The Stalker

Stared, gazed and then hid,
He stopped and walked as I did.
Teasing, stalker moon!

Pic: Mamatha

Betrayal

When I asked my daughter, studying in Delhi, to visit a good friend of mine during Holi, she fumed in mock anger, "Those Aaptards!" Conversation ends.
Today we Indians are divided into two main categories. Modi can easily represent the one and the other is congress, Aap, CPM etc. I have clubbed the rest in one because Modi is their common enemy.
Before I knew a strange trend/ideology came up. 'Anti India' - any thing which is directly associated with India is condemned by some people. Hinduism is the main target.The other Indian religion, cricket has also got affected. I was at my wit's end when I read about anti India slogans shouted at JNU. Anti Hindu is still ok in the garb of 'freedom of expression', but Anti India?
Coming to the title of my post, see the series of betrayals I, an average Indian had to face. Betrayal by very definition means when you are cheated by someone you trusted. JNU, IITs, IIMs were awe inspiring or beyond my reach institutions. In that campus I got to hear obnoxious things about Bharat Mata/ India. Now I will have to tell them that Bharat Mata is not a woman sitting on a lion etc etc but just a symbol that we love our country as we love our mother.
Media. Going back to Doordarshan days I remember relying on newsreaders for the correct pronunciation of certain words. Watching News just to observe the newsreaders. All the ladies were awesome. Then there was 'The World This Week'. An NDTV product, which we never used to miss. Believed each word it aired. Today the same NDTV and rest of the media is biased. I seldom get to watch achievements of government on TV or newspapers.

Nobody can be closer to your heart than your favourite writers/columnists. As he/she shares his secrets and passions while he bares his heart in his books. We relate to what we read and the one-sided affair begins. I too followed a few columns. Today when I share those columns with some of my friends who believe in Modi's hard work and Piyush Goyal's crusade against darkness, they don't even open the link. The moment the name of the newspapers appear they delete it. I fight and shield my dear columnists in vain. But my admiration got thrashed when I read abt the JNU chanting in a hypothetical statement in ‘The Hindu’ that if Modi wins 2019 election 'anti national' would not be able to survive in India and would create a new nation to live. What sinful thinking! I too don't run around streets shouting 'Bharat mata ki Jai' but why scream in your fb status that you would never say this slogan. I wonder if we thought alike about Kishore Kumar, RDB, Sholay, and thousand other things then why can’t they see any development in railway, power and coal, road transport and other ministries? The same ‘The Hindu’ we subscribed, far away in the North while preparing for Civil Services, with hope and dreams in our eyes.

Meet Shashi Tharoor. I almost prayed for him, a fellow Indian, but he lost the topmost post of the UN. We all felt bad.The same Tharoor was speaking at JNU. He mentioned Bhagat Singh and took a pause and the whole crowd laughed mockingly. I was in tears.

I never imagined that a large number of people will be unhappy when India wins a cricket match. Can there be a bigger betrayal than this to an Indian?

If You Forget Me

by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Same old Story

Equipped with  God's view
I saw from my window,
An abuser luring a child with a pearl.
Wow! I'm grown up, thought the little girl.

Each rhyme n blush was praised
She thought that she was superior to the rest.
Smirking, grinning people she could not see
Till she found herself with her self esteem lost.

Now, there was a young lady.
Spring in the morning, noon n day.
She was baited with a diamond.
Who would not be blinded?

World is full of preys.
Now he found a woman who believed in faith.
Her guilts, regrets and doubts were soothed,
Till he won and she had lost.

God's role is difficult to play.
He can't do anything, but to stare at
the pearl to be given to a little girl,
And her distress or his cheer.

The Evening Walk

I discovered the pleasure of walking only after I came to the beautiful campus of IITK. Before that I did go for trekking, cycling and played badminton and volleyball but never walked. May be there ia a certain age required to enjoy walking for the sake of walking. Walking lured me during the long, busy days with two little school going kids, when I longed for some quality time with myself. So,when hubby used to come back from the office to be with kids, I used to be out for my evening walks. This piece appeared in EYES, our campus magazine in 2003, before Blogging and Facebook had happened.

********************

Nothing’s like a brisk walk after a long day, that too on the newly tarred roads of the campus. As I move on many faces pass me by. Mostly I am with my inner self but do overhear sometimes;

"Aye tum school jaate ho? Kya hota hai wahaan?" Says a boy , pushing vegetable cart,to another.

Further near academic area, a cyclist to another, "Matrix dekh li?"

And then a rickshawalla to me "Bitiya gate jana hai?

Antragni is going on, so SAC is crowded with Junta full of verve and gusto. No soft drink ads amongst the chocolate and coffee banners. Thanks to the person behind this, sighed the mom in me!

Park-67 is a treat to the eyes but some trees are missing, what do you say? Strong Winds in the month of august already left the campus minus many green trees, but that was nature's fury. Every tree's death diminishes me. Indeed!

No matter how isolated the lane is where my 40 minutes walk takes me to, I'm never too far from an SIS guard. He suddenly appears in the scene like a gin, to my relief, as there is always a fear of a stray dog, monkeys and even a snake.

So..another day..another route

appeared in EYES, 2003

A part of Me

Sketch by "Puuung"-A korean artist

Blame it on my age

Or greying hair,

Dear Puuung,

Our thoughts are nowhere near.

Love, may be hugging her from behind in the kitchen,

But she found it on the dining table

back from work, when food was already cooked.

Love is covering your partner up with a blanket, agree.

But he felt it when she left his cozy bed to go to another room to read ,

so that he could sleep with lights off.

Falling asleep together is a bliss they know,

But she loved him most when he chose to 

get up and check the door.

Watching TV together is great,

When she let's him watch his fav sitcom

and misses her Wimbledon match.

There are many incidences 

which win her heart,

like when he warns her, still she makes mistakes.

And lets her come back in his arms.

Love shows you strange things,

The highest form of love for him is

when he feels the same warmth of his mother's lap

In his partner's embrace.

When back, knee and migraine do not let you sleep.

Depressing diseases come into the scene 

And your partner sleeps only 

After you are asleep.

Please don't get offended

When I mention,

He lets her burp

and she lets him fart!

The four letters look to me so naïve

When I see grandma quietly crying.

Hugging grandpa's suit and tie,

'Where the part of me  went flying? '

Loved your sketches of

emotions and hugs.

And wish you all about love

what I have learnt.

Mastani's Leela !

I entered the multiplex after a long time. My last was Lunchbox. Thanks to the kind persuasion by a lovely cousin.
No matter how much Bhansali and Deepika tried, but Mastani couldn’t earn my sympathy. It’s not the insecure wife (Kashi) in me is saying this, but the modern day lovers (Ila/Mr Fernandes of Lunchbox) .

Mastani for me is selfish, infatuated teenager/young girl who only added troubles to the protagonist’s life, disturbed a happy family and ultimately became the reason of his death. Poor guy didn’t even know that she is also transported with the other gifts to him.

I belong to the old school of Hindi movies. I’m sure the team of Bimal Roy, Nutun and Ashok Kumar would have convinced me even without the gigantic sets n computerized effects. Oh! why did I think of ‘Bandini’ now? Not a fair comparison. For me if I have to define love that would be Kalyani's in Bandini’.

'Five Point Someone' boy Revisited

Blogging was in its infancy when I started my blog in 2004. A busy working mom of two school going kids, I had my moments of frustration and monotony. I use to get tremendous solace in the arms of my blog. Likeminded bloggers automatically formed their groups and and lots of good vibes flowed through comments. E-books were exchanged, queries were answered, some fellow bloggers got married and some became parents. Joy as well as pain buried in the hearts were shared. Virtual joys reflected in real life too. Instead of responding to crafty co-workers' tactics, I preferred to think about the lovely response by a celebrity blogger on my post. Oblivion of a few negative elements around me, I waited for the lovely posts by my fellow bloggers. 

I also visited a certain Indian investment banker's blog who was based in Hong kong. He posted the pics of his adorable twins and mentioned his book. Bloggers knew about his book before the real world. I think he was the first person to get benefitted  by this medium. He commanded the same respect  as any IIT plus IITM grad does in India. I never commented in his blog and he might have never visited mine, but as  he was from blogging fraternity and I had an IIT connection so, I bought the book  and liked it. I was happy for him when FPS did well. It had all the salable ingredients in it.The book was more of a business acumen rather than a creative wonder. Everyone liked him. Neither was he a threat to anyone nor he was mortifying anybody's pride. But, the gigantic success of his book, rather books changed everything. 

 After more than four  bestsellers and two movies based on them, Bhagat became the hero of masses. A lot of developments have happened since then. Now he writes columns for a couple of publications. Bhagat and his books are always mocked by elites. Macaulay's  Downwards Filtration Theory didn't work here which says any trend comes down to general people from higher class people. Jealousy seems natural as what he earned in less than a decade others cannot hope to do in a long time.

In all these years I have read more about Bhagat than written by him. I review caught my eye because it was written by Pritish Nandi in a magazine. The review was a good piece of writing. Not that I claim to be a critic myself, but it had a good flow. I began reading it and stopped only in the end. It had economics of the book, which he could only admire. It had humour, sarcasm and humiliating stuff too in abundance .Years of experience and toil results in such prose, which we readers love. Nandi had wasted it for such a petty cause, sigh! Recently I was pained to see a post by one of my fav writers telling us how Bhagat is a moron and what all he doesn't know and what all he could do with his qualifications. I reached his page to read one more beautiful travelogue or column and not all this.

Bhagat has written books which gave immense pleasure to a large number of people. He made them read who never read an English novel before. So give him his due. The latest is that Bhagat is trending on Twitter and FB for a wrong reason. Why give him so much importance. Many, many others celebrities post foolish things. They are forgiven after getting chided for a day or two. But this time his crime is grave. He tried to become the biggest bhagat of our PM who has divided our country into two parts in terms of lovers and haters.   

Subah-e-Banaras, Assi Ghat

Imagine a person who is a typical drunkard, obnoxious, difficult to live with and sometimes even his parents announce in the newspapers that they disown him. After a few years you meet him, he is most cultured, charming and elegant. This is what happened to me when I entered Assi Ghat, Banaras. I had left the same ghat four years ago, as soon as I entered it.

Visiting the spotlessly clean ghat in the evening was a bliss. I felt so ashamed that I had abandoned it, thinking there was no hope. A hesitant street food eater I pounced when my host offered me the lemon tea being sold there. Healthy and tasty. A new recipe, go explore! ! Wait, there is an Italian restaurant called Pizzario and a book shop also.

I sat on the mat spread on the floor and watched the majestic Ganga Aarti. Vedic shlokas were being played .

Morning, half an hour before the sunrise, the ghat was pleasantly crowded. Now The Ganga Aarti was accompanied by the vedic shlokas recited by the students of ‘Panini Mahila Mahavidhyala’. A yagnya was being performed simultaneously by a family and everyone was asked to participate if they wanted. I did, and loved it. After the Aarti we were asked to offer jal to the Sun god, if interested. The copper pots were provided to offer Jal at the river Ganga. Shlokas were being recited at this point also by the trained classical singers.

Classical Music Programme: Many celebrities have also performed here before. Today a young lady sang Kabir’s bhajan based on morning raga .While she mesmerised the crowd, appeared the sun on the horizon and its rays hit the Ganges spreading red hue all around.

Yog: A yog teacher instructed the gathering while doing yoga and before I knew it was already 8.30 am 

All my friends who see only dirt at the Prime Minister’s constituency, please visit Assi Ghat, Subah-E Banaras , if you happen to be there. And before saying, ‘What a dirty city’, remember the city is carrying the burden of millions of pilgrims smilingly.
Banaras pics: http://tinyurl.com/p32pc24

The Manikarnika Ghat, Kashi

 Photo:  TripAdvisor

"

Ok", my host Alok told me when after the darshan at Vishwanath and Kal Bhairav Temples, I asked him if we could visit the Manikarnika Ghat. It was his first time too, so had to ask for directions. Early in the morning, mentioning a cremation ghat to a localite who is enjoying his tea at a tea shop, sounded inappropriate. Sipping his tea, he guided us without any fuss.  

Manikarnika is the holiest cremation ghat at Banaras in India. Well stacked logs and rising smoke reminded me of all the dear ones who have left me forever. 

The self appointed guide/boatman reminded me of a Paulo Coelho's quote from  Eleven Minutes, "The world revolves around something that only takes eleven minutes."  After telling the story of  Parvati's lost Kangan (bangle) in a kund right there, he continued that it takes around two and a half  hours for a body to go up in smoke. Sometimes a little longer. After that other rituals are performed. The total cost includes Rs 3k. Though I had doubt about the numbers he had stated, still I wondered that is the end of a person's life so simple to pass? Rs Three thousand and two and a half hours? Actually it is simpler for the person who has departed. It is difficult only for those who are left behind. 

Between the smoke and fine dust in the air, I could imagine the great king Harishchandra, the epitome of honesty, as an employee at the ghat, haggling with his wife for the charges he had to collect for the pyre of their son. I had goosebumps when I read it in school in a book called "Hamaare Poorvaj", I still felt a few. Is that why these ancient cities charm us?

School Days.

Acknowledgements 

The urge to preserve the pleasant memories made in Campus School IITK,  culminated in the form of this Coffee table book. For a school teacher the most memorable moments do not always happen in the classroom but while passing through the corridors, checking the answer-sheets, practicing for the annual events, backstage and in the playground.

I start my day with a lot of positive vibes that make my mornings truly 'good'. Throughout the year my memory bank keeps getting enriched. The most repeated cliche of the school life is, 'I want to be a doctor', but the child who stole my heart, wrote in a creative writing assignment that she wanted be famous and win many awards. We all want to be successful, but how many of us have the courage to say it.

Mamatha and Indira, many thanks for  your constant  encouragement, Tanvi and Saurabh for helping me in getting the photographs printed.

This book for my 'little teachers' who taught me the virtues of childhood which we adults tend to forget.

-Vandana Bahuguna

Archie's

When an acquaintance was leaving the neighbourhood (Campus) I hurriedly went to say her goodbye.The things were packed and some books were lying on the shelf. She urged me to take some books if I wanted. I picked up two Archie Comics and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.

My children, five and eight at that time, loved them and after that we must have bought more than hundred Archie's. They bought them with all the money they got from their grandparents at the railway stations and Noble Book Shop at the Campus. It was a ritual to buy Christmas specials. Archie, Betty, Veronica, Jughead, Reggi, Ethel and even minor character became the part of our family. I quoted Mrs Lodge while proving a point to husband.

Ayush had just learnt to read, thanks to the phonetics taught  to him by his sister. Though he didn't understand much, but with the pictures of things and situations he could enjoy the humour and learnt thousands of words easily. "Creeeak.." he would blurt whenever a door made a squeaking sound and we used to be in splits.

It was an emotional moment for me when I read the news of Archie Andrews's demise. He died protecting a friend. With a heavy heart I could only say. Archie is dead, long live dear Archie.

Koi Roko Na...

Music, apart from being therapeutic is like a hole in the tightly packed sack of nostalgia. Whichever part of the sack you prick, only memories flow out. In the times of ipod, earplugs, playlist of thousands of songs in the laptop, mobile phone folders of different geners of songs, I crave for a song sung by a fellow mortal and not by Lata, Asha, Shreya, Kishore, Rafi n Manna Dey.

My first outstation trip with my friends began with a song 'Mannu bhai motaor chali pum pum pum' while I enjoyed the spectacular view of snow capped himalaya peaks from the window seat of my bus. Garhwali gals sing well, better when they sing garhwali songs.

My next college trip was from Dehradun to Srinagar Garhwal in a pathetic GMVN bus. After Rishikesh the hilly area starts, so does the sickness.We realised that as long as we sing we would not feel the giddiness. So we sang till all the songs from Geeta Dutt to Nazia Hussain got exhausted. When all were quiet, Priscilla shouted, "Sing something!!" and pounced towards the window. Someone pulled her back from the window and popped her head out and did the needful. Rest of us were giggling while waiting for our turn to use the windows.

Months later we found ourselves at St Joseph's Allahabad for State level Games. After supper the bongo was taken out and under the moonlight started one of the most memorable mehfils of my life. We had Parul an excellent dancer and ultimate mimic, Maya, retro-specialist, Rachana, who used to keep the sur-tal  intact for rest of us. The mehfil continued till midnight. 'Jaane kahaan mera jigar gaya ji' was a hit, as usual.

Then happened my sister's wedding. Waiting for the barat we started our band -baja.The bride still remembers how Parul danced like Amitabh while others sang 'De de pyaar de, humme pyaar de'  made every one laugh because my sister's name is Meena.

Unlike film songs, ghazals are best enjoyed in solitude.Thanks to brother's collection of Gulam Ali, Mehndi Hasan n Pankaj Udhas which I could truly appreciate years later when hubby explained them to me. The enjoyment turns to contentment when we know the meanings of each word, eg Aaab-daana means water n food like we say khana pani

Thanks Sapna, for making me relive my lovely memories by bringing this link to my fb feed.
http://tinyurl.com/nu55vdm

With Love from the Hills

Answering the doorbell on a hot afternoon can be pleasant only if it is rung by a Flipcart/Amazon boy. He delivered two books written by the boy whose birthday is being celebrated by his innumerable fans today. 

'With Love from the Hills' by Ruskin Bond looks like a picture book for three year olds. The moment I pulled the red thread attached to it, a window opened to a beautiful scenery straight from a kid's scrap book. I tried to hide it from my daughter who will be English Major soon but couldn't. Unable to supress her laughter she enquired, "What have you ordered ?" I guessed that the book was meant for very little ones. The book is written in a diary form in longhand font. It is as enjoyable as any book by him. 

I never desired to meet the writers I love to read as  he has already shared the best and worst moments of his life with me through his books. I feel closer to Bond sahib because he lives in a Garhwali household. He must be  familiar with the language  my parents and I speak. We grew up in the same city, Dehradun. As a kid he might have rubbed shoulders with my father in Paltan Bazar. 

Whenever I alight at the Dehra railway station I think of the ten year old Ruskin sitting on a tin trunk all alone. Nobody came to receive him. He was back from his boarding school. He hired a tonga and reached his grandma's house where he was not welcomed. Immediately he was diverted to his mother and stepfather's house. How badly he would have missed his dear father whom he had lost only a few months back. Can there be anything more haunting?

I wonder why Ruskin Bond is called children's author. Would a ten year old relate to his writings, humour and little details the way I do?  My children who are avid readers could never relate to his writings. They would ask, 'Would you accept jalebis from a stranger?" Like he does in one of his stories. And why he has to describe even the hedge of his house? How I love when he "describes the hedge of the house", because I have seen those hedges which are no longer seen in Dehra now. How would the kids living in multi-storeyed buildings know that a wind-storm sometimes blows the tin-roofs away and so many little things.

The books specially written for kids are gems. I gave my students, ' A long Walk for Bina' and they loved it. It talks about problems of migration, displacement and making of big dams and their ill effects on the wildlife of the surrounding area which they are studying in EVS.

Thank you Ruskin Bond for all the moments when while reading your books I'd smiled or was moved or had blurted 'Good", "Ha ha","Great", "Exactly","Right" "Sahi", and "he writes so well"! 

Happy birthday.

Trending, Follow, Comment

We are caught in the Web World. Here we know strangers, acquaintances, celebrities, international sensations, idols and  favourites as a mother-in-law knows her daughter-in- law or we know our co-workers. We are aquainted with their extensive wordrobe, menu last night, the place of their birth, schooling, 'worked at', without even being inquisitive.

This experience becomes a bliss when the person is someone we admire i e a role model or favourite author. I am not fortunate enough to know the comment or one liners from the writers I enjoy reading most. Khushwant Singh passed away without even having a Twitter account and Ruskin Bond is still tied to his typewriter. But in a way it's a bliss for sure because they are also humans. They might post something which is not as sublime and politically correct as while writing leisurely when they have ample of time to edit and re-edit. Thus Singh and Bond are safe, but others are judged everyday. The lyricist who penned  love anthems  during our youth, tweets something nasty about my fav leader and loses all my respect. What when an actor who defined perfection on screen, posts something he feels strongly about but sounds anti-feminist ? He blocks all the love and affection from his female fans.

Now we know how human those people are whom we thought were highly sophisticated and suave. They can also be rude. Read the reviews of Chetan Bhagat's novel on blogs by the renowned critics to know what I mean. Each one has something humiliating stored for him, but they do long for the economics that follows the release of his books.  Giving a bad review is fine but language could be civil.

We get to read all types, from wordsmiths to novices. The veterans know how much of their 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings' should be revealed and the novices do not know how much to hide.

This is the best time for the people who want to write to share what they think with their  friends. Blogs are the comforting arms which give them assurance of freedom. All the grammatical and other mistakes are forgiven.There is no fear of rejection from the editors  and publishers. The good news is that many bloggers are successful writers today.

So like in real life, in the virtual world also the same rule applies, Jo achha lage usse apna lo, jo bura lage usse jaane do. (take the good and leave the bad)

Gajak, a Winter Delight

Gajak is a sweet  that we eat without feeling guilt as it is a bundle of nutrients. Jaggery a natural sweetener and sesame with its richness makes it an ideal snack to devour.

My date with a gajak factory is fixed on the Christmas Day. Following the address as I cross Jareeb Chawki  signal, I can smell the sweet smell of melting jaggery, though my car windows are tightly shut. I reach a cozy factory with a furnace, huge woks of iron, roasted sesame and melted jaggery all around.

For making gajak, jaggery is heated till the consistency is like hard kneaded dough. The most interesting part comes when the trained workers stretch this dough like elastic. A nail on the wall is used to tuck the dough and it is stretched and whipped for some time. It looks like a thick shinning rope. Now roasted sesame is mixed well with jaggery and  divided into the pieces of half Kg each.Now each piece is beaten with wooden hammers by two persons. finally an iron frame is pressed on it to divide it into square pieces.

The gajak is ready to be packed immediately to avoid the moisture so that it remains crisp.

Mrs Rani, the owner of this factory, is a part of this family business for more than 50 yrs. She invites me to see how they make sugar-toys, a popular sweet during diwali as gajak is made and consumed only in winters. Ruchi, her granddaughter gives me a packet of chocolate-gajak and leaves me enveloped with the sweetness of her gift and smile.

2014, A Memoir

I  have seen so many 'New Years' Eves' and birthdays, but none could make me feel a day older. I'm not sentimental about them. Neither I raise a toast for the new year nor lament for the year gone by. I do have regrets but I let them torment me any time of the day when they want. No resolutions, though I do have a bucket list.

2014 gave me a pair of reading glasses. People who never needed spectacles can't deny their craving for wearing one, at least at some point of their lives. Specs do add something to one's personality. May be because specs are associated with being studious or intelligent. If you are wearing them since childhood or student life then it is normal. If you start wearing them late in life when your hair or goatee has a silver tinge  then it is directly connected to the fact that half of the journey in this planet is over.

In the month of April I visited my brother. While we sat and chatted, I picked up a newspaper and showed him that I have to keep it at a distance to read it. I asked him if I should get my eyes tested. It took me to our childhood when he used to answer all my queries. He immediately gave me one of his pairs of glasses.The moment I wore it and read, the words looked crystal clear.

I came back home with a pair of trendy reading glasses. Nothing changed much, but I observed  that I was gesticulating in a familiar way. As, while reading and suddenly talking to someone, I bend my head a little and with wide eyes stared at the person, avoiding seeing through the glasses.  The very first time when I looked this way I thought of my father. Years back, I reached his office from college as a friend needed her mark sheet to be attested. We were standing next to him. He lowered his head and looked at us with his almost bulging eyes and asked, "Where is the original?" I almost shouted reminding him that she was a close friend. Those eyes I still remember.

I feel so much like my mom when I ask others to pass my specs. I realise that a different phase of life has started. I was reading quotations posted on FB giving us gyaan that age is in the mind etc, just then I was called, I looked up and was immediately  told that I look like my mom.

The Woman in the Joke is You, so Don't Laugh!

• We all get jokes that begin like:

* Two gals were playing chess....wait the joke has not completed yet...

* Ek baar ek aadmi ki wife mar gayi. ( once a man lost his wife)

Since I love to laugh, I used to enjoy these jokes till one day my daughter gave me a piece of her mind. Don't know why, but I never found these jokes derogatory for women. I used to think it's ok to laugh at one's own sex. After all it is only a joke. But suddenly I realised why we never get jokes on idiosyncrasies of men? 

After FB and stand up comedians, now Wot's App is the latest carrier of these. I don't blame them, but call them innocent because they have not yet realised the curse they are transferring to the next generation. After all I was in the same boat once.

Now whenever I get such  forwarded jokes by innocent women/relatives/younger cousins, I copy paste this message :

"Your joke was funny but such jokes are called 'sexist' ie against the dignity of women. I have decided not to appreciate  and forward such messages. How wrong it is that  if we just replace the word 'wife' with 'husband', nobody would laugh."

Our films are the bigger culprits. Few months back I was forced to watch, 'Two States'

 in a theatre.  A dear friend persuaded and I couldn't say no. She wanted to watch it because she had to set the question paper based on the book for her BA students. Apart from other things I found Amrita Singh's character so obnoxious that I preferred the gatekeeper's company outside,  than sitting inside the hall. I was amazed that nobody thought the way I did. I have seen IIT + IIM gals and they do not behave like the young actress was behaving.

 Thank you dear for the opening my eyes and ordering  Simone de Beauvoir's 'the Second sex'  for me.

Unfriends

A mountain breeze

happy, unshackled and ecstatic.

Undisturbed and non- disturbing

flowing like a river, with an ease

"Pray, stop I want to mingle",

begged the fragrance of a flower.

Knowing it would disturb her equilibrium said,

No, we 're happy the way we are..

But this is not the way of the world,

You'd be lonely without me.

Nature's kingdom would  be incomplete

If we didn't meet.

A beautiful tale will remain untold.

Think of the deep bonding of the 

loose atoms,

Don't be shy, be bold.

The fragrance was inviting,

the promise of life long belonging.

And together creating a gift for humanity.

Madly, deeply, truly.

Slowly, the bond started to break

It is  also the law of nature, the breeze exclaimed!

And heard the scent of the flower asking a wild wind

Pray, stop I want to mingle. Bonding...depth...belonging.

Election in the Times of Electronic Media

Not that my house buzzed with election discussions during 1977 General Election, but we kids had to keep quiet during 8.45 pm news on radio, mostly by Devki Nandan Pandey. I was too young to know about elections but was old enough to know that Indira Gandhi was going to lose because of something called 'emergency'. I remember people discussing Rajnarayan and HN Bahuguna while we played at the beautiful lawns of  Police Headquarters Allahabad.

Thanks to the internet and TV news channels for making the elections more spicy as well as informative.But it also has a negative side. I wonder if netas made such obnoxious and repulsive statements as, "Rape is just a mistake" and "kargil was won by the soldier of a particular community, knowing that instantly the messag will reach their target audiences and they would get the publicity

I was the greatest enthusiast during the Anna Hazare's fast against curruption. Remember those long live telecast ?. Kezriwal became my hero.Well- meaning friends, even back then, warned me that he is a dramabaaz, but I even wore an Anna Cap thinking there is someone who is trying to make my country a better place to live. Now seeing all his drama I'm so ashamed of my choice. Now those well wishers laugh at me and the loudest laugh is from the one who is from the next gen and lives with me in the same house.

Election campaigning is in the full swing. All the parties are using the internet to the hilt. BJP seems to be on the top for an hour long interview of its PM candidate was trending on Twitter....worldwide. Hero worship is all time high. India's National Festival IPL and Bollywood have taken the back seat. Indian populace is divided into the devotees of one party/leader or the other. previously middle-aged were seen discussing Chunaav, polls but now eighteen plus look most active.Today these birdies on Twitter NamoNehaRoy, darrengal, SweetRiya, and shatirbilli keep me updated and my funny-bone tickled.Gone are the days when polling day was booked for picnics. Very healthy symptoms for democracy.

In this hullaballo of social media, emerge some victims too. people who are dignified, shy and  happy in their own world are brought to the limelight. They are discussed and made fun of. Their photos are splashed everywhere from print media to graffiti on the net. Here I'm talking abt Yashodaben. No link to her pic here. Or I would be doing the same what I detest. She was  married to Mr. Modi and separated just after her marriage. Must have been a difficult life for her in the Indian society. I don't know her feelings for her husband but I surely know that she is uncomfortable with media pestering her and depriving her of her privacy.

I feel bad for our PM Manmohan Singh  also.Whatever, a dignified professor, who was once appreciated for his work which he knows best, does not deserve his photoshopped cartoons being circulated on FB and Twitter.

The opinion polls show BJP leading and the way winds are blowing but only final results will tell which camp this storm will uproot.

I know whoever comes to power will not have a magic wand but, I sincerely hope proper roads and cleanliness for my beloved city which ranks at number 10 in terms of GDP.

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