Friday, 20 January 2017

Dearest moon! Smile please, say cheese

She looked at the candle lit group that seemed to be silently praying with closed eyes and bowed heads. It was very unlikely for the prayers of the silent crowd with agitated minds to reach God. To help the Soul rest in peace. The soul of the victim. The soul of the one molested. Probably not one but many who were molested the very same day in her country. But this one was brutal enough to catch the media’s eye. She sighed looking away from the window as the bus whizzed past the gathering.

She closed her own eyes and prayed. Or rather wanted to pray. But was confused as to what and whom to pray for? Pray for all those innocent women or girls or worse the infants who are subject to molestation? Should she ask for justice? Should she pray to regain their innocence or undo the “feeling dirty” feel of their mind? She opened her eyes and gave away the praying part.

She saw the bus conductor unnecessarily rub a co-passenger’s breast as he waltz through the crowd. No medical tests could prove the conductor’s deed. It was not serious enough to be reported. Yet, she knew it would leave the “feeling dirty” feel on that co-passenger. She knew that “weird in the gut feeling”. The “Churning the stomach yet tongue-tied” feeling.

She knew that the candle lit group would go home and in sometime or days would forget the molested-beaten up-dead girl. The group that consisted of men and women, boys and girls. Few from the crowd would get back to their ogling and unnecessary rubbings and snide remarkings. Because that was no remarkable offence. According to them it was on lines with acknowledging the beauty of Taj-Mahal. 

By the age of 17, by the commencement of her youth, she knew that it was not her age or body to be blamed. She knew it was not the fault of the 9 yards cloth or 6 inches skirt. She knew it was not her or her co-passenger or the molested-beaten-dead girl’s fault. What she didn’t understand was, “Why don’t the grey haired politicians understand this?” She got down the bus and shut her mind to the oglings, whistlings and snide comments from someone dying to see the moon smile at him. 

Monday, 16 January 2017

Yet another marriage in family

She lay on the bed tossing and rolling unable to fall asleep. Her aunt's tear filled eyes kept flashing in her mind. She knew that her mother had also gone through the same during her marriage. She felt sorry for her cousin because she knew history was to repeat itself.

Marriages are made in heaven they say. May be thats true. Because in most parts of India, the true spirit of marriage is lost and forgotten. In both urban and rural India, the brides side is forced to shell out money in the name of marriages where as the grooms side do nothing but expect and expect and expect from the bride and her parents. In most of the marriages, may it be love or arranged, may they be educated or uneducated, this situation is unavoidable. The situation might not be as grave as stated in all cases but there is always this thing called expectation living deep down their heart.

She knew that this expectation turns the relationship between the families sour. This for sure affects the newly wed couple by stealing away the peace, trust and good will for each other. She flinched thinking of her newly wed days. How the mere thought of her marriage had become a taboo for her. It robbed her of her carefree days, her childish and innocent self. It broke her and mutated her into this more mature and practical being with a bitter heart. "Mutation. Yes. Thats what happens after marriage." She thought. Her husband was not spared from suffering either. He had fought his own battle. Battle of finding a balance between his family and his wife. But in due process he ended up losing his peace of mind and hope. Hope of a "Happily ever after" life.

She understood why the youth was now trending with live in relationships. Because they feared commitment. And it was a wise decision she thought. To love, it takes just two like minded people. But to marry, it needs 2 families, caste, money, social status. She could not help but feel sorry for her cousin who was to be married. She could not help but think of her aunt who was grieving at the prospect of marrying her daughter out of caste. It was again another marriage happening between 2 incompatible families. All she could do was pray to God to spare the young couple the heat of their elders which comes in the name of marriage. She turned to her son sleeping beside her. Patted him gently on his head and pledged not to put him through what his parents have undergone. She prayed to remain as sane as possible to not impose the mindset of the their generation onto the younger one.

Fingers crossed

Sunday, 8 January 2017

Happy birthday Abhiram

WHEELS ON THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND. I don't deny this fact. But why am I forced to listen to it on an infinite loop? Why? Oh yeah! Because its apparently my son's new favorite. And what else, the tiny tiger has turned 2 this week. Happy 2nd birthday to the momma in me. And yes happy birthday to my son as well. 

The past 2 years have been quite something to me. It feels like just yesterday that he was born. Yet it feels like he has been with me since times unknown. The last 2 years have just whizzed past me in fast forward. Yet I can't deny that I enjoyed each and every moment watching him grow. At the age of 2, he is as naughty as Calvin. Serves me right for having read the Calvin and Hobbes collection while the Tyke was within me.

The past 2 years have been quite adventurous, action packed, emotional and equally confusing and frustrating. I have realized that I have become a character and viewer of a suspense thriller daily soap. He is so spontaneous, stubborn and unpredictable. (just like his dad in case you are wondering.) The rate at which he tugs at my hair, I am sure to go bald in another couple of years.

As of today, he can crawl, run, sprint, jump, hop, sneak and hide.  He can enact "Twinkle Twinkle little star.", "Chal mere ghode chal chal chal." and partly "Wheels on the bus" and "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands." He sings sometimes (not in perfect rhythm and with no coherent words). His favorite toy is his kitchen set, that I gifted him in haste so as to have my kitchen for myself. But though he loves his miniature kitchen, he still holds a great fancy for my kitchen and everything in it. He is smart enough to kill the cockroaches he lays his eyes upon. 

His vocabulary is not as much as that of a 2 year old. But as a mom, it still sounds cute to me. Here is the Abhiram language translator. This is mostly for my future references and others might as well ignore it.

Bhi - Abhi (his name)
Pooi - Spoon
Pooi - Puvvu (Flower in telugu)
Thakyu - Thank you
Bye - Bye
Amma - Amma
Daddy - Daayi
Mama - Mama
Thata - Thata
Nani - Nani
Ammamma - Mammamma
Tu - Shoe
Ju - Juice
Ty - Aunty
Ka- Akka
Kaki - Kaki
Kukka - Kukka
Bi - Billi
Kai - Kaallu
Nuu - No
Puu - Po
Go - Ball
Bugga - Bug
Bugga - Glucon D
Duddu - Guddu
Duddu - Laddu

This is not an exhaustive set of words from his dictionary. But are the most commonly used words.

I know, I know how boring it could be for others to read this blog. But I had to write it for him.