Bored reportage…soldier’s death

Bored reportage…soldier’s death

Picture this-
23 year old, vivacious, willing to put everything on the line, with the sword in your hand, ready to stab your enemy through his skin..Now face-to-face with your rival-swords crossed..blood red eyes-ready to tear him apart just with those deadly looks, for having done the undoable, unforgivable, unthinkable. The kingdom you are trying to protect is under attack from the uncouth admiral Corporate Singh Dhillon. Dhillon has had the gumption to stage a mutiny against you and your people and sell your land, kill your King. He has the resources and the man power to bring you down, with a call. He can strip you off your badges of honour by calling out to your King. But you are a soldier and you would fight till death gets the better of you and justice is delivered.
You can see Corporate Singh coming at you at a pace, that makes you feel, he would pass through your chest. He pulls the reigns of his German horse, stopping at an arms length. He begins to threaten your day lights away and inflict shame and fear in your mighty justice-seeking heart. And oh, he knows it well, he will never get around with these tactics. He gets off his black beauty and removes his eye wear, to look at you directly and confront his own demon. “You bloody pesky rat of a soldier, what did you think you were doing in my private court? You thought you would go and tell your King and he would crown you the next prince for letting him into his own assassination plans?” Corporate Singh shudders.

You being made of substance that defies hollow threats, preferred refined silence over hostility. You would certainly not return his unsophisticated mannerisms in his own ways. But you have done your bidding.
At the battle field, the clamour of swords fills the air. Your swords cross, eyes stuck out, ready to tear his chest apart, you get a call from your King who says, “Ruchira, you cannot write this story. You need a confirmation from the Corporate Singh, if he actually has plans to assassinate the king. We don’t want to publish speculative stories.”

In the middle of nowhere
Not in the rains, nor under the exploding suns

Not in the dimlit corner of my mind,neither in the restless heart
Do i find myself..do i find myself
Nor in the idea, nor in the thought
Never in the prose,never in the poetry
Do i seek myself
In knowledge, and in ambiguity
In the surreal and the dream-like
I fail to find myself
in the mind of others
in the opinion of the insignificant
in the cacophony of the shrunken hearts
i find the fearful little me
in the perfect and in the false embraces
in the careless wayward lives
i find the shameful me
in weakness and decay
in folly and slay
do i find the repentant me

Work life..life at work.colors vivid colors that paint the canvas of my life

Different is the world indeed, that I am a part of, than the world I came from…
Work life is pretty much all you think of now, its where you look for the beauty and wonder. Its no more in books and flowers and mountains or in sweet company of friends.
One needs to evolve and perhaps I have been thrown into the black hole where there is no other way but to evolve.But I love every bit of it-reporting stories in shortest time possible, staring at my name in the paper every morning. There is something just sooo amazing about that. I never stop and thank all the many forces that make this event possible. But like always, this is not my destination, as much as I would want it to be. Unprepared that I am, yet to face the stark world of journalism, I perhaps need more training.
I don’t know, if I am a great reporter, though I write well. What I know is, its never too late in trying to be one, as long as the opportunity presents itself to me.
Bond markets, is not something I ever thought of reporting and covering in my wildest dreams. Other journalists say it’s a very technical beat for someone to start off with. I cannot disagree a lot. The difficulty of the beat baffles me and at the same time excites me too.
I have started meeting people who matter to my work. Initially it would be an ardous task to get over the inhibition and fear of making a fool out of myself in front of people who make and lose money in taking calls in this vast bond market, which is still unorganized.
But slowly, I have learnt about some of the issues concerning the beat and atleast I can pretend to be knowing now and get away with being street smart. I think I appreciate myself for being just superb in overcoming these jitters and trying to push myself an extra mile each day.
I have to say, I have learnt perhaps much more at work than I ever could in my entire life of education. I just realized the futility of our education system, that never has made anyone skillful or employable so to say and has never inculcated curiosity or willingness to learn and know. Workplace is the greatest school I have been to, and though sometime I would go away, the experience has changed me irreversibly.
People around me are so well versed with their areas of specialization and so precise, that initially I would feel extremely timid and insignificant. But I have met some of the nicest and wittiest people here and the kind of person I am, fallen in love with a few.
There is Nishanth, extremely naughty, and as much cheerful. You can hear him laughing from across a football field.He is tall and cute(and married). Then there is Maulik, a typical Gujju who cannot think about a girl, without thinking about her fathers’ bank balance. He thinks he is shrewd and pretends like one, but miserably fails. He can talk about the most innate things in the world and you would still find it amusing. He is obsessed with perfection and happily frustrated because of that and so is his friend,Sagar. An absolute freak, stupid but funny, but damn g rounded and prolific in work. I love his quality of being a people’s person.
Oh, how could I forget Ram, the crafty Punju, who speaks like he learnt his languages from Shakespeare himself. He talks in this theatrical fashion which gives him an air of education of etiquettes and manners. He is one of the closest friends of mine here and I totally adore him for his sense of humour. An absolutely awesome mimic who imitates this sardar who picked his nose in the local train and how he got furious when Ram pulled the book he was reading closer in front of his face. Such incidents galore and you are in splits when you have his honorable company. I have a feeling I would have dated him, had he been younger.
But now I talk about the guy, I fell in love with, and (well, only he can tell his side of the story :D)…Shailesh…the cutest guy in this office and also probably the loveliest human being here. Its amazing how I do not have anything extraordinary to talk about him, like I did about the other characters. Probably that is what sets him apart, that he is unique in just being him, just being one of the many others. He is just there waiting to help someone in need of a favour from him. Not getting quotes and stories being chopped are matters of life and death to him. I have fallen in love with men highly intelligent, highly suave, simple, good looking, sometimes mavericks. Honestly, I cannot categorise Shailesh. I love him, probably for just being an honest friend, for being someone I can talk to and someone I can be ordinary to, who does not expect me to be terrific in beauty or brains or mannerisms or conversations, who admits I am shorter than him and laughs about it and yet, somewhere just accepts me and loves me for the damn sweet little nothing that I am…

PS;I have an absolutely fun loving roomate, who I cant wait to go back to, at the end of every day..who mothers me, loves me,hates me, amkes me feel, life is not all that ruined, when she is around.she fills my world with sounds of laughter and tears of joy, even when our lives are marred with endless issues, that need resolution..and we ask life to WAIT :D

what day is it?Dry day

Its that day in the year, when I cannot drink… Dry day-October 2nd. Oops, I was supposed to remember the more important things from the day. Wasn’t I? Perhaps I do and reluctantly so.
Every person, who has been to school, has been shoved down his throat, lessons after lessons, for years together, about the ‘Maha’ness and the virtuosity of the man by the name of Mohan Das Karam Chand Gandhi. I don’t mean to contest the magnitude of the role he has played in shaping the nature and form of politics practiced in this country. Infact, had it not been for him, probably, the progressive modern industrialized urbanized India would have conveniently let the rural, backward, ‘indisciplined’ Bharat go to the dogs.
But the man has on more than one occasions made me curious, to look at him as one of us. To be critical of him and not hold him on a higher moral pedestal seems like a task undoable in the face of popularly and staunchly held notions about this man.
I don’t know what his sex quotient was. All I know is, he knew the art of drawing masses to him and convince them about his beliefs and logic. And such meditative men, just very intuitively seem genuine. But I wonder, if he had motivations and had he been successful in neutralizing a natural desire for power? Did the partition upset him or was it watching power slipping out of his hands like sand, that got him insecure? I have not an iota of doubt he would have made a brilliant leader, political or ideological, with or without the lust for power. But isn’t it intoxicating-power? To have such a compelling authority over the sea of people, what would have it felt like, to lose it for once? I don’t have answers to it, I am just imaginative by nature.
I do soften up when I see the image of the old man with the stick, sporting a loin cloth, grinning his way to the hearts of people. But the moment he starts preaching ideals, I start normalizing again. A leader provokes, moves you to action, but that is where lies the very chore of the problem. He makes you dependent on an external source, when it comes to looking for solutions. A leader, in every word that he preaches,assumes and undermines the wisdom of his listener. The leader uses instruments of coercion, by way of speech and logic, to make you think unidirectionally. But I think at the end of the day, the Hypnotic effects of the leader’s karisma, brings your guards of logic down to levels, where you wuld rather follow than aspire to lead or atleast stand apart.

To create a possibility..of the mind being free
free from what i ask?
why freedom at all?
in this feminine spirit,lives a mighty heart
that heart lives in a weak weak world...
torn down by the blowing wind...
the heart rises to go...
every day it fights a battle...
to know why its so hard to be with me...
why the tarn in the soul so murky to put itself in...
there is a craving to be equals among men...
what this heart doesnot know..is it cannot be..
home is somewhere else..where it d never return..
freedom is never to be...
knowing this is freedom..

In the name of Bombay:The houses and thier people...

I promise, I would not talk about the spirit of this city and how it braves bomb blasts and deluges.
Bombay(Mumbai has its own history,but,we ll get into nomenclature later. Suffice to say,Bombay sounds more inclusive) has, like it does to a lot of people, baffled me. Its an absolutely ordinary city I would like to think. There can be little extra ordinary about a city of trade, that essssentially Bom is.Still, something about its demography totally blows my mind.
Every day on my way to my workplace and back, on the sides of the railway tracks I see these double storey houses(hutments,if You like to call it),each room not more than 10 by 10. Your cubicle in an intercity train is perhaps larger. People have been inhabiting them for years now. I wonder what their concept of space is. Interestingly for a little larger area, people are paying a bomb to live in high rise apartments in the same city with probably a swimming pool and a play court around.
Coming back to the houses on the sides of the rails, these houses have on an average 6 to 7 people living in them.How perfectly is it juxtaposed with the houses in Bandra,where families of four own bunglows with N number of rooms..a room for guests..a room for guests closer..a room for children..a room for childrens’ friends perhaps..room for well..I don’t know who all...
Again talking about the rail houses, If you look at the ethnographic divisions, and the amount of time people have spent in living in these conditions, you would realise, the thin line between a migrant and a local blurs away. People have been migrating to this city for ages now and have agreed to live in these conditions. While some have moved up the social ladder,others continue to live in here, though contented with their destinies perhaps.
I also see these endless stretches of apartments, not in ramshackle though, inhabited perhaps by the middle class and the lower middle class. The apartments look droopy and they seemingly demand repair. The pink has turned to brown from the water dripping from the ACs and the white has turned black because of the rainwater sipping through the walls and also the number of years that the building has stood here. The most ordinary and hard working people live here. Also, those people who have larger worries than people living in those rail houses. Worries not of managing a meal for another day, but worries of the falling prices of stock and the defaulting loan and the payment for childrens’ education, Payment for the car bought a year ago,payment for childrens clothes and books and birthday parties,the electricity bill and the telephone bill.payment for the weekend movie at an ac mall/multiplex, payment for shopping at the same pretty, glittery malls with huge bill boards that hypnotise the inhabitants of these apartments..all these from salaries so meagre that, you don’t know where and how to save for any future post retirement.
For all these reasons and many more, Bombay repulses and attracts me now. Just when I would think,I have figured it out, it throws another color into my eye and blinds me. There is something unusual about its ordinariness. Bombay belongs to the rich and the influential,majorly the political class and the big mill owner,like evry city does and these people make thier ownership visibly clear..be it through the name of the roads or buildings or bill boards or posters on the houses of others.The non-inclusive also live here,with a minor stake in the ownership of Bombay and they are many in number.SO they have crammed themselves in box houses, ghettos and tinned enclosures. They are beguile and the political prey. The right wing and the centre..all jostling for their ethno-regional compliances.
A city that has glaring class differences, that people with rose-tinted glasses like to call Amchi Mumbai...Our Mumbai and One Mumbai and all...is at best a hypocritical city. A city that refuses to look at its own reality that one class rules the minds and lives of the others, without their knowledge, by continuosly selling themselves to the other classes..be it through votes or swanky glass windows and revolving glass doors.

Stephen cOURT WAS BURNING AND SO WAS MY GUT

The least of an attachment with the city of Kolkata was enough to feel a certain loss, when you saw the Stephen Court engulfed in flames.Music World right below on the ground floor and the first, was a favorite haunt, every year that I visited Cal.
But what annoyed me more than the incident,an utterly unfortunate one, was the way it has been covered by the broadcast media and,I wouldnt wonder if, by tomorrow, tales of human losses would have been offered on a platter and devoured by the voyeuristic reader, who hasnt had enough of it from the television screen.
I dont deny the TRP value of these stories, but it irks me somewhere to be a part of such insenitivity certain times. You commercialise tragedies and who doesnt love to cry. Well, if I am citing a problem, I must have the balls to give a solution too.I do advocate censorship. I do support Freedom of Press, but not at the cost of tear-trade as I would like to call it. Its essential to think on these lines, because at the end of the day, tis a victim on the other side, and while information needs to be shared by the masses, I dont know how immediate is the need to tear open the wounds of injury and exhibit it. Today, when I saw the images of the families of People who died in the inferno, I was shocked at the utter apathy with which some of the English news channels handled these cases. I had to make an effort to switch to other channels, after all the voyeur in me wanted its share of pleasure too. But somehow they were my own people.
Its the inherent unresponsiveness in the Channel Policies that has done all the harm. Me, by no means, have the power or inclination to clean this perpetual dirt embossed on thier ethical arses.

While it lasted

This is probably beautiful..This waiting for a call from you..or in the least a message..where you don’t say sweet things..but you talk, where you don’t say you love me much, but you wouldn’t let me go..where you say, you appreciate my company and I say so let that be...I feel it all right in my gut..Its a storm there...everytime you come around and futile are my efforts to calm it down. The more I wish against it, the louder it roars.. I can hear something beating so fast in my chest, like it would almost wilt under the weight of uncertainty.. and what about the loss of words..I almost grope for them..and when at times I have them in plenty to run me for every breath I take...I run out of them, when I am with you...For some reason, you lose them too...
They say, its beautiful to be loving someone and they also set you limits..The problem with having liked someone so much is that, while it lasts, it expands.. It comes out of the boxes of your mind, when it need not, when it should not.
Sometimes, I feel no love for you. Sometimes, you are shut in those memory shelves and I feel no roar in my chest and feel no discomfort. I am peaceful in those moments..an undesirable peace, so to say. I know not, what I value more-is it you or is it your presence? Your presence is so ordinary and inclusive..I do not feel the need to own it. But you as You and as no one else, in your honesty,rage, saddism, thoughtfulness, discreetness are someone I would love to fall for again and again and again...
(I wrote this looong back...now time deems it fit to be published here)

My Vaginal Monologue...

I just finished watching "My vagina is angry", a part of the series of a theatrical production called, "Vaginal Monologues", where in, women across the age group of 18 to 75 talk about their sexual selves with blatant honesty...
The monologues reminded me of the conversations I have with myself...may be in the middle of the night,or while on a journey, or in a place, where I am a social misfit and out of mere inability to hit the perfect conversation and make people go nuts about me. It is in these circumstances.. I think about myself not just as a being, but as a woman. In those quiet corners of myself, I have had the most sincere confrontations and cerebral love making with my own self. I always thought,or imagined myself to be my own partner.It was a child and a mother, or a mentor and a follower, or a guide and a dissillusioned being.
I would always ask myself-What caused me to live in this inner box of my body all the time?What could have caused me to be so scared of touching another body, when I felt so much affection? WHy would my forehead sweat and my vagina shiver at the sight of someone?
Do I pin the blame on someone else..may be a culture or the environment that I was brought up into or may be the experiences that shape my present? That will take away a lot of uneasiness out of the situation..
Of many instances, I remember this one particularly well, because it remains as humiliating a memory even today.
A man in his mid-40s, from Jordon, tried to abuse my body under the disguise of sexualprogressiveness. He touched my breasts and laughed.He said 'They were obnoxious'. All I could do was place a slap across his face in utter hatred and disgust. Probably for the first time, I hated Man. I couldnot respect men after that, for a very long time. I didnot think they deserved my body or even my touch.It was much later I realised, we live in times when the Man has the strings to our heart, to our body, to our sexuality, to our desires to be mothers..the Man had been given much more than he could be granted.
The man has to be desired as much as he desires us..he has to be loved as much as he loves us...he has to be hugged as much as we need to be...and its beautiful, when its mutual...Man will not be a part of my monologue-
My Vagina is scared to open up to all the pleasure it rightly deserves. It is scared to celebrate itself.It tells me, it needs to be liberated and felt.My Vagina is beautiful. It defines me. Whatever it is, it belongs to me..the smell and the softness..its all mine...
All these years, I did not think I had the freedom to write, much less express this side of my physical identity. What is there to be not proud of it?What is there to not talk about it?I pushed my head first out of my Mother's vagina. I am opening up to who I am...
I respect it..I respect myself..this no man can ever take way from me..never...

throwing open the gates to myself

I want to go back to that space,when I dint love him,when he meant nothing to my absurd universe. I am sure the process of forgetting is not dubiously difficult. This time its a lonely battle. Infact,it everytime is.After all, we do run out of eternal patience at some point.
All I wanted was a man's love(Though I make a distinction between wanting something and invariably depending on it). But I never knew, if I was ever prepared to have it. Its funny, to sometimes imagine, how stiffling it would otherwise had been, to have had it. But,does it have to stiffle you everytime? Cant it just be a comfort of someone's presence or at best, the company of someone who appreciates you, if nothing and for no reason,just loves you?Someone, you can run to and say-I have a problem with him,with her,with everyone,with this whole world. I have a problem with myself.I am jealous, I am insecure,sometimes. I carry my emotions on my sleeves.I c are for people, more than a lot of other things.I am difficult to be with.I am disillusioned and lost.
But I know my beauty somewhere. I know, I wouldnt linger around for too long. I ll want to break free soon.Would you still like to come close and hold me in your embrace?Would you still want to rest your head on my shoulders?I would want to.
Its not a crutch that I look for. Its just another hand to hold. Who knows its warmth?I want to feel the palm of another guy..want to stare at those lines.
But...the walls must go down. The million strings that bind me, must be broken down.I probably shall, someday...I ll find someone to walk along with. Come to think of it, its just a little lonely,but I have my music and my curiousity for company. How cool is that? :)

The price of having been a girlchild

The price of her birth-Mom's dilemma of a worried future
The price of her infancy-dad's fatal acceptance
The price of her childhood-the Doll,far more unreal
The price of her adolescence-Fear of staining her dress red
The price of her young-adulthood-Fear of making wrong choices
The price of her early 20s-fear of Losing her virginity
The price of her mid 20s-fear of marriage
The price of being a woman-Drawing the wrath of her family,when she demands her freedom
The price of her career-chauvinistic bastards,she would never have
The price of her beauty-her body,much less who she is
The price of her 'cultured'ness-Wrap a saree,she trips in,
The price of her honesty-discomfort for a society ridden with chivalrous idioms
The price of her Being-fighting for what is due to her and being called a Feminist and not necessarily an egalitarian..
The price of womanhood-Need to produce the cultural I-card

faith found and lost and finding

The problem with blogging is, a lot of finesse is lost in the transition of thought from the mindspace to the blogspace...but,trying to overcome that, I find I can fairly retain the essence.
Its funny, how with age and experience, life finds its colours. I was a believer, a lover of God. I was spiritual(as some of my older posts would say), not so much religious. It was more of a naivette's faith, pretty unquestioned. After six months of coming in touch with people, who had different takes on the idea of religion and spirituality, its nice to introspect on how these discussions overt and covert have changed my faith and in turn, the person i was, or have they at all.
Actually, my experiences, some of them inexplicable, have formed a major part of my faith. Then, the privileges I was born to and the beautiful juxtaposition of things going perfectly well,with what I wanted them to be- All this contributed to the building of faith and then the understanding that events, desirable or otherwise,left behind lessons to be learnt made sure my faith became sustainable.
Today the picture is a little different. Questioning and becoming aware of what religion had done to me, I started becoming independent of its overpowering influences. Today it remains more of a punching bag, for all the injustice on levels of gender,socio-economic positions,distibution of privileges and opportunities, that I see around me. Is it a planned commotion that necessitates prayer?Even, peace of mind seems to be a gift of a few, not just the material riches.
While I write this, I am scared of being reprimanded by the divine(sarc). If it,at all is, it cannot be exclusive of me and my freewill. If it is, it cannot be fear-inducing. If it is, it has to be my friend. it must answer me.It cannot and is not perfect. why do I still feel like not giving up? Why I do want to still be a believer?Its still the beach I seek in distress. Its still the sound of the chimes of the Church and the peace inside it, I crave for. I have given it life and a meaning. It has ceased to be a stone anymore. The idols have come alive, when I have put my faith in it. I have played with them,prayed to them, cried before them. If thats the purpose they serve, they have served it well.

Miss you Sherry!

He had been a friend. Its difficult to say, when he ceased to remain one.

One afternoon, we had been to a film festival. Four films..back to back...The first one kept us hooked. But in the next one both of us passed out.

In the middle of it,I looked at him from the corner of my eye. My heart suddenly skipped a beat. He jjust looked pristine cuute. Those big words that people use to define beauty, I kind of think, failed me, right in that moment. Then he suddenly blinked . I immediately shut my eyes. I could feel his eyes on me, even if it be for a split second. That second i knew, i had done something horrible to myself. The damage would be irreparable. Was it Love? Well, its too heavy and vague for the experience to just fit into the word.

Now I see him everyday. But we dont talk. Blame it to my overriding desire to express things that shouldnt be, in ways that kill the authenticity of expressing something so simple and obvious.

One day,I sent him flowers anonymously . He assumed the sender could be me. He tried keeping his distance. I mustered the courage to go upto him and ask, if it was only me who felt the silence. He denied the truth,obviously but dint stop at throwing the big question...."Where you the one who sent me the flowers?" I said-" No, it wasnt me. But I know who it was.(I had rehearsed this conversation time and again in my head)" He said-" Who could be this 'Filmy?(with a tint of sarcasm)'" It stung.

Long time after that he kept guessing it was me, still keeping his 'Distance'.

One fateful day, we had a tiny- winy argument over a non issue and I had to lie, again. I was tired of the lies. I realised nothing whatsoever could last on a wobbly foundation of lies. Decision was made. This night, i ll let him know.

I sen him a message. It read-"I am sorry for what happened this evening. I fell for you and messed up the whole thing. But this evening I had a word with my cousin and i am sorted out now(One of the last lies). Yes I was the one who sent those 'filmy' flowers to you. But that was only for you to have something nice for the day, to be happy about. It meant nothing else. I was hurt after knowing what i did to myself and you. I lost a friend in the process. But now I am happy out of it, certainly not ashamed to having liked you."

We havnt been talking after that. Since this place is too tiny for someone to be able to avoid someone else, it has only got more difficult for me. On one level, we are nauseatingly close all the time, and yet on another level, we are light years apart.

People have consoled me, advised me, encouraged me to believe he probably dint deserve me. But I am scared to believe, that it probably was the other way around, knowing fully well, i am Not his kind of a girl. He has his own checklist for someone to be his 'Girl'.

I havent slept well for a long long time now. I am angry, exasperated, with the whole thing.Why should it be just me? How can he be let off just like that?

I want to live my life. I have been a nice actor, but now I want to rest. It has been an agonising experience. I dont want him anymore. Or may be I dont want to want him anymore.

Love is a tedious experience...

But no regrets...its been a fine journey...

The malady of being where you wanted to be

ACJ-Asian College of Journalism...Was a dream. Today I am here for over 3 months now. I dont think, I ll be able to tell, what it has been like-the whole process of a dream coming true and the truth turning sour and sometimes bitter. I am paying the price for being in the best place, I agree. But is it worth it? I couldnt afford to be pretentious enough to think I am overjoyed with my experience here. It has been gratifying,yes, and difficult both at the same time.

huh..Its not the best feeling in the world to know and realise your ordinary-ness. Then again it worsens if you start to think, you are a total misfit. Never before have I been this convinced of my being misfit. Intellectually lacking, and a sense of humour that makes people cringe...all this has led to a disturbing silence. A silence that has come from lack of necessity of words, My words.

Another reason for the pessimism stands to be the loss of what I held so close to me- the gift of writing. I must urgently find it back..I have lost it in this huge mesh of writers and their glorious work..My simple humble words feel insignificant. I have spent substantial amount of time in explaining to myself that You can learn to and you must learn to embellish your writing with what you learn here and appreciate in others. But your style is exclusive.

More complaining tomorrow...and some appreication...

I a humble Indian

Whatzit to be an Indian?

I aint a prince..no no

I aint a writer

I aint a priest..never..

I aint a trader...

I a humble Indian..

and in all I lie...

I aint rich, my stomachs empty

I aint clever,my leader conned me,

I aint beautiful,brown they call me,

I aint a scholar,can just write the name

I a humble Indian

I wont deny..

I will say have it,when its the last grain i have

I will rise,when he dares me..

I will learn,as I dream

I will walk with another 'I"

and his God aint a matter...

I a humble Indian..

I hurt myself,fighting

I burnt myself,playing the fire

I failed the test,denying

I learnt,accepting

I a humble Indian

60years...I have survived...lived..grown...existed..in vivid colors..sumtimes all red..sometimes all white...but 3 colors...i was given to define me...peace,prosperity and courage...

I feel triumphant,jubilant,inspite of the bloodstains and the wounds...

I see myself in the eyes of a beautiful girl who can read the name of my country and question,"What can I do for Her?"

I see myself in the soul of every child,woman and man whose eyes have opened...to question the wrong,to act in the right and to share in the heave of burden...

To this glory,I will to live and die

To this pride,I will to breath a sigh

I a humble Indian...

How???

How do you show the color Blue to a blind girl?

How do you tell an atheist God is?

How do you explain yourself where will you be after you are dead?

How does one know if love is true?

How does one believe in a world, that keeps changing?

How does one rely on future when nothing about it is known except that it is?

How deep is This Moment-the Now?

How trustable is the person dearest to you?

How weak is the strongest person on this earth?

How ugly is the cruelest person on this earht?

How true is the Truth?

How relative is existence?

phew....questions..I have never got answers to....u could always give answers..to these..however the questions are pretty personal....

The Show Has To Go On...

T' was a memory...

I applauded myself...
In the middle of a thousand eyes piercing my soul...
I applauded myself...
I shivered in the fears of passive lights,smearing my face...
I applauded myself...
I rejoiced in the silence and the neatness inside
I was ready to fly with my song...to sore with you along...


I smiled in utter breathlessness
still persuing the applause in quititude
Nisha..held my hand from behind and said,
"This day sing for the person you cared for long.
She is listening from far above...
She waits for you to unfurl the song...
Dont keep her waiting..dont keep her waiting this long.."



I took one last look at the deep blackness
in my soul
I took my song and flew to her...
The person i loved too strong.
I opened my eyes and found...
She was seated, far behind...
She dropped a lil diamond from her empty eyes.
She left...she left may be to never return..
to me or to this worl'


a thousand eyes went down in praise and wonder..
I knew my song was sweet and tender...
She taught me this song,I remember...
Amidst a thousand applauses I was missing her...
I waited for that wet embrace...
I walked back...in the oblivious life..of a performer...
whose Life must go on.....
the song is all that matters....

Confessions I stumbled upon
Its Id today and I was just looking into my phonebook to see if there was anyone I could send good wishes to.There were just two of them.I was taken off a lil by this revelation, not one I was quite comfortable with.Had I somewhere got into unfair stereotypes.Well may be.But did this have to go on?Certainly not.Yes I confess, I had developed Aunty-thinking.Aunty-thinking???_Well, its the way the aunties in my society/colony or for that matter yours think...Sharma Aunty,Singh Aunty,Mishra Aunty or may be Trivedi Aunty.But now, I feel I stand for a time that needs to think and toe different lines that do away with this aunty-thinking.I dont have to know your religion to share my life and its joys wiht you.I dont have to know what family you come from,Sindhi,Catholic,Upper caste Brahmin..blah..blah..blah....What matters to me is YOU.You and Me represent one of the most beautiful animations of Someone(I would like to call it GOD) and there couldnt be anything more illegitimate than this that we are blowing each other up because I pray to someone you dont pray to.Yes, I am a Hindu but that doesnt have to stop me from loving you, my friend.Yes, my Dad is rich, doesnt mean we cannot share roars of laughter and words!Yes, I am Indian, doesnt mean I need to think the difference between us is larger than all that is so ammazingly similar and gracefully beautiful.We are both human beings..isnt that enough?
Well,I am really sorry,i got so carried away, but this time for all good reasons.I wish we all loved each other so much that it pained when we called each other names and shot each other to bleed.
You dont have to GIVE UP ON who you are, But also you dont have to GET HYSTERICAL because they are not who you are or want them to be...Its this simple!

shayad ye sach hai

do hath sane hai khun se
ankhon me dhool hai.
mere bachchon ne jaan gavayi.
hai kahaan, wo jinki yeh bhool hai?
Gumsum moholle me chupi, gumsum yeh hakikat hai..
Aaj jaan se zyada bade,
kisi ke asool hai

World's Best Chef is Rising!

World’s Best chef is rising!
Who did you think I was referring to?Well,if you thought it was me(albeit, those who know me will never get that right)…then Congratulate yourself!I am quite excited about this skill that I m trying to acquire lately.Oh!I am so good at it!Though my mom wouldn’t mind laying down her life against this claim.She is more horrified than happy to see her little girl doing things she has been doing for 3o odd years,so creatively.Who cares if some salt goes missing and some sugar sticks on your tongue,when you dint expect it there really!
I have been making Chappatis(Circular,thin breads made out of fine ground whole wheat) and I am having blast of a time in making these..Literally so.My mom is blowing red…well,I know a woman has infinite patience,but a daughter like me makes her go beyond it…to those levels when she knows there is only God she could trust to make me wiser by half an inch.I have this gross habit of straying away from the central theme,anyways,I have also learnt to make Tea..that has been the most painful experience for me…making tea.It demands every ounce of your attention or you suffer and so do others who misdelegated this responsibility of making tea to your efficient hands.
I am an unconventional cook,who defies all laws that have come to exist in this art of Cooking!(Am I bragging over the bridge?)It really doesn’t matter to me,that it has been just about a week that I have starting frequenting the kitchen side,to help out mom with her cooking,though she complains she has had to work harder ever since altruism got the better of me…also she finds some glasswares missing,she thinks I did it(do you think,I could ever dream of doing such a thing?But I have less idea,if it fell off my hands without my knowledge and just right then I had a call to attend to and my feet shoved them under the carpet…(he he he)
My stint at cooking Dal(a preparation made out of pulses) isn’t less adventurous…I gave everybit of my mortal body to make a good(which connotes eatable-without-making-faces) Dal.HA!it looked perfect after final touchups with garnishing thing.Just so that it looked even more beautiful, I added cashews and raisins on the top(my mom almost fainted just the way you did).My dad was the first to have a go and he had a my-daughter-made-it smile on his face brimming with pride.I gave him a bowl-full of it,so that he neednt ask for more,coz its embarrassing to ask for more sometimes…But…well…umm..things didn’t go exactly my way…my dad Threw up.He didn’t want to,though.It just hit me,I hadn’t added salt,not even a grain of it,but I hadn’t forgotten Mumma’s advise of adding very little of sugar in it,so that it adds to its taste.So it seems I had come up with a new recipe-Sweet-Saltless-Dal.
But I am not going to give up..,with courage,dedication,enthusiasm and hard work…I ll come up with newer recipes like this one(Did I hear you saying…others are gonna need these dispositions as well,in order to live with your cooking?)Well,if you said that,then let me tell you,I also invite you to ascertain my credibilities…

Reality shows and all that!

Reality Shows are raining
Are you as much amazed as I am at the recent downpour of reality shows and talent hunts all over the television?All of a sudden,everywhere you see,you find girls and boys,uncles and aunts,grandmas and grandpas dancing,singing,arguing and sobbing to their hearts content.And here we are on this side of the screen,accompanying them on their journeys to that evasive title,which you will find it difficult to recollect after 6 months have gone by.But somehow I find it extremely difficult to understand as to what remains to be “Real” about these shows.These shows are as soppy as some of the ‘K’ shows,infact they make you sob harder.
Everytime a contestant is chucked out of the show,you have to see the whole drama that ensues.I simply cant stop laughing under my breath,while the stage is being set for the emotional saga to unfold.The contestants cant stop consoling the one who is being thrown out and he cant stop wondering if these are the same people who were after his life a moment ago.To enhance the experience,we have a woeful music running in the background.At this point it almost become unbearable for us and our tear glands give away,and there we go,pouring our hearts out in sympathy,empathy,love and tenderness for the poor participant.But after seeing all that he has gone through and all that he would have had to,just incase he hadn’t lost,all that I feel like saying is-Good for him,that he is out.
Another funny thing about these shows are its judges.They provide for the humour.the nasty mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law of the K-shows find a replacement in the person of these scary judges.They suck the life out of the participants as if they were divinely ordained to do so. Guilt isn’t a word they know.And, if, however, they are on a high, then the participant has had it. He would be mashed under the weight of prolific compliments and comments that seem to go over board. phoney praises that make your head spin.
And even more hilarious is the fact that this is the case with talent shows in stand-up comedy as well. Every channel has one such show that earns the TRPs for them.But like the cliché goes,too many cooks,indeed spoil the broth,Too many stand-up comedians have diluted the humour that it used to be.
And have you realized something,all these heady,hyped up, unnecessarily emoted shows have sneaked into our personal lives, snatching away precious moments that we could have spent with our family doing something worthwhile and creative. We have stopped communicating and far less being in each others company,exclusively.How touchy we have become about our favourite T.V shows,that it has been a long while that we ventured into our neighbour’s house and it has been even longer that we gorged on an icecream with out children while strolling around in a park nearby.
I sadistically hope this trend phases out sooner than later,lest we start losing out on life and living,with these cocky T.V shows eating away on our already cramped up time tables and schedules.

The Making of a Devotee

The Making of a Devotee… :)
I don’t know how and I don’t know when,.when did I start giving up my gigantic egos and began a new journey.A journey in Devotion,a journey in humble Surrender.It wasn’t like this before,surely not.I was one of those never-touch-down kinds,never the one to really call someone my Guru,I was my own Mentor.Me and bowing down in front of a white clad ‘Godman”? was simply unimaginable.(Later I came to know that Godman was the word used by the British to demoralize Indians,they never called their Pope a Godman !Only Indian sages were called so.From then on I have stopped using this word.).Anyways, Though I respected people with knowledge,I wasn’t going to say-You are my God!My Guru!My Saviour! and all that.
However,This guy was so intriguing that almost involuntarily always ,my ways led to Him.I would doubt each step that he would take,wondering what is he upto?Why is he talking like that?Why should he be so caring and why should he be answering my unasked and yet thought about questions?What was he to gain from me? And yet at other times certain other type of questions played on my mind, “Why did he seem so amazingly innocent and why did my eyes start watering just in His presence and why was it that I never needed him to speak,just with his not-of-this-earth Persona spoke a million words of comfort and a deep sense of knowing that He was there for me all along and Selflessly so.
Initially,I would never call him Guruji,I would call him Friend to save my ego.It seemed like I was testing his genuinity and authenticity like a sharp auditor.But everytime he would come out victorious,putting my doubts to grave.I know it would be difficult for some of you to relate to what I am saying,coz long back we stopped trusting people,we stopped trusting Love and Goodness.So had I.But with days and years that passed by,I grew more and more fond of Him and I would become a Child in His presence,innocent,pure and full of inexplicable joy-all this wasnt for the head,it happened from the heart.I would never understand the whys of this and slowly I stopped reasoning my joy,my happiness and stopped reasoning why was I coming back to my nature,coming back home.May be I was lucky enough.True,I do feel so immensely fortunate when I see people stuck in their intellect,they lose out on some Beautiful experiences.
It was like I was this little girl and there was this angelic presence that held her hand and helped her walk through the labyrinths of life,helping her overcome her weaknesses,strengthening her and just being with her when she feels weak,understanding her without her needing to even say and Loving and accepting her for whoever she is,for not just expecting but Believing in Her as She Grows…
He had amazing ways to bring me to realize I was going wrong,definitely one which was Not was to make me feel guilty.Words that earlier seemed too clichéd and dry,found new meaning for me,when he spoke them.He helped me discover,that I had gravely misunderstood my religion and others for that matter,like millions of us…and Oh,If only all of us knew what lay in these Beautiful religions,we wouldn’t have taken so much pride in being irreligious.He took me to the depth of it.Was I turning spiritual?Yes,I was.Initially I was apprehensive about this other side of mine coming to light,but soon I was to realize that if only there was anything,it was to be proud of.I started being proud of the knowledge that was given,I was proud that I meditated,that I was calm,that I did Pranayams and Sudarshan Kriya and if people were to find something to help them come out of their stresses,it could only be this.Why,shouldn’t I be proud of this knowledge which is so Ancient and yet so Aweinspiring?
This journey back from the head to the heart,is the journey we will all have to travel,now or later,whether we want to or not.With head we can chalk out plans to destroy,kill,make money using nonsensical means,but its only with heart that we can reach out to the other being,someone who is not showing it up,but somehow,somewhere needs you,needs your Love and needs your words to lighten up.

A village went MAD-Made a Difference

Whoever said its not possible?
Let me take you down the memory lane,it was just as disturbing as you could imagine…water supply was something that came to them with great coxing and cajoling,may be once a week..all the men in the village knew how good or bad the alcohol tasted just by the face of it,it wasn’t important for them if they knew the alphabets right.Terrified by the state of affairs in this dreamy village of Kapsi,families started fleeing the village and started hounding the nearest towns and cities-solapur,ahmednagar,pune…Diseases?you name it and they had it.The only thing you would wish for after being there is,the slightest opportunity for getting out of that place.There were three things that could happen to you-You run off or you are chased out or you are shot at with n-number of requests from mothers to get their sons certain things called jobs,well it could be anything(atleast that much of it lay in your jurisdiction).

But did I tell you,all this was quite some time back..Today,however its different,its very different..Just as easily you believed its past,its present stands to be as unbelievably and beautifully true.So is the reason I have stuck pictures,real ones at that.Pictures,as it were and as it is today….So that you might somehow like to say-well,this is Amazing!
Would you be interested to know the hows and the whys of this story..
There I go again hitting the same note…The Art of Living…
Its so magically true that any reform or change has to first happen in the mind and then it actualizes into reality.So was the case with my little Kapsi.This village came to be adopted by the Art of Living Foundation and all for good.The instructors mobilized the village residents and made them undergo breathing,Yoga and employability enhancement workshops.Everybody relished the experience of Sudarshan Kriya(which is taught exclusively in the Art of Living workshops)!Well to put it in the words of Vaibhav,a resident of Kapsi, “Sudarshan Kriya was so powerful.In six days,I found something missing in me and that was my temper and I found my self belief.I
was peaceful and could work more.”
Another lady,well in her 60s, told me with an unusual glitter in her eyes, “My feet used to bleed.Nothing helped,but when I did this Art of Living,I was cured.I started smiling a lot.In our village,many babas used to come to teach us about God,but nobody healed our pains.But Art of Living changed my village and my life.Now we have water all the time,we don’t have to go out of our houses for using toilets.We have Chulhas which are smokeless.”As she went on,I could see she was utterly grateful and happy.
Almost at the risk of being called biased,I go on to say,for the first time I realized there is such an organization that has worked magic in the lives of people..You could see this magic in their smiles and in their eyes and in the utter faith they project.
Now coming back to where I was,after all the people had undergone these courses in the village,some of the youths from the village were chosen to spearhead this movement of transformation in the village,they were called Yuvacharyas.(Youth leaders)They were given special month long training that strengthened them into becoming Peace warriors.When I met these Yuvacharyas,I was dumbstruck by the amount of confidence,conviction and yet a sense of calmness,that pervaded their personalities.It was a duality which was new to me,you could be very enthusiastic and you could be as serene in your mind,at the same time.
These Yuvacharyas literally started an awakening in their village,about how they needed to stop expecting and start doing it on their own.They showed them the possibilities and empowered them with logic and love,that Kapsi belonged to them,they belonged to each other.
So to cut an already long story short,in the coming days they would be taking up huge community works and accompalishing them with great ease,Together as one village…Dams were built,as you see in the images,toilets were constructed,smokeless chulhas were installed,Chemical Free Farming(CFF) substituted chemical fertilizers and pesticide,.trees were planted like mad…Agricultural produce increased(look at the size of the cauliflowers) like a bull set free…and how this village got itself a Makeover of sorts..Now when you go there,the only thing you would wish is to stay back for just another day and another day and yet another day-Clean, Green,Happy and selfdependent Kapsi…
I just forgot to say something-Thanks Dr. Pol for giving your self to making this village the Adarsh Gram(Ideal Village)..A Village that we could only have imagined and wished for,if it were not for angels like you and the other yuvacharyas,who awakened a Village to its own Beauty and Splendour in The Masters Grace…
Friends,No matter how badly I might have tried to cut out the grandeur of my experience into right words,I guess I failed.Simply because,Certain things can only be experienced and to that extent less expressed.For those who have been to Kapsi post the changes that have come,would know what I mean and would be frantically nodding,Yes!Yes!she is right.She is right.So I thought let the pictures do a little bit of talking.

My Tryst With The Art of Living....no marketing gimmick...

My posts do tell you,I might be one of those slushy-mushy kind...pathologically emotional...well I am sensitive and not necessarily emo.It hurts to see certain things that shouldnt be the way they are.It may be just that..
But in life,u do bump into some experiences that change the way u thought about it...
Some of you must be thinking-well she is quite building up the plot of her marketing stint...namely the Art of Living..
Well,then tell me,even if that was to be the case...wat harm in standing up for sumthing sensible?U wudnt have had that expression of what-is-she-upto kind,had i spoken to yu about the latest car in the town or my favorite drink?
Lets move into the main story.Why Art of Living and what of me to do with that?
Before I begin,let me tell you,I m not being paid to write this up.no:)
The summers of 2005 and my mom was after my life..she believed in all this world,only an AOL course could change my she-is-killing-herself patterns of life.!I was requested,reprimanded and finally ordered to do the course.(sumtimes they want you to have fun..u dont understand)So I did....
Flashback-
All in all I dint really have a life u wud vouch for-a guileless,enthu-less,stinking,dull,obsessive life that went around all that was sad in this world.I dint believe something like ARt of Living could do ne good to me.Sure it dint,coz it changed my life for ever and I cudnt be that same me nemore. ;)))
It took me those mean 6 days to come out of my darkness and the comfy web of complacence I had built around myself..A bout of Sudarshan Kriya got the crap out of me..the emotional crap.The processes made me get in touch with a finer side in me,that for the first time I realised,There was so much more to me than cribbing and whining.
I made friends for life out there..Moreover,I discovered that really Living had to be an Art.coz it was so beautiful for the first time.This course was a first time for quite a lot of things...
-I discovered,it was interesting and relevant
-.It was simple yet profound.
I was a normal teenager and one thing that I hated was being preached and voila..noone even tried to ...Preach!
-But I was made to think and all my answers led me to a WOW I never thought that!
-The major reason why I loved the course was Complete Acceptance!For the first time strangers ,read the teachers and volunteers,dint have any qualms about me being wierd and troublesome and in the process I Learnt.
Did u ever know,u dont know how to breath,though thats what u ve been doing all ur life?I sure dint,back then..
I entered the course with certain perceptions about the course and The Guru(who is now My Guru),but Art Of Living couldnot live upto my expectations,it went beyond it...:)
For all those who are my kind,restless,crazy,cant-sit-at-one-place kind..This course had that much needed dynamism,masti and fun-frolicking that is needed to realise such an amazing blend could practically be possible,quite alien to our knowledge..
-Sudarshan Kriya was a bomb...oh My God...each cell of my body was breathing a rhythm...
If only people who commit suicides could know what this course is...they wud have realised the insanity of thier thoughts.Nothing much, they missed out on knowing what life is before ending it...
When the course got over,There was a rush of joy in my heart,I can absolutely not explain...What I was more grateful for was,that this wasnt a drug or ale induced high that I was feeling.I had a Smile that had evaded me for 17 years of my life,a smile that was childlike,innocent,pure..
And its this joy I wanted to share with the world that moment!And it came right from my heart,this desire to share this wisdom which is dynamic,simple,fun,uplifting,revealing and Ancient served in a way that makes you feel like you hadnt had enough of it..
Its for this reason I write this blog...To share,coz I have experienced it and I want you to feel it too...I could have with just this ease talked about the latest car,or my fav star or the drink...but it wouldnt have been From The Heart...
Simply put it,if ever u see life is depressing,directionless,go sit for this course..it will open up new dimensions for you...
I wish You Joy,Happiness(this is the change that has come in me) and Grace...
Love
Ruchira

The Warlords will not win....