Here is an intention
I hold for you
To be happy and
To be at peace with self.
Here is an intention
For you to be passionate
For life and to get
What you want from the same.
I intend for you
To inspire others and
To love wholeheartedly
And to show that love as well.
I want you to love
Not just others
But self too and
Respect what you got.
I intend for you to
Find what you are looking for
And then be at peace
With what you find.
I want you to
Be bold in wanting
To be positively sure and
Surely positive in life.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
A grieving Mumbai
Mumbai is grieving, along with the rest of India. Who knew a group of merely 15 men could not only bring the whole city to a standstill, but could kill people, more than 350 and injure much more, so effortlessly and with such lack of emotion. Who could think they could bring resources and ammunition in such manner and with such ease? Where are those politicians now? And what sense of duty have they shown? If they did have one, they would have simply resigned. Where are Bal Thackeray and the MNS activists? "It is a big city, and these things happen." Says the Maharashtra Deputy Chief Minister, R.R. Patil. “They had plans to kill more than 5000 people…” He goes on. As if, it’s an achievement they killed a mere 300(!).
My heart bleeds to think of the trauma thousands of people must have gone through. I feel the same dread I'd have felt if a group of strangers would have walked in into my home and violated my space. I too am grieving like the rest of Mumbai. I don’t know how to express this helpless anger, except may be through this post. All I have done for the past 48 hours is being glued to the television and the newspapers. At one point it seemed like a Bollywood flick, but a never-ending one. But all the more bone-chilling because it was all very much real. The eerie silence and tension on the Mumbai roads (even in Dadar) the day after was very real.
The trauma of the family and friends who have lost their loved ones and of those who were stuck in their rooms for hours is something beyond me. I cannot even begin to think of the terror the staff must have felt, and yet, they were driven by their sense of duty to protect their guests. The terror of those who were stuck in their hotel rooms for hours and hours, with only tap water to drink, and may be, some tidbits to eat (and may be not even that). The uncertainty of death looming in corridors and of not knowing which room it shall knock. Of being marooned in their rooms for hours, with hopes of being rescued, but ending being charred to death. Of being reunited with families after some gruelling hours, of not knowing whether he or she will live.
The death toll is now slowly coming in. The official figure says a 183 currently. But they were more than just a number. They were individuals who were not supposed to die. Not like this. Least like this. And they left in their wake their families who would continue to be haunted by frantic text messages and whispered pleas of help. My heart goes out to them.
And then there were individuals who gave up their lives on the line of fire, that is, the security forces. Literally so. Police officers, firemen, National Security Guards and army men who did not return. I salute them. I salute their courage. And I salute the hotel staff who thought first of their guests and then of themselves, if at all. I salute the ordinary man who came out of his or her home to help those on duty.
I have seen many acts of terror in the past and every time it happens, I cannot get used to it, cannot accept it, lying low, irrespective of its degree or form. But this form of terror seems to leave me strangely helpless and yet frustrated and angry. The only way we can do justice to the sacrifices is by not forgetting it, by not wiping it off public memory.
I know it has been permanently etched on mine.
My heart bleeds to think of the trauma thousands of people must have gone through. I feel the same dread I'd have felt if a group of strangers would have walked in into my home and violated my space. I too am grieving like the rest of Mumbai. I don’t know how to express this helpless anger, except may be through this post. All I have done for the past 48 hours is being glued to the television and the newspapers. At one point it seemed like a Bollywood flick, but a never-ending one. But all the more bone-chilling because it was all very much real. The eerie silence and tension on the Mumbai roads (even in Dadar) the day after was very real.
The trauma of the family and friends who have lost their loved ones and of those who were stuck in their rooms for hours is something beyond me. I cannot even begin to think of the terror the staff must have felt, and yet, they were driven by their sense of duty to protect their guests. The terror of those who were stuck in their hotel rooms for hours and hours, with only tap water to drink, and may be, some tidbits to eat (and may be not even that). The uncertainty of death looming in corridors and of not knowing which room it shall knock. Of being marooned in their rooms for hours, with hopes of being rescued, but ending being charred to death. Of being reunited with families after some gruelling hours, of not knowing whether he or she will live.
The death toll is now slowly coming in. The official figure says a 183 currently. But they were more than just a number. They were individuals who were not supposed to die. Not like this. Least like this. And they left in their wake their families who would continue to be haunted by frantic text messages and whispered pleas of help. My heart goes out to them.
And then there were individuals who gave up their lives on the line of fire, that is, the security forces. Literally so. Police officers, firemen, National Security Guards and army men who did not return. I salute them. I salute their courage. And I salute the hotel staff who thought first of their guests and then of themselves, if at all. I salute the ordinary man who came out of his or her home to help those on duty.
I have seen many acts of terror in the past and every time it happens, I cannot get used to it, cannot accept it, lying low, irrespective of its degree or form. But this form of terror seems to leave me strangely helpless and yet frustrated and angry. The only way we can do justice to the sacrifices is by not forgetting it, by not wiping it off public memory.
I know it has been permanently etched on mine.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
A meaningful life
Sometimes I feel I am living a rather small life… significant no doubt, but small. I would like to live more, be more, reach out to more people and nurture more the existing relationships. My personal and professional relationships are, no doubt, meaningful to me, but at the same time, I would like to do more.
When I try to think what could add more meaning to my life, I can think of the following:
Begin a new hobby
Learn a new language
Travel more
Spend more time with people, who matter
Dance
Write more
Do something creative
Meet more people
Make more friends
Nurture existing relationships
Watch plays
Exercise more
Eat healthy
Engage in conversations that would make me think
Earn enough so that I can do all these
It seems we all run after some goal of the other, thinking, “XYZ will surely make me happy….” But what about being happy in the present… in the here and now? So what is really stopping me to do all these things anyways? What am I waiting for?
At the same time, I AM grateful for all that I have been given in life. I have been most times of my life… for the friends I have had and for all the experiences of love (be it any and every relationship).
Gratitude is what I feel as currently as I write. I accept all I have been given, the good, the bad and the ugly. I accept and I move on. At the same time, I know I shall consciously and unconsciously work towards making life more meaningful, not only for me but for the people who surround me as well. A romantic thought? I do not know. And I am not bothered.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Birthday 'bumps'
28?? Oh my God! Its a crazy figure.. suddenly making me realize that the big three-oh is not that far now. But I wonder why should it make so much of a difference? Almost as if a clock is clicking somewhere in my mind and the alarm is just about to set off!! Sounds like a nightmare really and it probably would be... however much I claim the thirties to be a graceful age. Why did I ever feel that I shall always be 25?? And why should it matter? And why do I still feel 25, like life has just started to become more settled and I do not want to rock the boat! Where did all these years go anyway?? And how?
Time. Quietly slipping away while I was looking elsewhere. And mocking me for not noticing her while she was. Am glad this moment is freezed here for some time to come. So that when this post goes into archives, I can still look back and believe I did all that I could and more. A timely reminder to enjoy the moment now and stop worrying! For when we are worrying, we only consume what's ahead of us, of the unknown, of what's not even happened.
And time will never slip away then. But 'present' in any moment I choose to look around.
Time. Quietly slipping away while I was looking elsewhere. And mocking me for not noticing her while she was. Am glad this moment is freezed here for some time to come. So that when this post goes into archives, I can still look back and believe I did all that I could and more. A timely reminder to enjoy the moment now and stop worrying! For when we are worrying, we only consume what's ahead of us, of the unknown, of what's not even happened.
And time will never slip away then. But 'present' in any moment I choose to look around.
Respect women
I am a feminist. And it has taken me years of denial, introspection, acceptance, frustration, compromises, adjustments, revelations and discussions to reach such a conclusion. But this particular revelation took its time to come, but when it did, it became a paradigm shift. Not in terms of radical changes and more in terms of my own way of looking at things. I suddenly became more aware of all incidences and treatments, the unjust, the subtle and not-so-subtle.
Feminism means different things for different people. That is the beauty of the word. It takes from the experiences and struggles of millions of anonymous women across the globe. And it becomes visible by handful of them, by those who have the means to come under public gaze. For me, feminism means the ability to choose and to make my own decisions as a woman and to respect self. The first step is to accept that you can be and have been discriminated. And this can take time. Feminism means being aware of the subtle, unconcious and conscious, discrimination against you in day-to-day existence, across time, geography and contexts. It means using various strategies to counter them as well.
I’d be staying in an ideal world, if my being a feminist would not have repercussions in my personal life. What disturbs me most is when I see women in my life being treated, if not harshly, but with disrespect. Disrespect for women is something I cannot tolerate.
But what does disrespecting women mean? It means making a woman feel humilated for who she is. In most cases, the incidences are so subtle, that the differences (along the line of gender) arise almost unconsciously in day to day conversations and all relationships. Irrespective of whether it’s a brother-sister duo, mother and daughter, father and daughter, employer –employee, husband and wife, woman and in-laws, male and female colleagues, male and female friends, and other permutations and combinations.
Many people feel that women too often act against women. In such cases it is important to see the context in which this happens, that is, whether in a household or the workplace. In most cases, women become victims of the power politics which usually carries on in the respective contexts. A woman stands against another woman usually because both are vying for the same goal, for instance, male attention, resources, time, standing in the family and so on. And yes, families are definitely a seat of much politics. It is a definitely a disturbing thought, but it is also true. Family gossips are one of the major, supposedly harmless, manifestations of this politics. We all might belie the K-serials, but what usually happens in real life is even worse than the sagas!
Most families do not accept their daughters as individuals, who can think on and of their own. But that’s a different story (and a different post) altogether. A daughter-in-law in such a context would stand somewhere further in the queue, depending on the position/ standing of her husband (in that family) though. Mothers who are otherwise liberal and would like to see their daughters working would also want them to conform to traditional customs and rituals.
Most men I know would claim they generally respect women. They would probably never force themselves on a woman, would not raise their hand and would not deny them of any resources deliberately or put a woman down. But most men (and even women) are also not aware of the sexism so prevalent in their language/ the jokes/ communication skills/ even in terms of expectations. It becomes evident when you do not give the woman in your life enough choices or a say in the decision. For some women, the disrespect shown by a husband is fine, as long as it is not in front of the immediate or extended family. Is such humiliation justified?? I would think not.
Don’t get me wrong though. I do like men and a lot! But may be it’s time for them to learn to respect women (for who we are), to accept the responsibilities of home as well, and to rear their sons and daughters more similarly rather than differently. It is also time for mothers to raise their sons differently!
Feminism means different things for different people. That is the beauty of the word. It takes from the experiences and struggles of millions of anonymous women across the globe. And it becomes visible by handful of them, by those who have the means to come under public gaze. For me, feminism means the ability to choose and to make my own decisions as a woman and to respect self. The first step is to accept that you can be and have been discriminated. And this can take time. Feminism means being aware of the subtle, unconcious and conscious, discrimination against you in day-to-day existence, across time, geography and contexts. It means using various strategies to counter them as well.
I’d be staying in an ideal world, if my being a feminist would not have repercussions in my personal life. What disturbs me most is when I see women in my life being treated, if not harshly, but with disrespect. Disrespect for women is something I cannot tolerate.
But what does disrespecting women mean? It means making a woman feel humilated for who she is. In most cases, the incidences are so subtle, that the differences (along the line of gender) arise almost unconsciously in day to day conversations and all relationships. Irrespective of whether it’s a brother-sister duo, mother and daughter, father and daughter, employer –employee, husband and wife, woman and in-laws, male and female colleagues, male and female friends, and other permutations and combinations.
Many people feel that women too often act against women. In such cases it is important to see the context in which this happens, that is, whether in a household or the workplace. In most cases, women become victims of the power politics which usually carries on in the respective contexts. A woman stands against another woman usually because both are vying for the same goal, for instance, male attention, resources, time, standing in the family and so on. And yes, families are definitely a seat of much politics. It is a definitely a disturbing thought, but it is also true. Family gossips are one of the major, supposedly harmless, manifestations of this politics. We all might belie the K-serials, but what usually happens in real life is even worse than the sagas!
Most families do not accept their daughters as individuals, who can think on and of their own. But that’s a different story (and a different post) altogether. A daughter-in-law in such a context would stand somewhere further in the queue, depending on the position/ standing of her husband (in that family) though. Mothers who are otherwise liberal and would like to see their daughters working would also want them to conform to traditional customs and rituals.
Most men I know would claim they generally respect women. They would probably never force themselves on a woman, would not raise their hand and would not deny them of any resources deliberately or put a woman down. But most men (and even women) are also not aware of the sexism so prevalent in their language/ the jokes/ communication skills/ even in terms of expectations. It becomes evident when you do not give the woman in your life enough choices or a say in the decision. For some women, the disrespect shown by a husband is fine, as long as it is not in front of the immediate or extended family. Is such humiliation justified?? I would think not.
Don’t get me wrong though. I do like men and a lot! But may be it’s time for them to learn to respect women (for who we are), to accept the responsibilities of home as well, and to rear their sons and daughters more similarly rather than differently. It is also time for mothers to raise their sons differently!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Firsts in Mumbai!
The Durga pujas went by last week and I haven’t had so much fun in days. Well, for firsts, both husband and I were working all the days, so we could not really venture out in the day time… but we did pretty well for ourselves methinks! This was the first time I saw durga pujo in Mumbai. Well, you’ll think what’s the difference?? Believe me, lots… the city makes all the difference. Am born and brought up in Delhi and there the “Pujo” (as Bengalis fondly call it) has its own amazing colours. I am not much of a Bengali, believe me, but when it comes to Durga pujo, this is one event when i become very "bengalish".Well, for the uninitiated, Durga pujas basically mean five days (and nights) of pandal hopping, seeing the beautiful idol of Ma Durga (Indian Goddess of valour and courage, who was created by the Gods to kill the demons.. yep, the good vs. evil bit), standing in long endless queues for bhog, gorging on Bengali delicacies and snacks, meeting friends, chatting endlessly, watching cultural shows in the night, gorging some more food and showing off new clothes each day morning AND night (and there are 5!). Well, this is in Delhi... My experience of the Kolkata pujo was lot different, and that’s another story, altogether.
Despite lack of time and crazy days at work, we managed to pack in as much as we could! That’s what surprised me the most actually. There were days we were both dozing off in the cab, but we still had to go. We completely kept to the tradition of pandal hopping and gorging on yum food … though I never expected to do so. Food yes, but not pandal hopping, basically because each pandal is located at one corner of the city.
Now there are only a handful of pujos in Mumbai. Most of them are organized by the Bengali personalities living in Mumbai. The most popular ones are those of Abhijeet’s in Lokhandwala and of Rani Mukherji’s in Santa Cruz. Whereas the former had an air of mela atmosphere, the latter was more traditional and more exclusive. Then there is the traditional pujo held each year at Ramkrishna Mission at Khar. The idol was made in a traditional style, and still beautiful. There is another in Bandra organized by Shakti Samantho and Basu Chatterji. And this one I liked the best, in terms of the décor (with Jamini Roy paintings, huge traditional lanterns), the scale (not too huge and yet spacious enough) and huge food stalls. Then we went to the pujo at Chembur. This pandal is on its 87th year and somehow, one can feel the difference in the fervor here!
But nothing prepared me for the Durga pujo at Vashi (New Bombay). We started for Vashi at 9:30 pm and battling the crazy traffic reached in one and half hours. And the place is huge! The place was so startling may be because I am yet to see so much open space in itself in Mumbai. There must have been more than 2000 people in the entire pandal at 11:00pm, and yet we could not even feel the crowd! This place was amazing.
And the amount of food I ate this time is not funny actually. From begunis (deep fried slices of brinjal with a coating of gram flour) to biriyani (Awadhi style), from mishti doi (sweet curd) to gulab jamun, from kebab wraps to an expensive Thai fare. A gastronomical delight!
Well end of the day, I could definitely skip the traffic snarls (we spent more hours in a cab than in the pandal!) any day. But I did not know there was such a large Bengali community living in Mumbai. I might still be missing the Durga pujo (can’t help if I am biased), but the Mumbai Durga pujo might just made up for it –almost!
Well I am only discovering Mumbai, and enjoying every wee bit. This was only one page among many! Here's to firsts, a city i fall in love with each day. :)
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Trip to Kasauli
Have you ever felt one with nature? Or may be just very very small? Somehow this indescribable feeling leaves me wondering who could create something so beautiful... Nature might be the only factor, which makes me want to believe in the prescence of God, of a greater spiritual force, against which I cannot do much, except feel for with a sense of awe and respect. Nature humbles me, just as much it gives me joy and peace.
This picture beside is from Kasauli... breath-taking place! Isn't there something magical about this tree? Like right out of those Enid Blyton fairy tales you used to gorge on?? There might be a fairy or two prancing in the grass.. Hiding themselves due to human intervention, may be. Anyways, I can still feel the wetness of the mist if I close my eyes.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Sit by my side
Come, sit by my side
Quietly
Patiently
Calmly
Keep an arm on my shoulders
So I can rest my head on yours.
Let us sit away from the crowd
For a while.
Away from responsibilities
Respective schedules kept aside.
Let us not run on the beats of time
Let the seconds tick away,
Let this time be just ours.
Let us forget all our fears and anxieties.
There aren’t any, at this point of time.
Let us play in these stolen moments,
Let us start all over again.
Imagine this is the first day we’ve met
What will you tell me?
Something, anything,
You haven’t already said?
Let us sit next to each other
And communicate.
But, you need to feel the need
To do so first.
You need to have the feeling
That there is something to share.
We might love each other a lot
But our expressions are different.
We need to find a common language
To give more meaning to our love
To find our passions for each other.
To discover each other anew each day.
A baby step
Here I begin... what seems like after an eternity. I finally lay down the foundation stone, with what is my first ever blog post i have written. I do not know what I achieve to get out of this, though I hope I do manage to reach out to people to whom I matter. And to those I do not know. Yet.
A baby step it is. Yet to get my balance here.. Still trying to get the hang of this place. I wonder what has stopped me to venture out to this space before in this way. Though I knew I always wanted to. And so I begin this journey. Nothing auspicious about it, but extremely important for me. I am trying yet another medium of communication here. Though right now, its only me listening to my own voice and no one else has entered the room!
I find this place like life actually.. You do not know what to expect, but you are still excited anyways!
Raising-a-glass-to-myself,
Indrani.
A baby step it is. Yet to get my balance here.. Still trying to get the hang of this place. I wonder what has stopped me to venture out to this space before in this way. Though I knew I always wanted to. And so I begin this journey. Nothing auspicious about it, but extremely important for me. I am trying yet another medium of communication here. Though right now, its only me listening to my own voice and no one else has entered the room!
I find this place like life actually.. You do not know what to expect, but you are still excited anyways!
Raising-a-glass-to-myself,
Indrani.
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