The Writer That Just Woke Up

During the early 2000's, when I was an ardent reader of the Hindu, the column named my "My husband and other animals" by Janaki Lenin caught my attention. It drove me insanely crazy with its magnetic name. I thought I should too be that creative when I write something, if at all I write. I had all kinds of expressions on my face when I read that article every Friday. I smiled, I stared into the newspaper, I opened my mouth, I laughed, I wondered but on the whole I enjoyed. I loved some the articles so much that I read and read and reread and reread them till the next week. These articles by Janaki Lenin inspired and influenced me to write. I am specifically not an animal lover, nor do I enjoy the sweet and sour chemistry of a couple, but this able writer created a wonderful union of both. But what interests me is the English - my hero. 

I guess every one of us has a passion from the very beginning. It's always on the back of our minds and at the last on our lists. But my passion was magically struck by these articles. From my childhood, I read every bit of newspaper, an English one, with great interest. I highlighted the words I didn't know, my dad encouraged me to do so. I never ever took a look at any other newspaper than the Hindu, which is an epitome of perfect English language. I had many paper cuttings as a child of articles, lessons on grammar, idioms and many more topics. I copied the accent of actors in foreign movies. I used to use such words in my sentences which the friends of my age never understood. I wrote poems, long and sometimes senseless ones. I collected tons and tons of proverbs. I still have all of them. But in these 15 years, wasn't my ardent love for English ever suspected? But who would expect, after all, I have even been a coin collector, a puzzle- solver, an artist, a chatterbox, a craftsperson, a topper in the class; in short the jack of all childish trades.

But ya, one day the ice broke or rather, the heart broke and words came flowing. And I wrote far better than I thought I would. My writings were initially very intense and strong in their sense. They opined my anger, pain, love and other emotions more profoundly. But I gradually neutralized the tone of my writings. From poems to reviews, to musings, to thoughts of mine and thoughts of mine about others, everything was well taken care of. 

I had had my share of hurdles as a writer. There were no ideas, sometimes the right words didn't occur and my writings went bland. And after that no more writing happened. But a good old friend asked me to write for her blog recently. I said I would write either for myself or for money. And so, I started writing again. For myself. 

After spending some time thinking of the reasons for that hiatus, I realized I set my goals wrong. I aimed at writing a novel or to write something that could be printed by bigshot publishers, to write something that brings praises and prizes. And that immense pressure created the writer's block in my mind. But I realized my ultimate goal is to write. On the days I write I smile more and I am 99% the happy me, but oh that 1%..

Hear the Woman's Voice - Loud and Clear

This Women's Day has started off making quite an impression on my mind. I am overwhelmed by this feeling which is neither fear, pain, anger nor shame. It is the memory of a wound that simply demands a solution, an end. This wound had probably came along with me on the day I was born, but the broader perspective of my family and their warmth has never let it surface. But the world is not motherly enough to do that. Yes, I am talking about the uncountable and unaccountable crimes against women in India. 

No, these heinous crimes do not just happen to girls of certain age, they happen to girls who are not even out of the mother's womb; for, a girl is a burden not to the woman carrying her, but to the people around her. No, they are not targeted just at girls in jeans or skirts, even fully-clad women are molested; for, there is a fetish of 'almost everything'. No, they do not just happen in cities, ironically they happen and are increasing at an exponential level in rural areas; for, animals know no borders. No, they do not happen at nights, they are committed in broad daylight; for, even a thorn-bedded path seems like bedroom to them. Well, they can happen to anyone, any time, anywhere under any circumstances, one can not set the terms and conditions for these crimes. But, we can definitely narrow down to one reason, 'Thinking Process'. The perpetrators in the 16th Dec Delhi gore, simply thought of it is as a form of enjoyment, a situation where they can gloat over a woman's helpless condition, a chance to prove their male dominance, or may be to teach a lesson. Yes, an uneducated male chauvinist in his journey to teach women a lesson, had tortured, did indescribable things and finally, killed a young to-be doctor. Their incorrigible thinking did not start with their plan to come out and have some fun that night, but it is way deep down. 

As children, they might have seen their father thrashing up their mother, made a bet on pulling a school girl's skirt, made innumerable number of vulgar remarks at people on streets, peeped into the bathrooms of neighbors or I am sure, might have done everything a jobless slum dog would do. There was none to grab their collars and put them on the right track. After all, we are a bundle of values and lessons taught by our parents. Hence, the moss started growing on the already rusty souls. And today it proves no one had even attempted to maneuver them into that route. I thought their consciousness was rolled up and thrown back to be lost in their filthy minds, but today after watching the Nirbhaya documentary, I realized it was never there and would never come.

Crimes against women are not just limited to rape or sexual harassment. They include eve-teasing, condescending behavior and refusal to recognize and acknowledge a job well done at work place, denial of freedom in marriage/career, demand of dowry, denial of all other rights bestowed upon Indian citizens by the Indian Constitution. Anything that draws a line between rights, opportunities, freedom, facilities of men and women can be treated as a crime because we do have the 'Right to Equality'. 

But, will this situation ever change? Will this wound find its end? More than schemes and policies, Education has to find its way towards the children all across the country. Because Victor Hugo once correctly said, "He who opens a school door, closes a prison". I am confident that I would bring up my child to be a sensible individual. And I am sure he does his part in changing the conservative ideas of seniors in my home, which I couldn't accomplish. Well, the days have changed and roles have reciprocated. 

Education is that powerful weapon which can change the world. While the world takes all its time to change, we're here to nudge it all times to move towards the sunnier side. We're here to raise our hands to stop and slap. We're here to fight for each others' rights. 'We' is not the Police Force, Indian Government or any other Special Security Cell. We is I. I am The Woman.

Guess who??

It happened today for the first time that I had difficulty in identifying a person. My memory has always behaved very well with me. Seems even that too has failed me, hopefully just for this time. While travelling back home today in the bus, I saw an young man and immediately found him familiar. I did not spend much time studying his face, I simply averted my gaze as he noticed me checking him out. I can assure you it was not a dejavu feeling, but a true memory. I often face situations from which I only absorb the dejavu sense leaving the reality to others. But it is not the same this time.

So, after a little struggle with my memory and few more glances, I came to the conclusion that, if not with him I am at least familiar with his facial features. He is someone with whom I spent considerable part of my life not personally, but professionally. It is very clear that no emotions are attached, for emotions need not be searched; they are carefully hidden treasuries. I once again tried focusing on my virtual memory map, but soon realized that it was all a flash of images and within seconds I find myself looking at him trying to register his face into my confused mind. Remembering him took an eternity just like my journey on the roads of Hyderabad, jammed by traffic.

His thought reminded me of 3 things: Non-Telugite, sandalwood tilak on his forehead and husky voice. Keeping this information in my mind, I turn to take one last look at the guy before getting down at my stop. Oops, he was already gone.

The time I spent trying to remember him, has only weakened my confidence. I started writing this article on the day I saw him. I spent one complete week tracking him, with the only weapon I have, memory fossils. And one day I or frankly saying, my memory, did succeed. It had betrayed me only for 7 tiring days. That person in the bus appeared similar to a male nurse I met at a hospital or may be it was him. I had interacted regularly with him, during my stay at the hospital. This memory came back to me not like a boomerang but as a result of my long lull. With a smile of victory I walked my way off.

Few days later, I met a girl at an office. She stopped me and said a hi. I smiled recognizing my Intermediate friend and opened my mouth only to stammer s-s-s-...