Three Deadliest Words in the World - It's a Girl / Beti Hui Hai

Update: This post written for Franklin Templeton Investments sponsored Idea Caravan won a prize on IndiBlogger. Franklin Templeton Investments partnered the TEDxGateway Mumbai.

There's something very warm and welcoming about this woman featured above. I am not too sure how to define or describe it, but there's something about her disposition that makes her come across as a very warm human being.  She looks like a typical south India woman from the rural areas - homely, modest, nurturing and very motherly. Yes, she has such motherly aura about her. But I am glad she is not my mother. In fact, the truth is, long ago she had decided that she does not want to be a girl's mother. So much so that when nature bestowed her bosom with daughters - 8 of them - she strangulated every single one of them, and buried the bodies in some corner of her farmland. 

  
The warmth and the motherly disposition is now lost on me, as I watch her giggle and remorselessly gesture how she strangulated the girl child as soon as she was born - all 8 of them - year after year. ALL BECAUSE SHE WANTED A MALE CHILD. 

And this, I have now discovered, is the just tip of the iceberg, all thanks to American film maker and activist Evan Grae Davis' enlightening and goose-bumps inducing talk on gendercide at the TEDxGateway Mumbai. All this while, we had been hearing and discussing about female infanticide, female foeticide and selective abortion but it was only after watching Evan talk in detail about this horrifying phenomenon, that I was introduced to the word GENDERCIDE. Yes, in all honesty, I feel so ashamed of this, that as a supposedly 'aware' woman of the world, I was never aware that the randomly discussed-and-discarded issue of female infanticide and foeticide has now become a monster called gendercide.

                                                                                  A Monster called Gendercide

Gendercide is the deliberate and systematic killing of a gender group - usually girls. The United Nations estimates that as many as 200 million girls are 'missing' in the world today. Millions killed, aborted or abandoned simply because they were girls.

200 million girls 'missing' from the world

Census statistics report that in countries such as India and China, the male to female ratio is as high as 120 men for every 100 women. Today India and China eliminate more girls than the number of girls born in America every year. In addition to sex-selective abortion, gendercide also takes the forms of infanticide and violence against female gender at any stage of life. So much so that the girls who survive infancy are often subject to neglect, and many grow up to face violence and even death at the hands of their own husbands or other family members. A perfect case of the proverbial 'out of the frying pan into the fire'.

Evan says he too was introduced to the word gendercide only after he traveled to India. (I am ashamed to write this - a country of snake charmers, magicians, and whatnots and now gendercide too - our country's another claim to fame.) He had spent nearly two decades travelling around the world covering calamities of all kind - war, hunger, poverty, HIV Aids - but no horror of genocide had prepared him for this - standing at the edge of a farmland in southern India, looking at a row of graves and listening to a woman share how she had personally strangled 8 of her own newborn baby girls. Because she did not want a daughter, she wanted a son. 

And that's when he discovered that in this part of the world the three most deadliest words were: It's a Girl, or as we say it in Hindi - Beti hui hai.

Here's the video where Evan talks about gendercide and how his documentary film 'It's a girl' is educating and coercing people about taking up a more active role against gender discrimination. I request everyone of you reading this post to please see this video, for indeed it will open your eyes to the harsh facts about gendercide.

As we see in the video, Evan has no hatred or derision towards the lady who killed her eight daughters, for he knows that this war against girls is rooted in centuries-old tradition and sustained by deeply ingrained cultural dynamics which push for the elimination of girls. That's the social structure most Indian women grow up in - with the deep embedded thought that the girls are inferior, a burden on the family and the society. 

What's ironical is the fact that it is not just the poor and supposedly unaware sections of society that hankers after a male child. The urban class is there too, albeit they do it all very discreetly. I am sure many of us know of family members or extended family members who bowed before the pressure of the so-called need for a male heir to carry forward the family name. And if it did not happen naturally, then there were many ways to work around god's will. 

So we see how an American activist comes to India and comes face to face with one of the deadliest genocides of his time, just that this genocide is gender specific - it is gendercide. So what does he do? Make a film out of it, express concern and move on? No, what Evan did was something very inclusive and of course, heartening. He collaborated with concerned Indians working in this field and came up with what is now called - It's a Girl manifesto.

It's a Girl manifesto

Here's a clip from Evan's documentary film It's a Girl. The film tells the stories of abandoned and trafficked girls, of women who suffer extreme dowry related violence, of brave mothers fighting to save their daughter's lives, and of other mothers who would kill for a son.

Both this videos give us a fair idea about the plight of women in India and China, caught up in a war against girls. In fact in China, the situation is worse. Government's notorious One Child Policy has had serious repercussions on not just the male-female ratio in the country but also on the mental well being of millions of women who were forced to abort their girl child. 

China's ruthless One-Child Policy has had serious repercussions

Studies and surveys reveal that besides the imbalanced sex-ratio, gendercide in China has had far reaching effects on its women and children. 

1. Around 500 women commit suicide in China everyday.

2. Violence against women and girls, discrimination in education and employment, traditional preference for male children and birth-limitation policies are the major factors that contribute to the high female suicide rate.

3. Around 8 million women undergo abortions every year.

4. Over 35 percent of women who have had an abortion have another shortly after.

According to researcher Steven Mosher, it is no accident that, “China's women have the highest suicide rate in the world, not to mention the highest rates of breast cancer, all in consequence of having had their babies killed in utero by a state ruthlessly bent on population control.''

Here are some stark statistics that gives an idea about where India and China stand when it comes to male-female ratio as compared to some other develop and not so developed countries in the world.

In the wake of all these stark statistics, Evan's talk and work for the It's a Girl campaign looks like a big ray of hope. For this campaign aims at not just enlightening the local communities of the affected countries about the numbing horrors of gendercide, but is also try to get the support international community in pushing for stringent measures to rein this brutality against the female gender.

What Can We Do for the Campaign?

I believe most of us here come from a different breed of women, women who were proud to have us and who gave us all the freedom to live our lives the way we wanted to live. They brought us up, nurtured us and guided us to make us what we are today - independent, healthy and happy individuals.  They made men who love their daughter and respect their wives and see women as strong independent entities whose existence run parallel to them and not just around them. 

So we all collectively can play a significant and practical role to help mobilize support for the movement against gendercide. As Evan so aptly suggests, we can all be the Culture Changers. 

Let's Take a Stand - Just because we are privileged enough to have a life that is largely devoid of the misgivings related to gender discrimination does not mean that we dismiss gendercide as an exception rather than a rule. Let us all talk about it and not just talk about it, let's condemn it with well meaning powerful  words. Let us make our friends and families and everyone aware of gendercide, let's make it famous, so famous the every one knows about it, and feels ashamed to be a part of a culture that has for so long supported this heinous cultural trend.

Let's Speak Out - Millions of girls in India and China have no voice to demand dignity and equality and need support to defend them. Let's speak out for justice for them, let's stand with them in solidarity in every way we can - petitions, more documentaries, protests - whatever it takes to attract people and government's attention. Let us push the government to make stringent  laws against female infanticide, let us relentlessly push for severe punishments for crimes against women.

Let's Involve the Men - No girl deserves to die because of her gender, and the good men in our lives and outside of it know that. Let's us involve them in raising a strong voice against this reprehensible crime .

Involve the Media - Let us involve the media in highlighting the horrors of gendercide. Print, broadcast, web - all forms of media should be brought together to work in unison to create public awareness campaigns to increase the perceived value of girls in society.

Use Our Creativity - Let us use our creative skills to influence the people to come forward and show their support for this noble campaign. Sing, dance, perform, stage a play, make a film, write, walk, run - let's do whatever we can do, use all our talents to help bring about a positive turnaround.

Beside the above-mentioned broad steps, following concrete measures too would go  along way in curbing gendercide: 

• Ensure hospitals and doctors uphold the law against sex determination tests.
• Create rapid action task forces to arrest those who engage in violence against women.
• Better enforce laws against giving and receiving dowries when women marry.

Besides this, we can help make gendercide famous and mobilize a movement to restore dignity and value to the girls of India and China by taking one of the following actions (It's a Girl campaign initiative) : sign the China petition (http://www.causes.com/itsagirlchinapetition), sign the India petition (http://www.causes.com/actions/1658138-tell-world-leaders-to-end-the-female-gendercide-in-india?reposter=789379), donate to save girls in China (http://www.causes.com/actions/1684039-help-mothers-and-daughters-at-risk-in-china?reposter=789379), donate to save girls in India (http://www.causes.com/actions/1681196-help-save-a-little-girl-in-india?reposter=789379)

This post is written for the Idea Caravan and Indiblogger in association with Franklin Templeton Investments. Franklin Templeton Investments partnered the TEDxGateway Mumbai in December 2012. 
Photo Courtesy: Google Images.

P.S It's heartening to see Evan interacting with concerned citizens on Twitter - he's been following people and tweeting back replies to tweeple's questions, thoughts and musings on gendercide. Here's what he had to say on my blog post:

All That Matters Is...Now

This post is as much for me, my self, as much it is for the contest at Blogadda.com - sharing thoughts about All That Matters to an individual. So what really matters to me? Had I been mulling about this questions a few months ago, I would have probably said money matters, inner peace matters, appreciation matters, identity matters, friends and family matters. But no, not any more. For now I believe that actually what really really matters is the importance of NOW, the infinite power of present. Now is the key to all other attainments - material and immaterial.

Not long ago, I was one of those people who would probably have become the self appointed leader of any procrastinators group, provided they made an effort. But then making an effort, and that too at the right time never came easily to the likes of us. My dates with deadlines were never honoured, there was always a backlog on my table and and on my mind, and life in general trudged from one pending task to another pending task. Not until I missed a very important and quite expensively booked official flight out of the country. What followed was nothing sort of a domino effect - meeting after meeting cancelled, the itinerary gone for a toss, another flight booked at a even higher rate, plus, all the chaos billed to my paltry account.

And as if this was not enough, (literal) insult was added to injury with long winding emails by the powers that be in the office, about the importance of being  more punctual and err...less dreamy. Well, the aftermath of this catastrophe got me all thinking and analyzing the reason behind my inclination towards procrastination.

I was procrastinating all right - postponing  tasks from mornings to late evenings, from weekdays to weekends, and then seeing busy weekends ahead, further postponing the tasks to Mondays, and then Tuesdays, and thus the vicious circle continued. No wonder I was always in a mad rush to complete pending tasks that kept piling on and on. But now was the time to contemplate and sort out once and for all the menace of procrastination. And so I got down to monitor in intricate detail my thought process, and my routine and in no time I had figured out what caused me to always come up  with the sentences like  - I will do this later, I will do this during the night, I will complete this work over the weekend.

Past and Future, these were the two words that were hampering my present. These two words kept me captive in their worlds most of the time. I was either daydreaming about future or if not that,  I was reminiscing about the past. Author Paulo Coelho's words in his bestseller work Aleph better describes the persistent predicament I was in -

'We human beings have enormous difficulty in focusing on the present; we're always thinking about what we did, about how we could have done it better, about the consequences of our actions, and about why we didn't act as we should have. Or else we think about the future, about what we're going to do tomorrow, what precautions we should take, what dangers await us around the next corner, how to avoid what we don't want and how to get what we have always dreamed of.”

So that's what my self diagnosis was - persistent hovering around the never ending realms of past and future. But know I believe I that I am cured. And a lot of discipline and body and mind control has gone into this new me. A lot of inspiration came from the books too, from the learned men who knew answers to all of humanity's big and small questions. And this reminds of the beautiful quote by Gautam Buddha that inspires us all to appreciate the present - 

'The past is already gone, the future is not yet here. There's only one moment for you to live, and that is the present moment.' 

How simple and yet profound this thought is. And this too has played a significant role in molding me into a new me, one who is more punctual and does not dilly-dally about the tasks at hand. A new me who knows that all that matters is now, the present. 

This post is written as a part of ‘All that Matters‘ contest at BlogAdda.com in association with INK Live 2013.

Photo Courtesy: Google Images

All That Matters Is...

A stable, sensitive and concerned government matters, our cricket team performing superlatively all the year round and ruling the international rank tally matters, our films winning laurels at the Oscars matters, our sportsmen smashing Olympic records matters, love and affection matters, money matters, appreciation matters...gosh there are so many things that matter to me as an Indian. But I believe that on one level, these things matter for almost all of us. What really matters to me as an individual is FREEDOM. 

I WANT FREEDOM FROM THE FEARS OF BEING A WOMAN IN INDIA. Let me make it very clear here that I am not a feminist. Not at all. I am against reservation for women anywhere and everywhere. I believe that when you support reservation or seek special favors just because you are a woman, you imply that you are probably weak or under-deserving to get anything on you own, just on account of you being a woman. 

The freedom that I am talking about here is the freedom to just be. The freedom that gives me the spontaneity to just take off to explore my country on my own, without having to fear for my safety, and without having to answer a zillion questions about why I am travelling alone, what my intentions are, why am I without a companion (family, husband or friends), and without having to be accountable for my every move. I am sure many of my friends and fellow travel enthusiasts will agree that in our country, the idea of a single female tourist/traveller is still a far-fetched one. 

We all know how India was in the spotlight the world over on account of the horrific bus rape incident that happened in New Delhi. The furor condemning it lasted a couple of months, there were all kinds of protests condemning the incident , the outrage was palpable, following which the parliament passed a bill recommending harsher punishments for rapists. But this has hardly brought about any significant change at the ground level. Every single day, there are reports of molestation, kidnapping, harassment and the new menace, acid attacks. 

No matter how mentally strong you are, no matter how much self belief you have, no matter how independently you have lived, every time you step out on Indian roads - be it a city road or a village trail, you steel yourself against the subtle and not so subtle harassment that you know will come your way, something that makes you feel like a hapless prey. There are times when I wonder whether it is too Utopian a thought to imagine gender equality taking roots in our country.

Utopian or not, I do not see it happening anytime soon here. Not unless, there is a complete overhaul of the country's attitude towards its women. Not unless law makers, policy makers, social workers, politicians and the people themselves all come together to speed up the change towards a gender equal India, and make it a country that respects its women, a country where women are allowed to live free from fear and oppression. For freedom is all that matters.

This post is written as a part of ‘All that Matters‘ contest at BlogAdda.com in association with INK Live 2013.

Photo Courtesy: Google Images

The Strangers on the Page

Photo courtesy: Google Images

They are strangers. All of them. But after reading their dear ones describe them in loving words, you suddenly feel as if you know them all. Every single one of them, featured in the newspaper’s obituary page, where the memories of the departed are shared with grief, love and gratitude.

Today, there’s a father who is lovingly remembered for his commitment and dedication. His legacy of hard work and honesty is heralded as greatly motivating. I read this, and this dad comes alive in front of me - in flesh and blood – a warm and suave gentleman who is always there for everyone, and suddenly I miss not meeting him in person. There’s a beautiful lady too, who I read, was an intelligent and loving mother, and a dedicated and hardworking wife. I read about her pleasant smile and see it lighting up around me. Then there are grandfathers and grandmothers - the dadas, dadis, nanas and nanis - who have left for their heavenly abode and are now being remembered and missed by their children and grandchildren. I read it all - the names and the adulatory messages, and look deeply at the photos and try to guage if these strangers died content and happy, whether they had a fulfilling life. The warm and happy faces of these elderly give nothing away and so I assume that they died happy.

Then there are those who share another corner, staring straight, proud in their military fines. They are the fighters, the martyrs who laid down their lives fighting for their country’s cause. Here they are now, remembered year after year, by their families, fellow fighters and brethrens. From all ranks and files, they are lauded for their bravery and thanked for their invaluable guidance and noble thoughts. I read it all – their names, their ranks and the unit they belonged to, and imagine strapping groomed men full of fervour and zest for life, charging ahead and taking the enemy head on.

But almost always there are some announcements that leave you sad and disillusioned. The prayer meetings, rasam kriyas and chauthas. Of people who must have been in the prime of their life. They are gone, and now have their best pictures announcing their untimely departure. Their beaming, happy, cheerful faces next to the obituary notes look so out of place that you naively wonder if there’s been some mistake and that probably the press men bumbled and put up wrong photos. All of 23 and dead? No, this surely is a mistake! That’s not an age to die! 18 and gone? There must be an error here...the heart goes. But deep inside you know it’s not a mistake. You read about the freak accident, the sudden illness, the massive heart attack...the words ‘untimely death’ prefixed everywhere. Ah. The grief stricken list breaks my heart. Father, mother, brother, sister, grandparents...you read on, realising it all too well that life for them would never be the same again.

Note: Cross posted from my long abandoned blog.

Lamentation on Death of a Puppy

Photo Courtesy: Google images

He was weak and timid looking – a tiny puppy, who, after sensing that there were all friendly faces around him now, had started to relax and had lazily sprawled outside Sanjay bhaiya’s house, as much out of exhaustion as with relief. Sanjay bhaiya, our next door neighbour, had discovered him yesterday evening, whimpering under a battered chair outside a rundown shop on the busy main road, right outside our colony. The puppy seemed to have lost his mother and had looked scared and forsaken, so Sanjay bhaiya, in a spur of the moment decision, made up his mind to take him home and feed him till he was big and strong enough to fend for himself in the ruthless world of stray dogs and rowdy humans.

And so Sanjay bhaiya brought the puppy along, carefully perched on his left hand while manoeuvring his bike with the right hand. As soon as he entered our street, commotion broke out. While the elderly unclejis and auntyjis sitting outside their houses were mildly curious, the kids, every single one of them, were ecstatic.
‘Puppy, puppy!’ there was an excited chorus from the kids playing a random self-made game that was instantly and unceremoniously abandoned, with everyone making a beeline for Sanjay bhaiya’s house. Within seconds, the puppy was in some kid’s hands, being lovingly cuddled and muddled. And then soon enough, he was changing hands, followed by more cuddling and muddling.

In between all that excitement and free flow of hugs and cuddles, there were questions galore. ‘Bhaiya, will you adopt this puppy?’ ‘Bhaiya, what breed is he?’ ‘Bhaiya, will you keep him home?’ ‘Bhaiya, does he bite?’ ‘Bhaiya, WILL he bite?’ ‘Bhaiya, is he hungry?’ ‘Bhaiya, what is his name?’ and the most important question of them all – ‘Bhaiya, will aunty ALLOW you to keep him home?’ Well, this indeed was the most important question, since Sanjay bhaiya’s mother’s aversion to dogs was well known to all and sundry living on the street.

‘Bhaiya, keep him please. We’ll all take care of him.’ There was another chorus from the kids of our street. Someone got some milk, a small packet of biscuit materialised, there was a discarded plastic bowl too, and so before Sanjay bhaiya’s mother could come out of the house to discover what the commotion was all about, the puppy was done with the milk and was happily settled on a rag, nibbling on the biscuits he had been offered.

With auntiji out of the house, now was the litmus test that was to decide the puppy’s fate – was he going to become an esteemed citizen of our street or was he going to be packed off right back to the dangerous busy road he came from. Tense moments followed while auntyji stood there, staring down at the puppy, that, oblivious to everything else but the sudden strike of good fortune, was busy lazily nibbling at the biscuits. He looked relaxed but his eyes, light gray in colour and tear strained, had a lost look in them and stood out against his white and beige fur. And probably that was what momentarily melted auntiji’s heart as she declared – ‘Let him be here for the night, it’s too late now. In the morning we will see what has to be done.’

So the crisis stood averted, at least for the time being. And from the look of it, it seemed that everyone was planning to go all out to win auntiji over when the next morning came. But for now, it was all about the exhilaration of having the puppy around, and that brought them all to the next important question – ‘Bhaiya, what should we call him?’

‘Let’s call him Sammy!’ pat came the suggestion from little Rohan. ‘No, no, that’s so boring! Bhaiya, let’s call him Scooby!’ some other kid suggested. ‘But Scooby is boring too! Let’s call him Buzo, short and sweet!’ this one came from Alisha. And so the names kept coming for almost half an hour – ranging from as whacky as Scissors and Hungry to as lame as Johnny, Sheru and Tommy. But despite much deliberation on the most beautiful and unique name for the puppy, no consensus was reached, resulting in the naming ceremony getting postponed to the next day.

Apt, we all thought. Tomorrow, the kids will win aunty over and the puppy would get to stay here and not just that, he will get a name too - a new lease of life for him, and exciting times for the kids, for they will have a new toy to play with. With these happy thoughts, the puppy’s bed was made in Sanjay bhaiya’s veranda, a couple of rags neatly laid down with enough milk and water in small bowls to take care of him if he went hungry in the night. ‘Good night puppy!’ was the final chorus as the kids went off for the night, each making up their mind about the name they wanted for the cute little puppy. Tomorrow was a big day.

Now tomorrow has come, albeit a little too soon for the puppy. He was discovered dead in the morning, crushed under another neighbour’s car. Everyone’s in shock, even the indifferent aunties and uncles and the sundry household helps. But the perpetrator, he has no remorse, none at all. The unapologetic moron says he is not accountable for every stray dog and its litter that crowd the street. ‘Whoever got him along, should have taken care of him, I am not going to look under my car every time I start it, to see if there’s a dog sitting there!’ that his sarcastic and final take on the incident.

So the weak and timid puppy is dead now. Who knows, probably he would have survived the harsh and dangerous busy road where he was first discovered; maybe he would have survived the ruthless stray dogs too. But he could not survive the ruthless humans, he died and he died nameless.

A Houseful Nest on Our Window Ledge

A houseful nest on our window ledge 

I so love it when birds make nests in my house. Somehow, it gives me the satisfaction that they probably find a sense of safety here, and that's the reason they chose this place to set up a new home and start a family.

All day, till dusk falls, there is frenzy of activity in the veranda. Dry grass and sundry variety of straws strewn all over...all topped with with a busy chitter chatter, as if they are discussing the nitty-gritties of setting up a new home and advising each other on what kind of grass will keep the newborns more comfortable. Listening to them all afternoon, I let me imagination run wild.

Their chattering fills the house with such positivity. As if all's well with the world.

What's Your Roll Number?

Image Courtesy : Google Images

It all started with inquiries about each other’s roll numbers. We were freshers in college, sitting in the English Literature class, excitedly waiting for the professor to come in. There was still some time to beat, so everyone was either busy fiddling with their phones or making acquaintance with those sitting around them. And almost every new conversation was starting with the standard question - ‘what’s your roll number?’

You see in our college the roll numbers for the first year students were allotted on the basis of the student’s position in the +2 merit list. From 1000 upwards the roll numbers were for the first year students, and below 1000 belonged to the kids from the +2 section. So the person who topped the merit list got roll number 1000, and the next in line, with even a point of difference in the score percentage and rank would get 1001, and so on. So if your roll number was anywhere within 1000 to 1100, everyone would know that you are a top ranker and that defined who you were, at least for the first few months in college.

So here she was, sitting a couple of seats away from me on the left. I had not noticed her, of course, for I was busy with my nose dug deep into some book to avoid unnecessary question answer sessions with strangers. And also more so because I was a fresher not just in college, but also in the city, and feeling a tad out of place among all the Punjabi speaking super bubbly crowd around me.

As we waited, the two girls sitting on my left suddenly realized that they had been sitting in the wrong lecture hall all this while, and got up to come out of the pew. And so this development caused the seats next to me to fall vacant. She shifted towards the vacant spot so that we could all sit more comfortably. And that’s when I saw her.

How beautiful she was! Not pretty, not cute, but beautiful, so simply beautiful! Milky white skin, lush long hair plaited neatly, rosy lips and a sweet ready smile on her face. She was the quintessential archetypal Punjabi girl. Gosh, after so many years I can still see her there, turning to me and asking – 'aapka roll number kya hai?'

I was so taken aback by her innocent face, her beauty and the charming manners, that for a second I did not know what to say. A hello? A hi? Nothing, all I could muster was a curt and indifferent - '1020'. 

'Oh  wow!', she said, but by that time I was back into the book I had in hand, though of course now I was not reading it, but instead wondering if I should have said her a friendly hello at least. The wondering and contemplation lasted a few minutes, and it was her friendly silhouette that finally prompted me to turn and ask - 'And what's your roll number?'

'Aapse to zyada hi hai', she smiled admiringly, '1042,  aapka kya rank tha merit list mein?' she continued, and thus began our first little chitchat. By the time the first day in college wrapped up, we had been together since that English class - we had almost similar subjects, barring one (I opted out of Economics went in for Public Administration instead), we shared her food that she got from home, had some snacks in the cafeteria, strolled around the college identifying the different departments, discussing the teachers and crowd in general, and generally having fun at our own expense, confiding about our eccentricities and whims and fancies.

Looking back, I realize, we were so childlike - we came from simple homes, enjoyed the small and little things that life had to offer, we studied, we had fun, we talked, blabbered rather, about anything and everything - we were so transparent, and that's the reason why we bonded so well. It was later that she shared that it was my roll number that first got her hooked to me - haha, my 1020 as compared to her 1042! Because of the roll number, she thought I was more intelligent than her, and this thought still amuses me!

Later in college, when I joined NCC, I pestered her to join too, so that we could be together, and she reluctantly gave in. And what followed was mad fun at various outstation camps - singing late into the night, helping each other in the strenuous tasks, scrounging for food when the NCC mess became absolutely unbearable and standing for each other when random discussion with other cadets started going out of hand.

In our friendship, she is the one who has always been the more giving and affectionate one, and I admire her for that. There have been times when I have been unable to acknowledge and appreciate her love and affection for me - and I think about those time off and on - and I realize my shortcomings. But she knows me, knows how I am, and that keeps me comfortable.

Today she is a PHD holder, a happily married woman with a cute little son and I am so proud of her. Here are a few lines I wrote about her as I thought about our days in college:

Ek sohni kudi punjaban

Naal mere oh pad-di si
Gori chitti pariyaan wargi,
Te mithiyaan gallan kar di si!

 This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

If My Dad Was A Politician

‘The country has gone to the dogs! Shameless corrupt politicians! No morals whatsoever!'

This is not my rant against our politicians. I have moved beyond that – moved beyond ranting and waxing eloquent about the lot that our politicians are. Now their idiosyncrasies do not enrage me, they just keep me amused, well most of the times that is. The words in quotes rather form a part of my dad’s daily tirade against the state that our country is in – they are his standard lines to vent about the shenanigans that our worthy politicians indulge in on a daily basis.

I understand his helplessness. And I also understand that with his kind of idealism and clinical approach towards issues that have plagued and continue plaguing our country, he can play a vital role in sorting quite a lot of mess out of our corruption prone administrative policies. Only if we had politicians like him, who could transfer their frustration into well thought out and implementable plans of action. Wow! That’s an exciting idea – my dad as a politician! Not just any politician, but someone important, someone who has a say in the way the country is managed.

Well, how would things be different if my dad was a powerful politician? I guess many of us, if given a choice of having their dad as a mighty man from the parliament would want them to handle significant portfolios like External Affairs, Finance or, Defence may be. But not my dad, I do not want a fancy portfolio for him. No complex foreign policies for him please. No scam-prone multi-million dollar schemes to accelerate the economic growth either. If my dad was a politician, all I would want is a beautiful country flocked by tourists! Yes, that’s what I want, for starters. If my dad was a politician I would want him to head the Tourism Ministry.

My Dad, the Minister of Tourism

Lame, you would think. Why not Railways or Coal for that matter? Oh...Tourism Ministry for the junkets and the other perks? Free family trips to exotic international locations? Nah nah! That’s not my story. My story runs on a different tangent. I am a travel enthusiast who is passionate about ancient monuments, and all the architectural grandeur that abounds our beautiful country. But other than a few much publicized monuments, quite a large part of our architectural heritage lies ignored and neglected. Many such monuments are a treasure trove of intriguing historical stories. If my Dad is the Tourism Minister, I will ask him to take initiatives to highlight the tourism worthy sites across the country. He will look into it and then advice his the ministry officials to plan out policies and brochures that bring to limelight the hidden treasure trove of architectural beauty that our country is.

Besides highlighting the architectural glory of own country, there would be campaigns to highlight India beyond the Golden Triangle and the Taj Mahal. The Tourism Ministry, under my dad’s leadership would also take concrete steps to formulate policies and programmes to encourage people to travel more. There would be media drives to encourage locals to explore their country, with special packages designed to meet every budget.

While these measures would focus on encouraging tourism, the ministry would also have a special Board, solely responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of all the listed tourist sites across the country. There would also be another national Board to look into all sorts of issues and complaints from tourists, regarding any problem they might have encountered while travelling in India. This Board will have separate divisions for domestic and international tourists so that the complaints go in their respective divisions and are handled in an expedited manner.

I am sure the present Ministry of Tourism has already incorporated some of these steps in its functioning, but with my dad as the Tourism Minister, the key would be to strictly stick to the laid out rules and regulations. It is the discipline that he will bring to his office that will make him a cut above the rest and will make him the best Tourism Minister the country has ever had.

And if someday this happens for real, none would be more proud of him than me. So probably for starters, I should get going to goad him to jump on the political bandwagon. Delhi should not be too far once this passenger gets on-board! And what would it all mean to me you ask?  Probably exotic junkets the year round, eh?

Amba - A Saga of Revenge

From the Book Blurb: 

Amba: A Saga of Revenge, from Amar Chitra Katha tells the compelling story of one who played a crucial role in the final outcome of the epic battle of Kurukshetra.

My two cents:

Amba, the eldest daughter of the King of Kasi, is all set to choose her husband from amongst the suitors who have come to try their luck in a swayamvar organised at her father’s court. But a tyrannical twist of events leaves Amba vying for Bheeshma’s blood. And as the saying goes – hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – an embittered Amba is out to seek revenge, and plans to leave no stone unturned to avenge the wrong done to her.

She knocks at all doors – requesting Princes, Kings and even Gods for help to take on Bheeshma, but no one obliges her, fearing mighty Bheeshma’s wrath.  Disgruntled, she sets out to appease Lord Shiva in the hope that her severe penance will please the almighty God to help her.  Her fierce determination bears fruit and Lord Shiva appears before her, with a long-term plan to end her woes.

So how does Lord Shiva help Amba in eventually avenging her humiliation? Who is Shikhandi and where does this interesting character figure in this revenge saga? Who brings Bheeshma Pitamaha down with his arrows? Grab your copy of this vividly illustrated comic to find out, for this fascinating tale from the ACK series definitely enlightens the readers about the many lesser known faces from the Mahabharata and the epic battle of Kurukshetra.

Like I mentioned in my post on comics of yore, this was a comic book I read after a really long time, and that too from the iconic Amar Chitra Katha series. The vivid illustrations, bright colour scheme and the crisp narrative, reading this book was like a beautiful walk down memory lane.

More about the Comic:

Publisher: Amar Chitra Katha
Genre: Comic
Pages: 30
ISBN: 978-93-5085-199-9

Of Comics in the Days of Yore

Amba: A Saga Of Revenge
Amar Chitra Katha's new offing

Read a comic after long, long, really long - and that too from the iconic Amar Chitra Katha Series. The vivid illustrations, bright colour schemes and the crisp narrative - it all took me back to my childhood days when my brother and I, both comic freaks, used to devour these books like maniacs. We were hooked, and I secretly dreamt of owning a comic book shop, where I would just hoard all the comics instead of selling them. We both read anything and everything – so long as the book had colourful drawings and nice cartoons. Fascinating tales from the Amar Chitra Katha series, Superman, Spider-Man, Batman, Mandrake, Phantom, Tintin, Archies, Nandan, Champak, Lotpot – we read them all! Though our ever favourites were the home-grown superheroes Super Commondo Dhruv and Nagaraj, and the friendly lot of Billu, Pinki, Raman, Channi Chachi and Tauji.

Then there were some other popular ones too, that did not enjoy our patronage, the likes of Chacha Bhatija, Motu Patlu, Bankelal and Doga. Their plots were quite flimsy and more often than not, stolen from their popular counterparts.

Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu
Photo Courtesy : www.chachachaudhary.com

And last but not the least, what child of the 80’s India can forget the madcap exploits of Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu! Chacha Choudhary, our desi quick-witted investigator and Sabu, his friend and companion from the planet Jupiter – what a formidable pair they made. And icing on the cake were the two lines that defined them. At every important turn of event, a well placed asterisk took us to those epic lines:

*Chacha Chaudhary ka dimaag computer se bhi tez chalta hai.

*Jab Sabu ko gussa aata hai, door kahin jwaalamukhi phat-ta hai.

Ah, I am getting all nostalgic. Let me go read about some of Sabu’s recent adventures online now. Hope you enjoyed reading about this post. Do share what comics you read as a kid and who were your favourite comic book characters!