unkempt beard suggested that he was aggressive, though the rugged look had undertones of kindness that were clearly reflected in his eyes. “Do not glean in another field or leave this one, but keep close to my young women. Keep your eyes on the field that is being reaped, and follow behind them. I have ordered the young men not to bother you. If you get thirsty, go to the vessels and drink from what the young men have drawn.”  

That evening Ruth returned home to her mother-in-law. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the palm tree in their front yard. Naomi sat on a jute cot puffing on a hookah as Ruth massaged her feet sitting on the cool mud-parapet next to her. The sound of air-bubbles in the hookah jar embellished the silence of the night. “The name of the man with whom I worked today is Boaz,” said Ruth. Naomi stopped puffing.

For Writing's Sake

As children we all have that one favourite place that we love going too; may be that's because it makes us feel secure. I believe it's every child's way of recreating the 'womb experience' where no one or nothing can harm it; a comfort zone of sorts.

 

I'm a single child with working parents and I didn't really have many friends to play with before I started going to school, just one to be precise. I vividly remember the long walks with dad, mom and my childhood bestie which more often than not ended with chocobar ice cream; bliss! The walk was preceded by a heart-pumping session at 'horsy' garden; the only garden in the vicinity - a big open space with lots of sand, a slide, two pairs of swings, a seesaw and yes a magnificent white horse that stood in the middle of the garden.

Though the sands of time have pretty much blurred the memories of the fun times my friend and I had in this garden there are a few things that I will never forget. Sometimes we'd spend hours among the creeky swings, the yellow slide with blue stairs that took us all the way up, the blue see saw.. and not even realise when it'd be time to leave! Childhood was defined very differently then. The 80's-kids were the last generation that grew up smelling the roses if I may, the last generation that managed to strike a balance between life and everything else; most 80-borns would agree with me. School was more than grades, football was larger than laying the foundation for future sports scholarships, dance classes went beyond competing with other aspirant dancers and there was a life beyond computer games and hi-tech gadgets.

We hear today about so many cases where young children succumbing to peer pressure and materialism resort to satisfy their wants immorally and antisocially. Of course we cannot blame them for they are born in a different time. That said we as the past need to keep the present grounded in their roots no matter how much they grow toward the future. for progress doesn't spell annihilation of origin and modernity doesn't lead to doom for tradition. Yes, change is inevitable and definitely good alright but somethings, somethings are best unchanged!