Just Another Day

Today isn't yesterday or tomorrow but a day as free as a spider's web, with wondrous mysteries and creativity to work on. I've been given not just life but the responsibility to give something 'to day' by living it with gratitude. All great thoughts peeped at asleep me. Winter morns can be best celebrated in a warm and cozy blanket, wrapped in dreams.

After a considerably long time, the sleep spell silently vanished. The hunger bells were rung gradually at some depths. Yet newspaper magnetism was automatically activated. Silence! Such an expression carries the heavy pain that's felt after coming face to face with harsh realities. Somebody's killed or raped or burnt by acid or punished for trivialities or made a victim of inequalities. We're safe but God knows for how long. Some politician gave a bouquet of flattering and deceiving promises, highly imaginative pieces of impossibilities. Sadly fiction and truth got intertwined in our world. Pushing away the recorder of happenings, I went to brush my teeth. There are two basins at home and the toothpaste and toothbrush took divorce. I had put a bulky dot of paste on the brush and moved to the other side. Whoa! where's the paste dot gone. I was searching like a CID and found it midway. What a relief! No matter what's lost, the pleasure of regaining it is usually the same.

Later a neighborhood child came packed with curiosities and inspected everything perceived. Good to gaze at a specimen of innocence, of untainted childhood, somewhere to turn to and smile. I was quick in hiding away my cellphone and tablet since the upcoming generation seems too intelligent to bear. Games and photography are the most sought for. One day, after finding my phone she took a selfie and even today shares the same passion towards technology. May be we shall see a day when remote controls would be available for monitoring kids. I hope that green garden's place shan't be taken by the four sided devices providing exciting games, mimicking the natural ones.

Then I turned to my window facing the road and mirroring an exciting world. The children of my lane are incredible. There's a small school nearby. Once a dog entered playfully and chased the little ones who crossed the way without harming them. It was indeed funny to see them running. Another day a little crying girl was carried by two siblings to the school. Her expressions were genuinely painful and made me wonder at the plight of that child who was being carried to so called knowledge kingdom.

Night arrived slowly after the sun melted into the horizon.

How speedily a day ends and days to months to years are passed. The sole question left to be asked to oneself is that what beneficial tasks did I do that impacted not just mine but other's lives as well.

Snow Love

Rehan was a six year-old child with great dreams, rare in the kids of his age. His father was a poor rickshaw-puller, but rich in honesty and virtue. His mother died early, leaving all responsibilities on his father’s shoulders. He lived in a small room in a big city, with a cooking stove, a charpoy, and a few utensils. A string, tied from one end of the room to the other, bore their clothes to dry.

In their locality, a school had opened recently. Rehan gazed with wonder at the uniforms and the loaded school bags. His father worked tirelessly from dawn to night. He just roamed around and observed everything like a poet. He had a great love for nature, and staring at the sky was his favorite pastime. He liked birds, squirrels, flowers, trees and the rain as well. He was an expert in making paper boats.

Two years later, he worked as a shoe-polish boy. He was zealous about work and even dreamt of going to school. Most of his wishes were fulfilled in dreams, but he was hopeful of living them in reality too. One afternoon when his father was returning, he noticed a ladies-purse lying on the rickshaw. His father picked it up at once and returned it to the shop where he had dropped that particular lady. Fortunately, one of the shop-keepers knew her and he succeeded in returning it safely to its owner. She was highly surprised to encounter honesty in such a time. Rehan too was with him and she turned on the TV for him to watch. That was the first time he had ever seen a TV so close. He observed the white snow fall in one of the movie scenes and felt exhilarated, thrilled like never before. He stood watching the snowfall in awe. The lady and her husband warmly insisted that he eat the sweets humbly offered on account of his father’s honesty. There was a golden necklace inside the purse that had been brought back safely, untouched.

Later, they returned home. His father was a practicing Muslim, and inspired his child on the path of goodness. His craving for snowfall grew abundantly in seconds. He tried to resist, but abruptly asked his father about this wondrous phenomenon.

“Papa, where does white fall occur?”

“White fall? Do you mean snowfall? It occurs in hills and mountains.”

“Why not here?”

“Here, we have hail stones, rainfall, winter, summer and monsoon. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, I want to see snowfall right now. It looks so clear, crunchy like ice cream!”

His father felt sad at his inability to provide him ice-creams more often, his dearest and only child. He pointed to the open window,

“See, all the stars have arrived in the sky. Sleep, and let me sleep.”

Rehan was too passionate by this time. He went outside to gaze at the sky and felt like waiting for real snow to fall all over him like a white blanket covering the mountains. He imagined the atmosphere turning white. “Ah! How pretty!” He tried to imagine his mother’s face but without success. Suddenly he sensed a change in the weather. The breeze became cold as never before. He thought that winter has arrived and papa was too deeply asleep to be disturbed. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and what a beauty he saw! It was a real snowfall. “Unbelievable”, he thought. He was overjoyed. He opened his mouth to the sky as if to taste the ice-cream prepared by God for children like him. He ran around and danced. No one was awake except him. He thought of making snowmen as he had seen in the movie. And in a few minutes they were ready, but looked lean and ready to crumble at another touch. He felt tired now out of his excitement and energetic playfulness. He thanked God and smiled. Suddenly he felt his mother’s hand on his head.

“Will my child get up now?” He felt blissful at hearing his mother’s soothing voice. Oh, but it wasn’t hers. His father repeated, “Is my child still asleep?” He opened his beautiful brown eyes and smiled. The sunshine was already waiting for him.

A Younger Sister’s Story…

Sara was gazing at the toffee boxes in a shop like a butterfly gazing at a flower. Scratching her head she wondered which one to choose. A two rupee note was a pretty good amount for a little child like her to be satisfied. She consulted her brother, a year older than her and yet of same taste. He presented his views like an elder brother. ‘That’s coffee bite, fifty paise each, and tastes good’. She replied: ‘But… I think mango bite is a better one’. The shopkeeper was smiling and said softly ‘what a decision you’re making! Be quick. Bigger ones await you in future’. She bought mango bite and popped it in her mouth.

   Both Sara and Ahad went to school together, played together, and fought after regular intervals. As Diwali was approaching, Ahad was thrilled to buy firecrackers. Both went to a small set-up and began selecting the ones they liked. The rockets with a red cap were gorgeous. The next day while lighting the string attached to the rocket, its direction was suddenly changed and it found innocent Sara’s hand to hit and later collapsed at the wall nearby. She was in shock and wept for hours even though the hurt was minor.

   Their father had a rice mill and during winters their pastime was to play hide and seek on the mountain of infinite rice bags, 100 Kg each, covered with a tremendous waterproof blanket. Once they played longer than usual and were so lost in game that they didn’t notice the guard closing the main gate. At a scary instant they realized their plight and began to cry. Hearing muffled cries and shouts, a passer-by informed their father and they were rescued.

   As they reached higher classes, various tutors were assigned for them. But due to their unbridled playfulness, each teacher lost the seriousness after a span of time and fun leaped in, diverting the sole aim of education. Once a very scary tutor came and punished Ahad for his lack of concentration. Sana, the younger sister did nothing but passed a smile that infuriated him and he hit her cheeks later. She was quick in complaining and Ahad was punished again.

   Each passing day the gaps between them seemed to widen. Sana became a hard-working student while her brother was a sports lover rather than a study-lover. After topping in class tenth she went to the excellent school far away and stayed in a hostel. One day, surprisingly Ahad came to meet her with a home-made cake. She was glad with twinkling eyes. He gave her a piece of paper, smiled and left. Just two lines were written there:

Kiss thine dreams, do smile each day,

My adorable sister, Happy Birthday!

Rohan and a Squirrel

Friendship is something that erases boundaries and creates a special bonding. Rohan was a young boy who was quick in making friends. Everyone liked him. The neighbors always chatted about his gentle manners that were scarce in their own children.

One bright day, he saw a squirrel near his window and smiled. He was quite fond of squirrels. In fact his classmates called him squirrel due to his quick movements, combination of mischief and intelligence, and due to his natural love for peanuts. The next day again he saw it running subtly after having sensed some disturbance. This time he peeped out to find that the squirrel's nest was on the outer side of the window. He got a good exercise to do. After all his Mathematics exercises weren't as interesting.

He was about to say 'mom, what do squirrels eat?' when he himself recalled the answer 'ah, yes, peanuts and nuts, etc.' Next day onwards, he began placing the nuts on the window and curiously watching it hold the food and eat charmingly. He tried to imitate it after making sure that nobody was around.

Soon they were friends. He felt a cry of joy when first touching it, holding its hands. It ran away in no time. He kept experimenting with various food items in the house and once observed it sucking the straw attached to a mini fruit juice paper box.

One night a scary storm came and its house was shattered in minute pieces. It entered Rohan's room in search of protection and settled in his cap placed upside down creating a comfortable abode. In the morning he woke up feeling touched at the sight of it resting in his cap and was later devastated to find the nest broken.

He then put the twigs, dry grasses, mud, etc. in one corner and watched it, fresh as dew, preparing the nest once again. It taught him that life is the other name of fresh possibilities and hope. He learnt from the little one's zeal and opened his Mathematics textbook with a newly acquired enthusiasm to complete his work.

A Broken Toy

Brokenness is the Essence of Existence; it’s the Force of Life that Crafts Jewels.

Riya was a shy, little girl who loved dolls. She always held one around her tender arms and requested her aunt to sew its clothes. Once she stitched a beautiful white gown. Riya was extremely delighted to see her little doll wearing a white snowy gown. She was often in quest of ear rings to gift it. They shared a unique relationship. She would talk and share her thoughts with the doll, little it mattered that the lifeless piece couldn’t respond. Secretly she would take her mother’s make-up items and apply, imitating her with an air of beauty consciousness.

   Once she was caught and warned, but her adventurous friendship never ended. She was considered small enough to go to school and not even allowed to go outside to play for the fear of learning new mischiefs. But the inside of her heart felt a strange desire to move out, take the fresh air in and play with friends. Lack of friends compelled her to imagine the doll as one and proceed with an imaginative conversation with the doll.

   That night, she secretly went to the roof-top and looked down. She sighed and felt awed at the small objects downwards. She began measuring a red car through her fingers and felt a sudden flush of felicity. She smiled. She was standing in a dreamlike state on the verge of the roof. That very moment she found her mother standing behind, extremely worried. She carried her in her lap and hugged affectionately. Next day, a cat dragged her doll from her room and chewed it, separating away the spherical head from the body. After finding her doll in that state, Riya wept with two thick streams of tears.  A toy was broken but she felt as if her only friend has deserted her. Some portion of her heart felt an ache as the doll’s remnants were thrown in the dustbin. Her father saw the cloud in her eyes and bought a new doll for his doll.

Such is a happy childhood, innocent with the occasional gushing of tears, smoothened with the love of parents. The pains of broken toys don’t last long. A child’s first encounter with brokenness is that of shock, then acceptance, then forgetfulness. It’s a good lesson for adults as well who fail to forget the brokenness, get immersed in its flood, willing to be carried away to the land of gloom.

So relax, accept, forget and move on,

The currents of bliss will meet you at dawn!

Book Review: The Shadow of the Dark Soul by Sukhmani Gandhi

Sukhmani Gandhi's The Shadow of the Dark Soul is an effective piece honestly showcasing the time we live in. It’s a bold initiative to bring a change in societal perception towards women as well as men.

Dedicated to Jyoti Singh, this novel unveiled the hypocrisy engrained everywhere and the whole idea of 'victim' being associated with women, thereby distant from its actual meaning.

Zayesha, the protagonist of the novel, is a journalist by profession and a character with whom every woman can instantly relate to. Her thoughts and queries are the same that pop up in many minds, for instance, the whole idea of separation of victims of sexual violence, thus debarring a particular population from living a normal life. The debate between good and evil was artistically put up as well. The heart-warming love story restored our faith in happy endings.

Coming to the title of the novel, it's ambiguously reflective of the mental impact left in the soul of an individual who suffered violence of any sort, at any time of his/her life. The shadows symbolize the bad memories that keep chasing the individual, like the scars that never heal. But despite everything, the human tendency to move on instils hope. The novel ends on a positive note with a powerful message that we must spread around: ‘Humanity is within us. Don’t search for it in other people. Just be human.’

The author took a laudable initiative of addressing the evils of our society, like marital rape, issues of identity, violence against women and men, and the bizarre idea that says 'men don't cry'. She gave a vivid image of reality, with a plethora of relative incidents.

I congratulate her as a young forerunner of change and recommend this book to everyone, for a brighter & better world that we can create together.

Channelizing Anger into Creativity

We all belong to the amazing human race and are prone to anger just as much as hunger, love, emotions, etc. The only thing that makes a difference is how we take it: whether we make it or break it. Just imagine a man discovering a great hidden secret in a fit of rage. How interesting it would be. Unfortunately, many of us end up breaking things in anger (Bollywood style) or splattering away harsh, unintended words that are hurtful to those whom we love.

Once, in my carefree school days, I was punished harshly for not bringing a particular text book to school. The reason was that I was completely absorbed in reading it seriously and just forgot to pack it in my bag. After that unpleasant experience I was burning with rage and wanted to get out of my misery. I tore the pages of my notebook when the exams ended. The result was a paper house that looked cute. The crushed paper attained greater beauty than ever before.

The quest for beauty is an incredible task, for beauty lies in almost everything, but is veiled. Life is a unique race where disappointments chase us and anger is its by-product. You wait for people. They seem less caring. At times, waiting becomes suffocating. At that very instant if someone reads you four lines of heart-rending poetry, wouldn't that be amazing? If you are promised something and at the very next moment your expectations are thwarted, bitterness alone remains in your heart. At that moment, if a drawing is scribbled, mirroring your state of mind, won’t it be exciting?

The worst experiences of human life include losing one’s loved ones. The burning and exploding lava of anger and devastation is extremely hard to overcome. The truth in fact is that nothing is impossible. The theory of ‘Never say I can’t. Strive and achieve what you want’ can be helpful. The act worth respecting in such a situation would be to create something long lasting, that will become an emblem of our emotions and will be equally relevant in other’s lives as well. A metaphorical Taj Mahal can be constructed anywhere, anytime.

So tomorrow if your bus comes late, or something happens, use the tool of creativity to comfort yourself. Capture images, draw lines, write songs, crush the paper and create. Don’t forget to take a deep breath or drink cool water. Well, this applies to us equally. Let’s beat this anger together since we’re here in these conflicting times and need to do something constructive.

Photocapturasis Syndrome

Photocapturasis Syndrome is a serious disorder spreading its wings and conquering the minds. The patients are concerned boundlessly with clicking photographs and even forget to enjoy that particular moment. The sole aim becomes to capture the moment and further upload it on social-networking sites for the world to see and feel jealous.

But in such cases, enjoyment is brutally murdered and confined to an invisible cage. Once while visiting a museum, I felt a powerful urge to keep on clicking photographs and later that evening the realization came that I missed the sole pleasure of observation and focus on delicate beauties, for the mind was bent on extinguishing endless cravings of photography.

The cure of this ailment lies in reducing the magnetic effects of photography by using the God-gifted eyes. For a photograph once clicked and seen a few times loses its worth and is thrown mercilessly in the storehouse of memories. But the sights, most of them, are preserved in the deep ocean like pearls in oyster shells.

And, how wonderful are human eyes that no camera can compete or capture as efficiently.

We see the sea, the ebb and flow,

But a camera copies, not with as natural a glow.  

Tarang 2015

A three-day fest at Lady Shri Ram College was worth attending with multi-colored events and a collage of rainbow like felicity. 16th, 17th and 18th January were the dates engraved in the heart’s history of unforgettable memories. The fun activities included skateboarding, cane and bamboo workshops, beg-borrow-steal, treasure hunt, nukkad natak, quizzes, creative writing, elocution competitions along with the melodious events, art, dance and singing, etc. Adding glamour to evening events arrived Zaeden, Nucleya, Raeth and Raghu Dixit, who painted the atmosphere with fun unbounded and limitless.

The beg-borrow-stealers were busy asking for biscuits, rings, mobile cover, etc. and the treasure hunters ran from one place to another in search of clues. The skateboarding workshop was an amazing thing for many, and even though each fall was painful it taught the importance of learning by falling. The contagious zeal and passion of the Nukkad-Natak performers was worth noticing. The rock-stars with musical instruments added to the atmosphere a sense of universality of music. Despite Delhi winters, the weather was superfine for the occasion and the sunshine was seen in the attire of the students gathered to celebrate.

Both the Hindi and English creative writing events were great and poetry recitations touched the heart. The diverse flavors were representative of rainbow-like varieties and richness of the mind of each participant. All the events showcased the talent of today’s youth and willingness to make the world a better, much better place.

The dreams of youth, when they support the truth,
Miracles happen and the world is changed.

The celebrations ended but with the fresh hopes of welcoming Tarang 2016. The end is inevitable, and so is hope.

Are You Free?

Freedom? Let’s explore it. Does it allow you to kill your neighbor or rape anyone? No, your freedom ought not to hurt other’s sentiments. Freedom is discipline. It comes through equality and is comprised of morality. In today’s context, you are free, if a thousand expensive brands do not magnetically attract you, your friend’s opinion comes below your own, and none can stop you from following the right path of truth. You’re not bound or enslaved through your desires and wishes. And you do not consider money above human life.

The birds in the sky are free to pick up food for their survival. But some of us confine them to a cage and render their wings useless. And just so, in today’s world, many children and young girls are trafficked and dehumanized. Many childhoods are lost and burnt by the evil predators of our world, snatching away the freedom of others.

There are borders everywhere, human-constructed walls restricting humanity itself. Be it between nations, states, cities, houses, etc. We ought to realize that as humans, we must be united to be free. Caste, class, race and religion boundaries ought to dissolve to help ourselves attain freedom from selfish leaders who strive only for individual prosperity.

Freedom comes when we equally respect and value others, when we refuse to judge others or stay aloof within the four walls talking to ourselves. It comes through participation in community. A woman who is fully clothed can still enjoy freedom just as others do. We don’t have to impress others by our choices. We can’t be perfect in life but we can strive to know the art of living. Freedom is when a person’s abilities become more important than his/her clothing or gender, when we learn to react patiently to others’ opinion and when life becomes meaningful through hard work and not just in making money.

In conclusion, I’d like to say that we can talk endlessly of what freedom is and what it means to each of us, but there is no point to such discussions if we do not try to realize this state within this world in general and our lives in particular. So take that first step, look within yourself to understand where you unknowingly restrict yourself and move beyond your own boundaries to be free!

Why Literature?

It was a simple day, same sun, same roads, same traffic and same fear of getting late for the first lecture. The only unique event was a guest lecture by Ashok Vajpeyi, a poet, essayist, remarkable cultural and arts administrator and a former civil servant. He was also a Sahitya Academy Award winner. The lecture was titled ‘Sahitya Kyun?’, ‘Why Literature?’

   It was imbued with meaning as well as humour. He talked about this race where we go on and on without realizing our purpose. Days and nights and days and nights, as if we are all lost in a dream. We talk and keep blabbering about anything and everything. While encountering the silent people we wonder whether they have some problem or are secretly engaged in evil planning. A famous phrase lighted our faces ‘Bole bahaut magar kaha kya?’, ‘Spoke a lot but said what?’ He went on that we have so many varieties and brands nowadays that we remain confused. Houses have been converted to storehouses with abundant items, not values and homely feelings. Truth has shrunken and lies are expanding each day. The level of success depends on how confidently we can tell a lie and deceive others. In every election politicians just talk about materialistic development and advancement instead of solving the cultural and social problems. Each day we encounter violence against women, minorities, north-east Indians, children, etc. We see and see but seem to have lost the courage to speak up against evil and to do something. Big lies of politicians have disastrous effects. Iraq was destroyed on the pretext of having weapons of mass destruction. ‘Love Jihad’ has been coined to keep the fire bubbling in the hearts of two communities and never let them unite. Art is needed to unify mankind and remove all barriers. The process of ‘othering’ can be only nullified by thinking mankind as a whole and not fragmented pieces. We have started distinguishing people of different sex, race, class, community, nations as ‘others’ but we ought to reconsider our views. He went on saying that in today’s time we have lost the valour to stand alone. Gandhi ji walked alone and so did all great men who brought revolutions. He cracked several jokes centred on him as a common man and knew the art of an artist who can laugh at himself to ease the load of life. An hour passed in minutes. His lecture ended with Ghalib’s two bright lines

   ‘Bas ke dushwar har kaam ka aasan hona,

    Aadmi ko bhi mayassar nahi insaan hona’

Though it’s not easy to be a true human being but we can at least try to be better.   

The charm of hearing a voice of truth ended as he finished but his words kept twinkling in my mind establishing a link between all humans and the power of literature.