Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Bhaai, Bros And The Bandhan of promising Raksha…

I grew up amid a lot of bhaai-s, first cousin bhaai-s, second cousin bhaai-s and their respective cousin bhaai-s. My mom told me that she knew roughly 50 bhaai-s I had. I myself knew some cousin in ashok vihar, someone in munirka, some other relative in greater kailash and so on, almost in every corner of NCR.
So basically I believed that Delhi, pardon me, NCR is MY PLACE, that I was safe there and that there are very high chances that if a random guy ever tries to mess with me, some random bhaai of mine will kick his ass.

For all my bhaai-s, I was a “Good Girl”. Raksha bandhan was a shopping spree of its own unique kind. I’d send rakshis and vermilion rice, wrote long letters to all my relatives, telling them mostly about my studies and classmates. And it used to rain and I used to thank God for showering his blessings on me and keeping me safe by being there for me always in the human form of so many bhaais I had.
Childhood is time of happy days of ignorance bliss.

But times change, people change. And by my experience, time always, always changes for good.

 And so I came outta the safety net of my bhaai’s protection and into the real world. Where boys were just classmates or colleagues and not brothers, friends were just friends and not brothers, even if they said they want to be more-than-friends, they most definitely dint mean they want to be brothers. You could tie a friendship band on their wrists but this species will suddenly migrate to some unknown land near mid of August. It was okay for them to make fun of you and they dint kick anyone’s ass if they tried to make fun of you either. If you give them a friendly punch, you receive a friendly punch too. If you eat out, you share the bill. If you like something for yourself when you go shopping with them, You pay the bill. You also share the autorickshaw bill. They wont judge you if you booze with them and some will offer to drop you home safely if its late. Its okay for them to sit at the back seat while you ride your activa. Its okay if they have a crush on you, you can talk about that like adults. And if they don’t, you can tell them all about the cute guy you have a crush on. They may even step in to help you. Like many single-in-the-city newly-made-confident girls of my time, who started believing they could take care of themselves, I somehow liked the latter arrangement with men better and hassle free. These men made amazing friends, much better than my other girl friends (I know almost all the girls I know, will agree).

But I don’t know how, I suddenly became “Not A Good Girl” for my “bhaais”. I don’t know by what, they felt offended, as if THEY were proved weak, now that I started taking my own decisions. I don’t know when, they decided I am not the same sister material anymore and I have no fucking clue why, they all started blaming me for “misusing my freedom”…
I was confused, they were so proud whenever I managed to get “highest marks” even in class tests, now they were blaming it all on my education. They taught me how to ride a bicycle and now they hated me for owning a vehicle of my own coz that made it convenient for me to go “anywhere anytime”. A banker cousin of mine suggested that I should take a flight to home twice a month coz “girls just do their jobs for fun and my future husband can worry about savings”. They mesmerized my imaginations by telling me endless stories of their tours across the world, but to cover 15 mins distance between Delhi Airport and home, their egos will get hurt if I took a taxi and come by myself. I can tell them my wishlist on the things I want to do in MY life, but a male member (elder or younger, doesn’t matter) should have the final say.


In parallel universe, some lucky sisters were blessed with brothers, custom made more suitable for our times, called bros. Big bros and small bros. Bros, who were their partners in crime.
Big bros were protective by default but refrained from checking their messages, whatsapp and facebook accounts. They tried to understand their sister’s outlook, gave their suggestions when required, but respected her decision anyway. With their maturity, they acted as a bridge to fill the generation gap between her and the parents and made sure she faced less of the teenage hardships he faced while dealing with the parents. But they made sure the little sister also fights her own unique battle and learn by her own mistakes. And when she came out a winner, they gave their cheerful hi-5 and said, “You Go Girl!”…
And there were small bros, who basically minded their own business. They never tried to interfere in the sisters life and pretend to be protective for her just coz they were “the man”. They were affectionate and occasionally asked for extra pocket money. They truly believed that since, the sister is elder and is more experienced, she will protect them from a situation if need be and not the other way round. They believed in her capabilities and respected her decisions. They treated her exactly the way they wud have treated an elder bro and were not swayed by anyone who told them that they are the “ghar ka ladka".

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For a lucky few, if you had a real bro, your life must have been super easy and you would have never had to explain yourself to anyone. To all such lucky girls and their bros, Happy Rakshabandhan . You guys are blessed to enjoy this festival in its true spirit.  

For not-so-lucky others, Gals, you have come a long way. Trust me, even people who don’t approve of you, secretly wish they had the guts to be like you. So always wear your attitude, love your lovely self and rock the world like you’ve always had.


And finally to all the "bhaai’s" , Guys! life is what happens AFTER you are out of your make-believe world of fake dominance. I hope that happens for you soon…Cheers!!!


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Poetry, Prose and an Adorned Milestone...



“She fought with rhythm, rhyme and repetition,
He strictly followed the syntax,
She advocated relationships with sound
His meaning of words was a matter of fact…”

“She enjoyed manipulating grammers and truths,
He stuck to the rules of comprehensions…
She chuckled off with “seen” and “felt”
He had his own conceptions…”

“She argued that prose is all accumulation
And she knows “isolation of emotions”
But then, she tampers the truth,
And he knows his punctuations…”

Condensed, imaginative, inspired...The poetry decided she’ll always flow free…But with his ethical language command,The Prose continued to create more meaning…

And then…
In lines and verses and couplets and stanzas
Together with artistry, creativity and literature…
The Poetry and The Prose,

Expressed an idea, made a point, and reached a conclusion… 





P.S. The metaphors I struggled the most with and had the most fun with...
Photo Courtesy: Bibhav Behara and Swatee Nayak
Inspiration Courtesy: Anish Kumar. Thanks for filling my life with more meaning than I could ever dream of comprehending. 

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Urban Stampede...

Resourceful forest, 
bricks concrete charcoal
vogues veneer vanity
served in spotless silver bowl...

Earthly filth barely visible,
up from high corporate heels...
triumphant accomplished 
vitalized illegible deals...

Sense of unending times,
lost in soot and grimace...
hangouts, love chats and leisure
lost in street traffic maze...

Life so goes on n on,
as all sketched timings blurr...
and I follow the leagues,
as the world they conquer...

They keep running in rains
and they frown n grumble,
and I settle for cosmo...
But, aint this still a Jungle?



P.S: Dear IT-Metropolis, sometimes your super sophistication and over professionalism becomes truly unbearable for simple-living.

Sunday, January 6, 2013




I hope not that you appreciate the plot of this story and say that it was brilliant. I just hope that you do a little introspection before you decide on letting the hateful hatred enter your lives.
So the tell tale of a little birdie…here goes…

There was this beautifully woven weaver bird nest, in the jogger’s park, in the middle of some city, bustling with life. And there lived a cute little birdie, Chirpy with her loving father and caring mom. Chirpy used to chirp on and on and sing beautiful songs of melody, in the morning for the wise elderly joggers who wake up early morning in brahma muhurat to watch the sun rise and shine above mother earth and in the evening for cute little kids who enjoyed a ride on various swings in the park. The old watchman of the park was also the supervising gardener and he loved and cared for the park like his very own home. So every flower was always smiling and grass remains always green. Dew drops in the morning bathe the park into freshness.
But since change is all that actually gives life its meaning and only bad times can make the good ones worth their goodness, there came a proposal to the city municipality to dismantle the Joggers Park setting to allow room for another residential society. Suddenly everyone was talking about it. Brave little creature as she was, she decided to face the situation head on. That same evening she asked her dad. “Papa, can I go search another tree for us until the order finalizes. I am big enough to fly long distances now.” Papa got all scared, but came off better of his doubts and allowed her to go. She’ll have to move out one day anyway…
So long she flew; to unknown distances…till winters came and started showing its effect in late evenings…she sat on a tree to relax a little bit… Of tiredness of flying so much first time in her life, she quickly fell asleep under the shade of that old shady banyan tree. The cool breeze caressed her like her mom’s loving touch and she dreamt of her home again, playing sun n shade with her friends... She was smiling in her dream. It was a peaceful slumber. She slowly opened her eyes and to her horror a group of huge beaks and gray bodies was staring on her. She got terrified and started fluttering her wings just-outta-sleep. And then she found herself in midst of darkness. It was Johnny, the vulture folding his wings around her. After 5 minutes of struggle with her little wings, she finally gave up. Johnny took her to his treehole.
“Make yourself comfortable” he said, and went out. After some time he came back with a leafcup of some brown liquid and some worms. “Here, have it, you look hungry and worn out. This will make you warm”. Chirpy was terrified of this huge creature and of course she was hungry. But there was no way she could accept that unknown stuff she was being offered. “I’m sorry I eat only grains that mummy brings and water from the park pond. Johnny smiled, “Okay! So what are you doing here?” Isnt it time for you to be home?” “I’m searching for a new tree for my family to migrate on. I took on the responsibility” Chirpy replied. “RESPONSIBIITY!!! You throw big words indeed”, Johnny ridiculed. “So you decided to search all by yourself in the big city. That’s SOMETHING for a tiny creature like you.” Anyways, I like your spirit. I can help you if you want. This tree I’ve my treehole on, you can build your nest here.  It’s slightly out of the town so city pollution doesn’t bother you. It has got many empty treeholes also and it’s cool and comfortable here. AND you never run out of food supply for they have the cremation ground nearby.
Chirpy of course hated him. God! A cremation ground! How can someone possibly put up with the stink!
 So off she flew again to unknown distances to search for a place. But all the city trees were all occupied. Not a branch left for her family to weave their nests on. So, defeated and disgusted she flew back to Johnny’s tree. It was evening time and all the vultures were off to cremation ground for supper. Johnny was just bringing back food for dinner.
Watching Chirpy again, he felt a strange sense of happiness and relief. Ever since the little bird was gone he found himself worried for her well being. How will the little creature fight the cruel world. On the other hand Chirpy felt a vomiting sensation just looking at the blood stained piece of meat Johnny bought for dinner. Watching her discomfort, Johnny took the piece away.
Not having any other option, Chirpy decided in her mind to live on one of the treeholes for some time herself before deciding on a complete migration with family. “You are most welcome little one” Johnny greeted with a smile. And for that moment, Chirpy loved that smile of acceptance.
Night fell and all the vultures gathered at the widest trunk for dinner and the brown liquid Johnny bought for Chirpy the other day . Johnny introduced chirpy to his friends and they all greeted her nicely. But, the smell of flesh and the brown liquid was killing her. On another tree some bats were hung upside down. A stray dog was weeping at a distance. All this was horrific for the little bird. She excused herself and went off to Johnny’s place.
Poor thing, she tried to sleep but even sleep won’t come to her eyes today. She pondered over the horrific scene.
It’s a disgusting life. Feeding on dead creatures. And that brown liquid. It seems to have strange effect on these birds. They howl like idiots in the dead of the night. Jump like maniacs on branches. And hang upside down. Like they have no right minds at all. Nights are supposed to be slept peacefully and to dream of beautiful fairyland with cherries and toffees and chocolate rivers. These people suck…Eh! If I continue living with them, I’ll soon become one of them. Oh God, my throat is so dried up. No hope of finding water here. So she found courage to go out again. She flew around the tree for some time with no luck. Being too scared to go far away from the tree, she decided to seek little help from Chizzy, Johnny’s friend.
 “Can I get some water.”
 Yeah sure. Lets go to my treehole and get some for you.”

Chizzy was a nice, good natured bird. One of those who treat their guests in silver cutlery. She lived alone in her treehole. She offered Chirpy the luxury of her well managed treehole to spend the night.
Chirpy felt comfortable with Chizzy in a strange sisterly way. Conversations started rolling.
“Chizzy, I’m so scared. And this tree is full of bad dirty vultures. When there is so much food grain to feed all of us, the why do you feed on dead people? It’s so disgusting. Why you guys choose this life? When there is a happier and easier way to have food and fun. You don’t have to do this. You seem nice. Come with me. With some effort we can find another tree near some farm in some village. I sure can’t live here and neither think a nice bird like you should get ruined in such a bad place.

Chizzy smiled and fluttered her wings… “Oh dear little one, I appreciate your concern for me.” But I pity your immaturity of judging things like this.  
It’s not always a matter of being good or bad you know. It’s just a matter of choice and what comes to you naturally. Fun can mean different things to different people. Do you wonder why certain people do or don't do certain things? These questions will serve as your guide.  The way people think, feel, react, and behave also are depended upon life experiences. They feel different emotions because they have felt this emotional happiness or sadness before. They think what is right and what is wrong because they have learned from past experiences. They react to different things because they experienced things that please them and the things that displease them. They behave in certain ways because they want to design their way of living into what they have admired from other people's lives.
You were raised in a protective atmosphere, where your parent created a shell of well being around you. And I was raised on this tree where I had to feed on dying and decaying to keep myself alive. I don’t mind that anymore. Infact I enjoy being like this and take pride in saying that I cleanse up the system. Forgetting ourselves at nights with this hot drink help us survive with our tough life. It’s a part of vulture’s culture and is our idea of fun. Sorry but you are no one to judge us. It’s just our way of life and it’s no less good then your way. It’s just different. And different does not mean bad in any way. Rising up in different cultures affects the developments of behaviors, feelings, personalities, and thinking. Their attitudes toward things are created and shaped as they experience different situations and by the ideas which they have gotten from their culture.
Chirpy understood. Having nothing to say and feeling too bad for being so incorrectly judgmental and mean, she fought her fears and flew back to her home. Her inability to fit in doestnt makes the vultures bad in any way. They have a part to play in ecosystem which is just different from her part. She had learnt her lessons. She understood what little Chintu was reading out from “Learnings from Constitution” chapter of his Civics book the other day. “Respect For All” …

Saturday, September 1, 2012

My(e)stique...

City lights blazing,
that Enormous charm...
Damp airs stroking, pulsating
Sentience lukewarm...

Clouds strolling & floating
lights throw back, reflect
Descending from heavens
deflections [Respect]...

Sleep deprived n weary,
Those eyes still exploring...
In want of these city lights
Sensations outpouring...

Its drizzling then raining,
wetting mountains and sands...
Waters seamless tie-making,
on these Mystique Islands... 



P.S. Pune Rains and City Lights...Continue to splash charms...

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Adieu Silliness... ;)


Searching and yearning...
M lost again in you…
Circumstances concerning…
What went off??? No Clue…


Probing and cursing
U instruct? You’re who?
Anxieties keep churning
Your mood swings turn blue…


Your conceit, my learning
On love still, cling to…
Wounds open, free burning
On that, dreams,  I brew…


Times happy so, back turning
Love n sweethearts anew
Anger heat so…scorching
It’s a lonely walk through….


Kiddo selves-ly returning
Trying n saving, fall through…
My judgments adjourning
M bidding adieu...


P.S. Badly Badly missing... Some parts of me...

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Ultimately it’s Fun…

I am marveling at the speed and numbers in which (seemingly?) problematic situations can attack you and pin down your ever-so-awesome and ever-so-appreciated survival instincts…So much so that you wonder, what-the-heck-to-write-about and worst, where-to-start…that too, on a blog where you’ve comfortably displayed something as (seemingly?) complicated as your life in cryptic metaphors…

So back…is me, not yet completely recovered from the after-effects of one of those dreaded monsters listed in the brochure of every medical insurance policy…(The eyuk- yellow fever)…stricken with fuming rebellion for bureaucracy…and though the doctor suggested a cool atmosphere and cool eating habits, I’m still dwelling in the hot waves of egos inflated beyond logical explanations… (read health issues, cheating in an  important exam result for which the fight is still going on and flat-mate problems resp…)

Tastes bitter…not just the doctor-advised meals n medicines for jaundice, but also the realization that we live amidst a non-rational race of most, if not all homo-sapiens…People who were unfortunate enough not to be born with inbuilt balances where they could weight rights and wrongs separately and then take a right call…based on (righteousness? lets forget it) whatever but extreme selfishness and egocentricity…

Good news is...these realizations improve your immunity…you no longer fall prey to anger, which our sacred saints called the most awful enemy of mankind…but you pity those who are continuously striving towards making the planet such a horrible place to live in for themselves first, and then for others…

And one fine day you realize that your experiment with pitying has become fun…when the other person is fuming with anger you are simply rolling on floor laughing…when health issues consume you, you smile n say…"So finally I’ve done it! My managers are left with no more excuse to cancel my leaves…Cheers!!!"...And even when something as catastrophic as blasts and political gamble to the loss of entire country happens, you simply shrug your shoulders off n say…It happens, Shit happens...

P.S. My respect for Aamir khan has increased multifold, Satyamev Jayte truly superbly inspires…An awesome assignment…
P.P.S. Strange how many weird things can make you happy (Happy?)…