Bucketing Some Dreams

Okay, so first things first. This is my first attempt at writing for an IndiSpire topic. In the past, every time a topic which was to my liking came up, I would mentally attempt it, scribble a few lines in some obscure corner of my mind and then promptly abandon it there. I had almost abandoned this one too, after scrawling a couple of to-dos on the imaginary wall of the black hole that my mind is, but then something struck a chord and I had to reclaim it back. No, I thought, I was not abandoning this one, no I was not going to give up on this one too. And so here I am, bucketing some dreams for the first time in a long, long time.

So the topic for this edition of IndiSpire is: Ten things you must do before you die or else you would feel like a loser on a death bed. Let's share and motivate each other about life. Let's dream about life.

The cynic in me generally brushes aside concepts like bucket lists and must-dos, but I was tempted to indulge this topic for it said, 'let's dream about life'. The word dream not only inspired me to write, this clause also freed me from cynical dismissal of the concept of bucket-lists, since the word 'dream' gives me the freedom to pour my heart out and still be aloof from the pressure of going all out to make this 'bucket-list' come true. Paradox, isn't it? 

Anyway, here's my list.

1. Set up free tea and snack kiosks on the route from Katra to Vaishno Devi - One winter night, a couple of years ago, I was trekking up to Vaishno Devi temple from Katra, our small group tstopping in between for cups of tea to keep ourselves warm. Now, the Shri Mata Vaishno Devi Shrine Board has made decent arrangements for the the devotees to take a break while they are walking up the steep road to the temple. There are enough shelters and canteens where one can rest and refuel themselves for the walk/climb ahead. These canteens offer refreshments at reasonable rates, but even with the subsidized rates, for the porters who help haul up luggage carts as well as weak and old pilgrims, it leaves a dent in their already light pockets. So I wish that someday I am able to help set up enough free tea kiosks on this route, so that the porters and other daily wagers here can have tea and snacks for free. 

2. A road trip across the country - There's so much to explore in our country - from the ethereal Himalayas in the north to the mesmerising tea estates of the south, from the cascading sand dunes in the west to the pristine landscape of the east, from ancient ruins to intricate architectural delights, our country is a treasure trove full of natural delights. I wish I get a chance to travel to every nook and corner of the country and explore it all and make friends everywhere. How wonderful it would be to able to connect with people from all over the country! 

3.  Be an expert swimmer and diver - I know swimming all right, but I wish I could do it better.  I want to be a better and confident swimmer so I do not shy away from swimming in natural water bodies. Also I love diving but find the big pools intimidating. So this is one skill I really dream of mastering.

4. Be an expert driver - I keep forgetting the basics of driving all the time. I remember long long ago when I was learning to drive for the first time, the person who was coaching me had to coax me at every turn to go ahead and take the turn. And I would fumble every time, scared that I will bump into some hapless passer by. I am yet to overcome that fear and because of this I keep giving up on driving. I need to overcome this fear and I wish someday I am a driver confident enough to drive on the national highways on my own.

5. Own a book store cum cafe - Oh, I am sure many of us have this dream. So wish some day I am financially comfortable enough to set up a little book store of my own, and a cafe to go with it. Nothing fancy, just your basic tea-and-cookies kind, where one can sit and sip endless cups of tea while browsing through their favourite books.

6. Have a few travel books to my name - I should be prioritising this, but the procrastinator in me wins all the time. I have a travel blog but most of the times I am either too lazy or too zoned out to update it regularly. So I wish I win the war against procrastination and seriously get down to penning my big and small travel tales. 

7.  Explore Machu Pichu - Very few ancient sites have left me as intrigued as the Machu Pichu ruins in Peru. This 15th-century Inca site was built at the height of Inca empire but abandoned a century later. There are several theories about why it was abandoned. Every time I read stories about its rise and subsequent decline, and see the photos of the captivating ruins, I have a strong urge to trek up and explore every part of this panoramic site.

8. Sail across the world - I have never been on a ship and the idea sounds very brave and romantic. Given my love for history and geography, it would be a dream come true if I get an opportunity to sail across the world. It would be so exciting to see for real all the fanciful names I studied in Geography classes - Gulf of Alaska, Strait of Gibraltar, Bermuda Triangle, Baffin Bay, et al.

9. Own a small cottage somewhere up in the mountains -  Ah, this is a long cherished dream, to be away from the madness that city life is and set up a quiet life somewhere deep in the mountains. Why, I even wrote a poem on it! You can read it here.

10. Make efforts to make sure the nine dreams listed here come true.  Oh yes!

So I have finally made a bucket list and it was fun. In fact bucket lists are fun. I guess the term bucket list should be replaced with the words 'hope list', for they make you want to live. Okay, enough. Let me pull down the shutters before I start philosophising.

Let There Be Light

Till about early evening there was indifference. And then this happened. 

Came across this little girl at Katha. Her face is magical - eyes so bright, smile so pure.

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.

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?

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!

A Duck Tale from Lansdowne

In the misty mountains of Lansdowne, there lived in a serene lake, a quacky family of 3 little ducks.

Their friendly neighbour Mrs. & Mr. White Duck visited often, and together they all went frolicking around the lake, going all quack quack.

One day, White Duck Junior too obediently  followed his parents around, though shyly ducking all the questions about his new girlfriend, the little Birdie.

The little Birdie lived in a beautiful house, nestled on a sprawling tree, not too far from the serene lake.

Soon after, the duck fraternity approved of White Duck Junior & Little Birdie's match, and one day at quack of dawn, they came up this church and had a quick little wedding and lived happily ever after.

A Soldier For Us

Just when I was thinking for an example to contextualize my concept of an ‘evolved man’, HIS name flashed like a godsend. I mean, in my make-believe world, he epitomizes an evolved, enlightened man. And why just me, for every woman who relates to his work in any way, he’s a soldier for her – guiding her, instilling self confidence and pride in her, beautifying her, making her strong, understanding her perspective, and most importantly, respecting her. The man is Gulzar – a lyricist, poet and film maker par excellence. Nobody understands a woman like he does.

The women in his work are not just pretty damsels in distress. They think, they speak their mind, they react, they are passionate - they love and they fight. They do not bend under societal pressure, they do not give in. And they do not justify their actions. Some of his powerful characters like Kusum from the movie Khusboo is a woman of substance who refuses to swallow her pride to get her childhood beloved back. Similarly Veeran from Machis is daring enough to become a terrorist to avenge atrocities against her family. Likewise Hu Tu Tu sees a disillusioned young girl taking on her corrupt politician mother. And the very popular Ijaazat, where both the leading ladies are strong and unique in their own way, voicing their opinion on life, marriage, babies and almost everything under the sun – they speak their mind and follow their heart.

So I believe it will be great if besides the everyday heroes in our lives, we also felicitate Gulzar Sahab for his role in subconsciously molding us into stronger women. His ideas take shape from everyday life scenarios, to which he adds his own sensibilities. And the final outcome of those ideas is such that in turn it guides us and becomes a reference point to be referred to in times of contemplation. So Gulzar Sahab it is for me. My soldier.

This post is a part of #Soldierforwomen in association with BlogAdda.com

Gulzar Sahab during one his book readings

A Soldier in My Life

Honour the soldiers in your life. Write about them, commemorate them, asked Blogadda of all bloggers on their forum. I came across their post on my Facebook feed almost a week ago, gave it a cursory go through and dismissed it right away – I had nothing to write on this, no opinion to give, no thoughts to share. There was no soldier in my life, no valiant man who particularly stood out in the way he behaved with women or more specifically stood up for them when need be. End of story.

But the words and the idea got stuck in some corner of the mind, and the regular reminders appearing in the Facebook feed did their bit too – to get me thinking and analyzing the men in my life - men who were family, colleagues, friends,  acquaintances and also the known strangers, whom I know but don’t really know.

Most men I know are closet chauvinists, I thought. They will speak about gender equality, opine about the many prevalent biases, talk about women liberation and all the relevant fancy stuff, but when it came to applying the grand ideas in their lives they will stick to the tried and tested norms of society, and if not this, they will feign indifference. 

And this train of thought led me to my father. Yes, father. Rhetoric it will sound, as most women claim their dads are the soldiers in their lives, but I have a different angle to share. My father comes from a family of hardliners - a family where fun and freedom for women meant taking care of the family. He was born and brought up in a small village in Punjab and no matter how long a time he has spent in metro cities within India and abroad, some part of him will always remain a conservative, orthodox village lad. BUT, he has a come a long way, he has evolved and tries his best to let his daughter BE. He has given me and my mother all the freedom in the world to do whatever we fancy. He has given me freedom of expression and the liberty to live on my own in a ruthless city like Delhi. Of course, there are limitations in his thoughts and the way he views a woman’s world, but I believe he deserves credit for what he was and what he has come to be.  We argue a lot over ideological differences, political debates, and the many social trends. There are times when I hate him for his orthodox views but there are also times when I am so proud of him, for trying to understand. Both of us love old Bollywood music and quiz each other on Retro Bollywood trivia. We love watching the movie Jab We Met together and mimicking the funny dialogues from the movie. 

And however hard I try I cannot imagine doing any of these fun things in any of my paternal uncles’ homes. They still remain the real world chauvinists – with their belief in the superiority of men folk going as strong as ever.

So, despite my cynicism about this whole soldier for woman thing, in my heart of hearts I know that my father is the soldier in my life, maybe not as valiant as I would want him to be, but a somewhat strong soldier nonetheless. Thank you Papa, for being there.

This post is a part of #Soldierforwomen in association with BlogAdda.com

My father, exploring his new phone