Author: Alka

I was interviewing a maid for household work. She will look after my household for few hours.
I was questioning her.
Where does she live?
She belongs to? Ah Which state?
How many children she…..?
Who was her previous employer?
Can she give me the phone number of her ex-employer?
(I crossed checked her credentials immediately.)
I asked for her photograph.
I asked for her permanent address.
I enquired about her family.
I enquired about her health.

I went to a polling booth to elect those who look after this country.
Candidate’s credentials : Who’s got the time?
Candidate’s social work record: Who’s got the inclination to
crosscheck?
Candidate’s previous work as a legislature: O! Its all so
complicated!
Candidate’s educational background: How to FIND OUT about that?
Can Candidate sing the National Anthem?
O yes! I heard most of them can not. But who cares!
Do they care about the inflation rate and GDP?
You are such a BIG bore. Why are you inquiring intently about a mere member of a legislature? You need to chill out girl! Don’t ask such taxing questions and spoil the evening.
Come on, let’s have fun.

We have never had it better. We (read metros or some developed towns chicks) are being given the education on par with boys, our parents do not stop us from following any profession, in school and college we have a good time, select and drop boyfriends at our whims and fancy. While choosing boyfriends, we do not want slightest interference from parents, but if we run into trouble, of course, our wellbeing is pops’ responsibility. They must be there to clear the mess and hold the hands of their cute innocent daughters! We love running to mammas and papas if we are in our thirties!

Then deciding moment comes. Sorry not for us, but for our parents.
They search a “Mota Murga”, who stands the test of the most of the societal trials. Like a docile good daughters, we succumb to our parents’ choice. Our boyfriends get a tearjerker a lá Bollywood style as a parting gift. They never get over us in their entire lifetime. Disgusting fellows!

O! But watch us during our marriage. Whatever our moms buy for us, and spends on that occasion is not enough. Those langhas, lachas, or for whatever names they are known is welcome. This object will never be worn more than 2-3 occasions in our entire life. We poor things have these garish garments thrust upon us.

The jewelry, how we love these yellow and white objects. No! No! these things will not be suitable for office wear. But none can bet the good feeling of having it in the safe.

Who will ever understand how hard it is to strike a balance between modernity and traditionalism? Another irresistible thing is “Kanyadaan”. How can anybody defy the customs prevalent for thousands of years!

O! We poor delicate frail objects! Our shoulders are too fragile to bear the burden of responsibility of our parents. But when it comes to our rights ( read if our parents have purchased a substandard gift for our in-laws or husband) within minutes our shoulders are tougher than Arnold Schwarzenegger’s.
Its our Inherent right to extract gifts from parents on every possible occasion.

When someone goes for sex determination test, we still have the gall to lament the fact that it’s discriminatory in nature. And we neatly sidestep this “In life, there is no right without duty, and no privilege without obligation.”

For us, modern Indian girls, we are having our cake and eating it too. Though we are in micro minority, but we are setting the trends for other disguised Behenjis.

He is a bright teen. The problem is he won’t try to gel with others. He gives a damn to peer pressure. Forget about succumbing to belong to a group. Nobody, especially girls, leaves him with his peace. When you are one of the top scorers in the class, get selected into your district’s basketball and cricket team, play guitar and Casio, your frame crosses that six feet benchmark and you are reasonably good looking, you won’t have to try too hard for girls’ attention .

He doesn’t know why, but school’s most popular and smartest girl thinks she has the intellectual property right on him. He automatically belongs to her. This notion of hers is final and absolute. It’s unfathomable to her beautiful head, how can anyone be disinterested in her? She used all the tricks tucked under her slim belt on him. Finally she started sitting at the last most bench in the classroom. Behind him! This way she can always watch him without denting her fragile ego. She is enjoying this novelty in her life for the first time. Fierce interest is not solely responsible for her change in behavior, but right now he is posing a challenge. She has full faith in her charm and beauty.

Finally not trying to be intruding, I asked this young man (who happens to be my nephew too) why is he so immune to the most popular girl’s magic?
“O! She keeps on ridiculing Arun.”
“Is Arun your best friend?”
“No!”
“Then what irks you?”
“Arun has lost one of his ears in an accident and his shoulder blades are not straight. He slightly stoops. That does not mean everyone gets a license to tease him. Tomorrow this could happen to me too. ”
I know my boy will face hard time in future…….

Scene I

I remember talking to my childhood friend. Prashant works in the marketing department of a multinational firm. He was narrating me an incident. Like all young men, he was on high after visiting a hip and happening night club in Mumbai. The girls swinging to the music, danced with him too, though he did not entice them with money, as others were doing. What a personality boost for a young man? Utterly at peace with himself and world, he was roaming aimlessly with a friend. A man approached them,
“Good night sir! How are you?”
Of course they were fine. Nothing could go wrong with those two bachelors at those moments.
“We are fine. Thank you.” In generosity he extended his hand.
“Sir I have a good thing for you, if you care to have a look.”
What harm an inanimate thing could possibly do?
“OK, where is that thing? ”
“Sir, just take the right turn.”
They came across with a girl, still in her adolescence.
“Very fine thing sir! Just spare a glance in her direction!”
Those young men summoned whatever acting power they possess. They passed it off as everyday phenomenon of their executive life. Lest anybody caught them behaving like blushing schoolboys in their mid twenties!
“Yaar! Go and find some other customer……” He tried to percolate some coldness in his tone.
“Sir, just see her once!”
Without replying they walked away. He caught up with them.
“Just see her once, Sir!”
Both of them tried to turn tail and fled from the scene of action.

Scene II

Ashish is in USA right now, writing hundreds and hundreds of lines, termed as code, in front of a dumb PC. A gentleman wished to meet him, when he was in India. He did not have to use too much of his brain to sort out the purpose of the visit.

The gentleman kept inviting him to his house for tea / lunch / dinner/ breakfast, whatever Ashish could manage! Deadlines always rescue software guys! Deadlines seem too deadly. Ashish tried this for the sake of being polite.
But the closing date shield failed to ward off the gentleman.

Ashish is famous for his one liners. He don’t need any sharp Rampuri knife to cut anybody to size! But hats off to the gentleman’s persistence. He was made of sterner stuff.
Changing strategy, he talked about meeting on the neutral ground. In the end The Gentleman too revealed the trump card, to fix his daughter’s marriage to an eligible bachelor…
“Just see the girl once!”

I always give due reverence to my electronic gadgets (Whatever I have), clothes, sandals, jewelry (read artificial, oxidized, chunky…). Take good care of all of them. Forever trying to protect them from lecherous stares and black magic of vicious relatives.

Possessions stimulate my mind to greatest possible height. When I have to protect my attires the mind secretes ultra creative juices. It produces whitest of lies. Sometimes the beggar ends up lending me her clothes or at least the promise of crediting me one for a short duration!

To my amazement, pretexts make me look so cute, vulnerable and endearing to many! Honesty, truth, logics always put people off. They find you overbearing overwhelming and above all feminist! Who wants these adjectives? Certainly not me!

I can not understand one thing, every time I am down and out, I try to hug my finest jewelry, my best clothes, my branded TV (IMPORTED ONE), my pointed heel sandals. BUT they NEVER talk back! On my depressive bouts, the people, who understand me, talk to me, hold me and embrace me, are the same to whom I make excuses!

But this will not dampen my spirits. I have full faith in my belongings. One day a brand new technology WILL develop and my accumulated inventory WILL talk to me, console me, pat me. I will never need my people around me.

Watching it on TV was a truly horrifying experience. If I invest two hours in anything I expect something or to be more precise – results. What the result would be is debatable. What if I have a child and given 10 years of my life to the child? In the end, some obscure teacher from any maniacal background enters into his life, bangs his head with another fellow student in the fit of lunacy. And noting is left for the psychopath to bang again.

What is the child’s crime? O! The child has bunked school to evade the ruthless beating of the same teacher. Ultimately all that is left is my child’s lifeless body in my arms. How am I supposed to behave?

I could not shrug off that image; the small bodies of helpless children. The wretched father was cuddling his son’s body. He could enfold only one at a time.
Life is not already smiling at him. The surroundings reveal his background. Maybe he won’t get the luxury of grieving for his sons in peace and seclusion. Every-day’s struggle would drag him back to work. At the end of the day, maybe when his aching and tired body would demand a well earned rest, his heart would clamor for the sound of his lost sons. Hitherto annoying voices. But now…

He might make one desperate plea to God to hear to the daily squabble of his small sons, their raised voices or cute ridiculous talks. Just one more time! He may promise God ‘it’ as his last wish. Perhaps then his aching body would put him to a dreamless sleep.

I will continue with my daily routine till I see another ghastly news and think of taking it out on my blog, confusing myself as a fine, sensitive, empathetic human being.

I was reading somewhere about a brand new Hindi movie. Its USP is – its actress was given a contemporary New York look! Wow! What an achievement! I wonder whether those who ruled us before August 15, 1947 have read this or not? They might feel tempted to push their contemporary London look. We are lagging behind in taking inspiration from our previous rulers.

I am looking for the concerned persons and their mail ids. I want to put forward a valuable suggestion. Should “Bharat Ratna” be not jointly conferred on the dress designer, the hair stylist and of course the actress herself? She did India proud by donning contemporary New York look.

When I was writing all this suddenly a voice asked
“What’s your problem? What’s wrong in having any contemporary damn look?”
“NOTHING” I answered back.
“Then why so much venom spitting on a poor hapless girl?”
“ My PROBLEM IS WHY RIDICULE SOMEONE, NOT DONNING A CONPEMPORARY NEW YORK LOOK!”
The voice did not reply till now.

A river of cherished memories
Flowing gently in your heart.

I Tried,
Inundating it with poison of jealousy
Hope, the river was not
Desecrated.
Memories, still dancing
As waves, when
Wind kisses the river.

I Tried,
Throwing stones of insults,
Raising a storm.
Hope, gentle ripples of the past
Still lifting you to
Greater heights.

I Tried,
Emptying all the gems, hidden
Deep in the heart of the river.
Hope, they are still with you
As precious possessions.

I Tried,
Butchering, every lovely course
Of the river, you showed me.
Hope, the myriad streams of the river
Flowing uninterruptedly,
In your memory.

I Tried,
Piercing the spirit
Of the river, with venomous sword.
And washing away my pain with
The Blood, dripping from the sword.
Hope, the spirit still bathes you
With sweet scents, untouched by
Trail of any blood.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
–John Donne

Sunset and evening star
And one clear call for me,
Lurking on the horizon,
My unchallengeable destination.

There is music
Still left in me.
Romancing the impending darkness,
Seemingly an unpalatable indulgence!

What about promises made
To eyes –
Learning hope?
To parched fields –
Waiting since eternity for rivers
To change course?
To invincible mountains –
Challenging to match their greatness?
To hydra headed monsters –
Raising their heads in every nook and corner?
No! Dying now is expensive indulgence!

Small voices whispered,
Giving me a name
My grandpa, his grandpa, my granduncle�
These samplings grown barely
A few feet above
The ground.
Asking, probing, seeking
Not a pursuit of infinite intelligence!
Perceiving, exploring pour
As naturally as rain
From the sky.

Who says I have to die?
I will live forever in every
Inquisitive mind.

I am ready to listen
To that clear call

A face devoid of love and grace,
A hateful, hard and successful face,
Ah! A successful face!
Shooing away, all the
Demonic societal insecurities.
At a lowly price of
Shrugging off the liability, called
Self-esteem, opening
A stairway to elusive dream – flapping my wings
Amongst the Cream de la cream!

Hatefulness, hardness and inelegance, oh! The package
Compel the river of my creativity
To tumble incessantly.
Itching artistic best, a fiend
Feigning an
Angel’s apparels.

The face, unfailingly delivers
The promise –
Of patting
My faculties into a blissful
Slumber.
Of red carpeting
My self-worth, exchanging
Minuscule climaxes.
Of padding
The tiles with best acoustics, blocking
The echo of my conscience.

I think a lot about this profession called teaching. Most of the present herds of teachers are in this profession, not by choice. Imagine, if most of us were provided with choices of being an engineer, doctor, software professional, a corporate yuppie or a mere teacher, what would be our choice? You don’t have to be very creative to visualize the respect an engineer, a doctor, a software professional…get from family, society, future in-laws and current and ex – would be-s and could be-s.

I had to carry out a survey among the various schoolteachers for a project. I was busy preparing the questionnaire. Suddenly I thought of this question. ‘If you were given a chance to choose your profession again, what would be your choice?’ I had to show the questionnaire and subsequent result to my project leader. I was secretly very happy with the list of questions I had on my register. This particular question was my favorite. I was eager to see the response. And more than that how my Project leader would sum up my findings.

Ok, the due date was coming nearer. All of us behaved like schoolchildren with our project leader. If he was about to take class, and we tried to squeeze in some drops of water down our throat in scorching heat of Rajasthan, and he entered the class a few minutes earlier, we happily forgot our thirst. Quenching thrist was not worth it. Our parched throats could wait. We ran back to class.

Well the due date had arrived. I was armed with my findings. He started to discuss the final results. It seemed a long wait. What the heck! My name starts with “A”. Why was he taking so much time? Suspense was building up inside me. For the first time I was experiencing the feeling ‘butterflies in my stomach’. Finally it seemed that my name was being spoken.

He asked the whole class, “can you figure out how many persons one would meet in his / her teaching career, if it covers a period of mere 20 years?”
The class was busy finding statistics. One stood up.
“Sir we need more data.”
“ Ok if a teacher takes 5 classes everyday. And each class consists of at least 50 children?”
“Sir, 250 persons everyday!”
“In which job, you think a person comes in contact with so many impressionable minds?”
Dumb silence!
“ See, a teacher really has the power to leave impression on so many young minds. Nobody, in any profession, comes across a large number of unadulterated minds for prolong period. ”

For the first time I realized, in this profession you are not dealing with text files, documents or machines. You are not coming in contact with any damn inanimate object! You are getting the opportunity to write on a blank slate. Just imagine, how many lives you are going to deal with? You are entering in a frail world. The echo of every careless action will be heard till eternity! Tread on this path delicately.

I have noticed certain trends that girls follow to make guys fall head over heels in love with them. And it works! This process transcends everything. No matter what is the background of guy, how highly educated he is, what responsible or powerful position he has, no matter whether he is (in)famous, evolved or ‘unevolved’, head of a country or a sweeper, an army general or editor, intellectual or moron. Just have faith in certain procedures, and you will leave him gasping for more!
You don’t need to be beautiful, stunning, intelligent and articulate. Just being a girl will do. Girl of any age, shape, size, caste, creed or color!
1. The first and foremost thing is never have one person as a boyfriend. A little bit of competition will always make him sit up and take notice. His mind will always be filled with yours thoughts. He will come up with something and try to fill your mind with his thoughts. But don’t fall for this trap. Always put it across, he is just one among hordes of boyfriends.
2. Whenever, visit him, pretend to take care of him and his household. Scold him for being shabby or neat, whatever is the case. Don’t even think for a minute that he will resent this. Whether you are a corporate executive or typical Bahenji , he will be completely bowled over with this diaphanous wife-y act.
3. Always make him feel that he is not enough for you. You are looking for something more. You know that something extra.
4. Be generous in using your body. Its one of your lethal weapons. Don’t save this “Brahmastra” for marriage bed for whoever will be your would be.
5. If he is interested in other girls, then shower him with your phone calls and kisses. But never for a minute, let your daily routine get disturbed. He is not worth it. Continue with you goals and “other” activities.
6. Let go of your self-respect, if he is useful to you in any way. Make sure to destroy, whatever little bit of self-respect left in him.
7. Never show laxity in reminding him, what a good gal you are, and he really don’t deserve you. Actually you are doing him a favor by sticking with him.
Gals try out these cool tricks. And enjoy life. Life is too short to waste on a one single guy.

Jennifer Capriati was playing at the US Open, 2003. I was watching her. Each of her actions was in great harmony with others. I was witnessing a great display of mind and body co-ordination; the rhythm her legs were showing, the fierce concentration in her eyes, how her mind was anticipating the opponent’s moves and body was slavishly obeying the mind! Although she did not win the crown, but still her image stayed in my mind. I was experiencing a strange kind of elation. I love watching sports. This was not the first match, I was watching. Then why this sensation of pure joy, that something good had happened to me?
Why could not I fathom my feelings? Definitely, I was not turning into a lesbian! But channel flicking came to my rescue. Yes! I was witnessing something, which was not a make believe world. I was viewing something, where you can not fake your shots, lobs, backhand, forehand……
You cannot get your way by projecting forged cuteness & loveliness. Donning accessories, acquiring unblemished complexion, a neat piece of silicon job at right places will not impress these spectators. Only plain hard work will do its magic. No doubt, my heart was filled with joy. Years of continued hard work, genuineness, grit, grime and determination are still appreciated by so many people all over the world. You are an achiever without the backdrop of exploitation, without fooling others, without shamming anything.

He is a soothsayer of repute,
Whose utterings are taken in without dispute.
People throng around him,
As stars to the moon.
He listens to their hearts’ whispers,
And soothes their soul…
They return home feeling,
Better equipped to deal with the future.
But, I?
No I don’t need his divine predictions
I know what lies ahead for me
in the womb of the future.
Sometimes I have to climb mountains,
Sometimes I will be too blind
to see any silver lining on dark clouds.
Sometimes even my own shadow
will leave me when I need it most,
Sometimes I will carry my own expectations
as a load…
But I will welcome all this…
Because…
I have to watch the spectacular views
after climbing the mountain,
I have to learn the difference
between hope and despair,
I have to rise from my own ashes,
I have to learn the value of my own expectations,
Yes Mr. Soothsayer
Excuse me, from your uttering, because
I’m high on this wine called ‘Life’

Always grew layers of slime
Around my attitude.
This male species
On the earth,
Is good for nothing.
I gathered this muck
Since
I forget to remember.

Then I met him,
His crystal clear
Jet black eyes,
Staring into mine.
Without threatening me,
Just staring.

I felt his petal soft
Warm gaze,
On my face.
It seems
Some of the ice,
Around my heart is,
melting.

His touch was
Not fake,
Absolutely unadulterated.
Always rubs away
Some of the layers,
Of my slimy stance.

His smile always
Reaches his eyes,
Never dries up around the corners
Of his lips.

His embrace,
Hauls out an assurance,
He will always need me
In his life.

His embrace
Murmurs,
Even when your own
Shadow leaves you,
You can always
Count on me.

My sister in law
Worries on my each birthday,
What gift she should
Bought for me.
I fail to convince her
She has already presented me,
The gift of my life
My nephew.

Sometimes, going through your normal chores, you can come across an interesting analogy. If you are living in a metro, daily routine becomes everyday survival. I remember one of my office colleagues declaring, For me “Moksha” means having ample time to grab a bite,called breakfast, in the morning , and ability to regularly secure a seat in a DTC bus while commuting to and fro.” I fully empathize with her condition. One fine day, I was just having a great time surfing different TV channels. I watched MTV, Channel V, Trendz, Star World and Zee MGN, attributing few minutes to every channel. Coincidentally, that time, all the channels were showing female bodies, with trendy (read scantily clad) clothes. That reminded me of Marx and Lenin. They must be smiling, wherever they are.

Communism and socialism aspire to see a classless, casteless society, characterized by lack of individualism. Everything has to be done for a common social cause. I saw the culmination of these principles while surfing TV. Be it MTV, Channel V, Trendz, Star World etc. The female bodies were looking as if they were freshly rolled out cars from a BMW factory. All of them were standardized to minutest details. They were exhibiting luscious pouting lips, shiny skins emerging by the usage of some magical skin toners, blusher highlighting cheekbones, mascara giving their lashes an appearance of butterfly made of cheap rubber, ridiculously similar proportion of vital statistics and gym toned bodies. Even, they had devised a standard combination for dresses and hairdo. A particular dress would be followed by a peculiar hairstyle, jewelry and sandals. It was difficult to make out who the ”artist” was till the camera showed close ups.

I kept searching for individuality ( read capitalism) but I was consistently accosted by socialism. We read in various magazines about the centers of socialism (read cosmetic surgery clinics). Here they make sure, that you lose all the attributes of individualism and become one with masses. Esteemed newspapers screaming everyday from the sacred page three and standardizing fun, food, entertainment & parties. They are also helping us in determining whether we have arrived, by providing the barometer. If you are sinking deeply in the myriads of confusion of idea of success, please consult this page. Last time I checked, they had come out with four or five criteria. 1. Having your private jet, and yacht 2. Villas in different countries. 3. Gifting jewelry to friends. 4. Owning a Ferrari & rest I forgot.

Each available media is standardizing all possible things. Be it success, looks, fun, holidaying, eating joints, apparels, houses, moms, dads or kids & designer marriages; socialism has spread its tentacles far and wide. The message is loud and clear. Be one of us, or risk being left alone. Who said that socialism has died from most of the countries or it is isolated and scattered? It is very mush alive and successfully breaking in, in the very heart of capitalism.

Cocooning myself
In a moving train,
I prepared my eyes,
For scenic views.
Each and every
Nurtured and un-nurtured
Beauty pass by, as a
Dream sequence.
Scorching sun was,
Bathing the vast stretch of pastures,
Leaving my compartment untouched,
O! The pastures looked golden green!
Wind was blowing
Bending the visible foliage,
Leaving my tresses, untangled,
O! Stems and leaves were dancing rhythmically
To a soundless divine tune!
Lashing rain was,
Falling on trees,
Leaving my compartment un-drenched,
O! Those trees looked mysterious.
Impending storm was,
Giving a royal fight, impartially,
Threatening the existence of everything,
O! Its so scary!

I remember that day. It was September 14th, time was around 8:30 PM. I was at a dingy PCO, talking to the person, for whom I had the tenderest feeling. I loved chatting with him, sharing anything with him, unburdening myself whenever I felt like it. Though I had inkling, that today our talks might acquire a special dimension. But I was not sure. Amrit had warned me in advance, he hated emotional confusions. And if I had any special feeling for him, I must spell it out. I was expecting his questions. He kept asking about my feelings. And I kept saying; I liked him, I respected him, whenever he was happy I was floating in the air. The minute I heard his discordant notes, I was agitated like nothing. I just wanted to wipe out all his troubles, as a person wiped his sweat from forehead with a hanky. I cared for him. Etc . etc. etc. But he was not satisfied. His cynical reply was “I can say all this to Suzy” (his pet dog). In my haste, I blurted out, “OK If caring for you, being concerned with your happiness & despair, sharing almost everything with you, doesn’t mean I love you then what does it signify? Of course I love you”. Suddenly I heard the lighthearted laughter of Amrit, over the phone. And the realization dawned on me, that I had said, for the first time, what I never uttered to anyone in my entire life. Though, I dreamt of saying it to someone very special, someday, somewhere but certainly not announcing it, from dingy glass chamber of a PCO, which was overcrowded, people tapping impatiently over the door, signaling me to finish my talks soon, some eying me suspiciously. I definitely dreamt of another setting, and the person should be present in three dimensions. At least, I thought these were the minimum requirements. Till that day, we did not even have the slightest physical contact. And over a stupid instrument, holding hands was impossible. But no, nothing diminished my happiness. That phone receiver looked like the cutest thing in the world. I put it gently in the cradle and came out, engrossed in my own world, oblivious to my surroundings. I always knew, he was not a time specific, place specific, goal specific and peer pressure specific entity to me. There are billions and billions of people in this world, but for me there is only one person, Amrit. And finally, I found him. I no longer was a wanderer.

Expectant faces,
Fearful faces,
Peeping out of windows.
Office hours had JUST begun
But how could life be over?
Suddenly, definitely, precisely
And clinically for everyone.
We were just balancing
The morning coffee in one hand,
And files in another?
A lightening struck,
To plunge everything
And everyone in darkness.
Would we melt together
With concrete and mortar?
Was it our destiny
To be one with steel girdles?
And not with mother earth?
What had we done
In our lives,
To not deserve a few feet
Of the earth?
But to evaporate
With the vapor of morning coffee?