Cynicism Vs Optimism

One of the biggest drawbacks of being a journalist i think is that one turns into a cynic. You come across so much 'reality' and so many times is one slapped on the face by this reality that you tend to become a cynic and start thinking-this is it. Nothing will change. And then some day as part of work, you meet a group of people or individuals who are so hell bent on bringing this change...who still believe that things can change, that you feel heartened, even as a part of you laughs at their blind optimism.

When i decided to take up journalism, i truly believed in the proverb 'pen is mightier than the sword', then i had a wake up call at a J-School, that change happens but at a really slow pace and that journalists of today are not the same as the glorified activist-journalists of yesteryears.

Yet, i was not prepared for the complete lack of conscience among people-politicians, beauracrats, officials, ngo workers, doctors etc...One year into journalism and i had turned into a cynic. Three years ago, i truly believed that change was not impossible...and three years later i felt change was not wanted truly. Through my reports i tried to highlight issues, fight of individuals, good work done by organisation..but deep down there was always this feeling that its not enough..what is the govt doing? how much can a handful of people do? I would come home frustrated at the lack of response to media reports..at the complete fearlessness of the fourth estate and at the rising yellow journalism ..there have been times when i have felt that i was nothing short of a glorified PR person.

But then it is always not so bad. It feels good when someone reacts to your report. When someone takes cognisance and try to bring about change. When readers call up congratulating you for highlighting an issue...but at the end of the day i always ask the same question: Have i really done my bit? And if pen is truly mightier than sword..?

The trip to Kurnool was one of my most frustrating trips as a human being but professionally satisfying. Frustrating at the complete lack of response from the officials, the complete failure of the State machinery and the insensitivity of fellow human beings towards those suffering. One somehow wants to believe that natural disasters and war time tend to erase the barriers such as caste and religion and gender..but it seldom happens. The idealist in me believed that those affected would have risen above these silly yet destructive barriers. But i was taken aback when that was not the case. However, wasn't i supposed to be prepared?? Low caste areas continued be under the slush...those who could afford it (read upper caste) got the slush out of their homes..those who couldn't lived with it. Old town of Kurnool where Hindus and Muslims live in equal number also saw this disparity. I surely did get good reports...but as i began my journey back from Kurnool, i felt despair. Despair at what would happen ten years down the line. What would happen to this society?? What can erase these barriers? Colleagues, friends with whom i would air my frustration and despair ask me to be patient.Be patient change will happen. Be patient it's not easy for one or two individuals to change the world. Be patient, things will fall in place.

And just when i was hitting the rock bottom of the cynic-pit something happens that pulls me out and revives my faith in humanity. I remember the day 3 weeks ago, when my mom woke me up with the news that my servant maid's six-year-old had been diagnosed of blood cancer. I was upset..Ofcourse, it;s not a new thing and hundreds of young children are diagnosed of cancer every year..but when this was closer home and it hit me hard. Swathi, would come home with her mom and like any typical child would catch hold of the numerous soft toys in my home and sit in the rocking chair even as her mom would tell her to get off the chair. It was a typical case...poor family..no father. No money and 2 other daughters to look after. Suvarna, my maid was helpless and she wanted to kill the entire family along with herself. The doctors had told her that the treatment would be around a lakh rupees. I wanted to help..and the help in this case had to be financial or medical. When i sent out an appeal to a group of friends and people, little did i expect a response. Sms, mails status msgs evoked response. When Mr.Thiagarajan and Ashwin said they would do the needful, i wasn't expecting a response of such a large scale. Both of them are two of the most positive individuals i have met in ages and are full of energy that shames a 23 year old like me.

The mail got forwarded to unknown people, got posted in groups and help started pouring in. In less than 2 weeks, i was assured of 40,000 Rs and that's when i felt humanity exists. That was the point when i felt that all was not lost. Here are people whom i had met through my professional capacity as a journalist who came forward to reach out to this unknown person and i was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with the trust people placed in me and with the compassion shown by people from across different countries wanting to help a child in need...

Humanity exists in different forms..what we need is a united front to bring about change....I just hope my optimistic side wins over the cynical side..there may be few things to cheer about but i hope i can continue to cherish those few things....

It feels surreal

I didn't think i would ever write a blogpost for or about Y.S.Rajasekhara Reddy. But then this post is happening. Even as i write this in a dreamlike state sitting in the office, it feels utterly surreal that he is no more.
Did i like him?Was i proud to have him as the Chief Minister of my State? I wasn't. Though, i appreciated the schemes that were introduced for him, like the Arogyasri Scheme for instance or other pro-agricultural,pro-poor policies, there were quite a few things about him that bothered me and many like me. Corruption and scams that occured during his time were regressive. So even as the State claimed to move ahead, it was also being pulled back. Lack of accountability among government officials had increased manifold. But then there are many supporters who ask me "Which politician isn't corrupt?" Another issue to be dealt and written about on another occassion-about how easily we seem to accept corrupt politicians.
However, today when i watch his coffin being lowered down, i feel odd. And am concerned. Concerned about the State as a whole. Concerned as to who will come and fill his shoes. For five years and three months, he was at the helm of affairs. Never once faltering, never once feeling discouraged. He was not to be cowed down by anything-opposition or scams or allegations.
A politician with a sharp tongue, his remarks had created uproars in the Assembly. His smirk and over-confident comments on the Opposition leaders left many seething with anger. He made many enemies, but the enemies were too scared to fight him.

A co-journalist had asked me outside the pilot's home yesterday, if i liked YSR. And i chose not to answer. I disliked him approving endless SEZ (103) and irrational irrigation projects. I disliked him for giving a free hand to the police and for not discouraging corruption; for reducing the accountability in the State.
But, for many he was their messaih. On Thursday, as i walked towards the CM's camp office,right beside my office, i saw the number of people-men, women old and young who came to pay their last respects to their "anna". Women weeping recalling how his numerous schemes helped him, youth recounting how they got employed thanks to his schemes, poor students thanking him for having got an opportunity to study...and so on. As i reached home, my eager watchmen wanted to know where the burial would be and broke down saying that he was a poor man's friend. The watchman recalled how the arogyasri scheme covered the medical expenses when his wife fell ill.
On Friday, as scores of people poured out on the road to pay respects for their leader, i thought i should probably give the devil its due. Here is a Chief Minister who actually implemented what was promised-free power, scholarships, water, health et al.. And the poor man sees this. Not how effective the schemes probably were. Not how much was 'eaten' by greedy politicos. And YSR knew this. He encouraged higher education by setting up IIIT's. It';s a different thing some run in godowns. And a completely different issue that government schools are rotting like the government hospitals and primary health care centres in rural areas. A friend of Muslims and Christians alike, he knew how to keep the minority votes safe. At times, at the cost of majority sentiments.
But then in this country speaking ill about someone who died is blasphemy and the media is careful not to commit this sin.
YSR died a hero. And he will continue to live so. And he will be immortal. Like all those who died in the digital-age will remain.
But yes, it is eerie-The fact that one won't see him in the Assembly or addressing press conferences or teasing the opposition feels weird......

Memories of a woman, a mother and a grandmother

I remember her chubby face, her endearing smile...her beautiful eyes. I remember the way she smelt...like a baby yet like a mother.I remember the softness of her saree as i buried in my face in her bosom...and cuddled to her...I still remember them all like it was yesterday.

She flits in and out of my life.There are days...weeks and perhaps months when i don't think of her..don't remember her and days when all that i can think of is her..reliving each day..trying to forage for the slowly vapourising memories...

And then am scared.What if i forget her?What if i forget her smell?And i try hard to remember her voice..But i can't..ofcourse unless i speak to her sister..And then my mind tries to do a photographic capture of all the memories.But they are rushed.Vague and muddled.

Now, there is no timeframe. I hear the memories argue among themselves,trying to convince me which came first. But my first memory of her is coupled with smell of dicoction coffee and the sounds of crows cawing outside the window. The memory is almost like a black and white film now. With shades of colours in. Like the colour of her saree.A green colour one with patterns of some red flowers.I walk groggily outside and she picks me up,cuddles me and takes me to the bathroom. As i brush my teeth, i hear her singing a song in a low tone. Sleepily, i walk towards her and she places a glass of milk to my lips. And then the memory ends...

Then again there is the day when she gave me a bath in the courtyard, even as my enthusiastic uncle clicked pictures of us. I remember her chiding her son as i begin to cry....She washed my hair with 'kunkudi kayi rasam' and laughs as the bitter juice enters my mouth accidently..she then dries me with a white turkey towel and wraps me in the same even as i run around a little kitten...and then there is the day when she introduced me to 'goli-soda'. I watched her as she drank the chilled drink trying to cool-off the humidity.

She sees the pleading look in my eyes coupled with curiosity and desire for the hidden goli in the green bottle. As i taste the first fizzy drink of my life, i remember the curious sensations i experienced of the fizz in my mouth, the seemingly smell-less smell and the sound of traffic around me...

And then there are many more memories which rush through....or perhaps i was rushing through them as i grew up..as i made friends..as school became my priority...

I remember seeing the women and wife in her the day she saw pictures of her husband's first trip to the US. A photo of an American woman giving a peck on my grandpa's cheek had her blood rushing to her facing and her sulking for an entire day....Of a mother when her elder son-in-law (my dad) yelled at her daughter without her fault... Of a grandmother when i came down with chicken-pox...the neem-baths to calamine lotions...that was perhaps the best sickness i ever came down with! Because she was around.

And every summer as i got off the train and rushed to get into the rickshaw, i would be as eager as ever...waiting to see her, hold her and be pampered..

Waiting to wake up to the same reassuring sounds of people talking, of birds chirping, of motor running, of the fan whirring... Waiting to eat the delicious hot idlis with amazing chutney or be treated to endless summer fruits like date palm fruits, mangoes etc. I would wait, for those evening trips to the market with her, picking up clothes, getting restless, being treated to endless eatables..to coming back home exhausted....to the smell of her cooking...

She was there when i stepped into 'womanhood'.She was there trying hard to put concepts in most simple terms for me, answering incessant questions even as she tried hard to live by traditions laid down by her fore-fathers. Traditions she never firmly believed in but chose to follow. She was there chiding my father as he spoilt me and bringing me back to reality..She was always there..

And then suddenly, just like that she was gone. I still remember that phone call. The phone call that changed it all.That brought me really close to death..I remember dad recieiving the call in the dead of the night and mom instinctively asking if her mom was ok.

I remember mom crying and coming into the room and waking us up....and telling us that 'She died'. A phrase i didn't want to hear or believe. And i chose not to for a long time.

I remember that trip down to the place i was born..the trip where i saw my super-human grand-dad turn into a mere mortal before my eyes...the trip where he sobbed on my lap, the trip where my little cousins had come face-to-face with death even before they realised the meaning of life...i remember it all.

And i remember trying to collect and put all the memories together of my darling grandmother. Trying hard not to believe that she would no longer be there for me.....

And today, almost 13 years after her death, i feel her loss even more plainly. I feel her abscence even acutely as much as i miss my grandfather. I have always wanted to be the 'good girl' in their eyes and when i do something wrong, it is them and not God that i look upto for forgiveness...it is from them that i seek courage.....

Words they say are forever and i just put together perhaps a handful of my memories with grandma with the hope that it stays forever.....

Rights over practicality?

http://www.livepunjab.com/articles/supreme-court-says-mentally-challenged-women-can-continue-pregnancy-18800.html

This is a report on how the Supreme Court, the Apex court of our country has withheld the right of a mentally challenged 19-year-old victim of rape to continue pregnancy. The girl, an orphan had been an inmate of Nari Niketan in Chandigarh where she was repeatedly raped by the watchman. By the time it was brought to light, the girl was found to be pregnant by eight weeks and was shifted to another home.

While the Punjab High Court took the role of a 'parent' and asked for the termination of the pregnancy, the girl's appointed lawyer asked for the continuation of the preganancy on the grounds that the child would be her only 'blood relative'.

As someone who is studying human rights, the case caught my eye for multiple reasons.I am no legal expert, but there are certain issues that i wanted to discuss (rather vent).

According to many, the SC has set a precedent by stating that mentally challenged women can have children, thereby protecting the rights of the mentally challenged. Appreciating this decision of the SC i however feel that there is a lacunae here and that the actual issue remains unaddressed. Ofcourse, mentally challenged and disabled women can become mothers but i believe motherhood is someting that is 'chosen' and not 'forced' upon.

In this particular instance, the girl was 'raped'and she certainly didn't know what was happening with her. So, the issue should have been not about protecting the rights of a disabled or mentally challenged woman, but that of forced motherhood on a rape victim-whether or not disabled.

Though Indian Law has left the choice of abortion to the parents, particularly the woman bearing the foetus, however the law also says that abortion cannot be carried out once the foetus is 20 weeks old. The teen's plight was brought to the notice of the authorities when she was eight weeks time, leaving ample time for an abortion or medical termination to be carried out. However, the question remains whether the victim wanted an abortion or not? Though, the High Court took the role of a 'parent' and asked for a medical termination, questions were raised by the victim's lawyer as to why the girl shouldn't become a mother.

But should the victim's motherhood have gotten more focus over the fact that a woman was raped? Again, a major question remains unanswered here- Was the victim's opinion really taken into consideration? Or was an opinion forced upon someone who was in no position to take this decision? And if a normal woman who has been raped and sexually traumatised has the right to abort why was there such a huge debate over this victim?Was it because she was mentally challenged?

By the time the debate reached SC, the girl was past 20 weeks of pregnancy leaving no option for the SC but to allow pregnancy-as terminating it would be dangerous for both mother and child and against the law.

Was this a case of - justice delayed justice denied? Could the SC have intervened earlier in the matter really taking into consideration the opinion put forth by mental health experts,doctors and ground reality and not just be swayed by human right activists and NGOs who are promising to take care of the girl-woman and her to-be-born child.

Despite being a student of human rights, i am not finding the judgement practical.Or should practicality be kept aside when talking about rights? I think we have enough laws and conventions which talk about protecting the rights of disabled and mentally challenged to become mothers but should the issue of rights have come up here especially coz the girl was raped.

An orphan and someone with an IQ of 9 years old, i wonder if the SC's judgement would have been the same if the girl was from an elite family. I also found the lawyer's arguments insufficient. She said the girl should have the child because that was her only blood bond. Should the judgement have swayed by emotions than practicality? A girl who is unable to take care of herself and that too raped,how right was it on the lawyer's part to say that she should carry on with the pregnancy, keeping aside the medical reports evaluating the child.

I will also state here that there have been instances where rape victims in the world have kept their pregnancy intact even when they had the choice to abort it. But i am concerned in this case as to whether the girl-woman really had a choice here?

A support system is extermely important for a disabled and mentally retarded people. In a scenario where the person has no proper support system, it naturally becomes the State' s responsibility to look after them. But whose responsibility does an orphan like this girl's case and hundreds others is it when the State fails?? And what is the guarantee that the State will not fail in protecting the interests of both mother and child here?

Motherhood is an important step in any woman's life and it has proven to have theraupatic effects in the case of the mentally challenged. However,one also needs to look at the trauma that was inflicted upon the girl-woman here. Will this pregnancy really have theraupatic effect on her or will it worsen the situation?

What was worse was that the ongoing debate on the 'motherhood' has kept the investigation of the rape wanting with the 'alleged' rapist denying the charge and saying that the pregnancy should not be terminated as it was'evidence'.So now question remains considering that the courts took their own sweet time to take a decision on the pregnancy, shouldn't the DNA tests and investigation of rape have been carried out first?

And this is where i think the need of fast track courts is felt again and again. We need in this country a strong judicial system and a fast one too. And that means we need more lawyers, informed ones and no i am not talking about the fake lawyers. There is a need tto increase emphasis on humanities in the education system. And the media should learn to be more balanced and not create unncessary emotional hype when it comes to sensitive issues like this.

Also, the media should follow up the story and actually see how effective (or right) was the judgement. People might have short term memory when it comes to news but the media shouldnt.

Thankfully, the case has brought to limelight the plight of hundreds and thousands of women -normal and mentally challenged who are subjected to varying forms of sexual abuse. But a lot needs to be addressed regarding pregnancies that arise out of such sexual abuse. Should the rights of the victim be safeguarded or should the rights of the unborn child be given precedent over the rights of the victim?

Memories made and to be made....

Every Saturday as i head home after my really boring night shifts, there is just one thing that comes to my mind..the beauty of silence and night..The empty roads, the battalion of street lights standing together huddled in a discussion of shadows...the homeless people sleeping on every available space..the road,the footpaths,the bus shelters...the lonely dogs running around rummaging for food...and the loneliness of it all...

Its a same feeling Saturday after Saturday...As i pass through the familiar spots i and rakesh used to hang around when he was here....a sense of loneliness and the realisation of how overpowering physical distance too can be... As the cab moves towards Begumpet, past the flyover..i am reminded of the endless times I and rakesh would be caught in the crazy traffic.....as i near Lifestyle, a smile comes on my face as i remember the times when we both just went and window shopped there....

It is unbelievable but there are many places which remind me every day of Rakesh....the cab slowly crosses Shoppers Stop and i remember the first Valentine when Rakesh bought me a beautiful necklace there...Come Paradise circle and i remember the endless times when he picked me up from there to drop me in college....Patny...YMCA...the memories are endless....

And every Saturday...there is one person who keeps me company as i head home...--Rakesh...His voice keeps me company...one thing that we both have learnt over long distance is recognising even the smallest change in our voices....I might not be able to see him or he might not be able to see me..but we know...when either one of us is down...or excited...the voices give it away.... And each Saturday...Rakesh's voice keeps me company, he makes me laugh..he listens to me as i vent...soothes me...argue with me if need be...sing for me...but he is there around...omnipresent...always...

Whether it be on Saturday nights or when am working....when i pass through familiar places...such as KBR Park, Barista, Pizza Hut, Nagarjuna Circle, Central, Shilparamam...even buses bring back memories...8 A...250/49M, Secunderabad Bus stop, railway stations... the feeling is back...the memories flood me and i feel lonely and lost...i feel incomplete....And then i am again lost in the crazy world of every day existence..of work of the monotony of it all...but with that feeling of emptiness....

It's crazy...the distance between me and Rakesh..but it's something that i have learnt to cope with perhaps not too effectively....but yes...it's a challenge...and the wait is maddening..but like i tell my friends..the wait is surely worth it....

Its been almost 11 months since i have seen Rakesh...and it's going to be atleast 8 more months before i see him...add or minus a few months...but the wait continues..the journey continues for us...living in two different continents....bonded by one single thread of Love....Till then...i will live with the memories....knowing that many more memories are waiting to be made.......

Just a story....

She sat there staring at the wall... Her hair untidy and her dress dishivelled.. Her dark black eyes were lifeless...The 10 by 10 room looked even smaller, with the metallic door shut close. A small opening in the door was her only connection with the outside world. The white tiled room with a ceiling painted white was supposed to have a calming affect.

On the contrary...the room suffocated her. The whiteness of the room blinded her. Unlike her room, her mind was a dark cave. Black thoughts crammed her brain and she was waiting to explode. Images of her past loomed right in front of her.. 

She stared till she saw the images on the wall in front of her... the wall was no longer white..the room was no longer small..it was dark....  The clock struck 2 after midnight..she was alert trying to listen to the tell tale signs...the door to her room creaked open..slowly but steadily...and then she felt it... 

A touch...a touch so revolting...she wished she was dead...she slowly switched herself off to what the hands were doing to her...her body was no longer hers. She had detached herself even as tears rolled down her eyes. The hands groped her body while forcing her to do unmindful things.. Then she heard the panting cold voice...a parting warning..a warning that she would hear for years to come 'He will die if you open your mouth'..Crying silently, she set her dress straight and went back into the foetal position feeling impure...

She was jolted back to present as she heard the door open..Her heart started beating loudly...even as her eyes were peeled away from the white wall to the sight of the heavy door being pushed open. She saw him..a flickr of recognition and then she went all blank again. He called out to her softly, she shivered. He came closer even as she pushed herself to the wall, scared..."I won't hurt you. I love you," he said. She recognised the voice..and the face...He took out the photos and starting talking to her in a soft tone. She stared at his face, at his greying hair, the dark brown eyes. He looked at her.. He held her hands and said "I am there for you. No one will hurt you,"  This time the touch was not revolting.It was comforting. She held on to him. 

Sleep soon took over her.Her thoughts had manifested themselves in dreams..nightmares..confusing ones.. she got up sweating...and screaming...and she saw him...sleeping in the chair across her bed. She got up and stared at him..and tried hard to remember who he was. Picking up the photo album beside him, she slowly flipped the pages. Of her and the man across her.Laughing in one, hugging each other in one, in a park, at a party...Her memories were coming back to her. She got down..went near him..put her hand on his knee and called him softly, her voice choking with tears. He got up, switched on the light and saw her weeping. He pulled her up and put her in his lap and rocked the chair...his embrace broke the wall...he hugged her tight....and as his lips touched hers, he knew she was his again...She was out of the darkness..... 

Under a Tree

I sat under the tree and let the shade envelope me. As i sat on the cement wall, i looked down into the pond at my other self..at my reflection.... The gentle breeze whispered in my ears...as the leaves swayed in orchestrated unison with the breeze...
       

 I heard a splash and saw a little boy throwing stones into the pond, watching the ripples in wonder...I remembered the day the first time i threw a coin into the vast river from a moving train. And i wondered, where is all the wonder and innocence now? I saw a couple hand in hand, obviously very much in love...and i remembered....the last time i was here...under that tree..

  

 It had been long since i had sat there under that tree. And the last time i had sat there i wasn't alone.I was with my soulmate. I was with my best friend. I was with my companion and i was in the midst of love.

   

I remember that day. That day is etched deep in my heart. I might not remember the date.But i remember the hours spent under that tree, as i gazed lovingly into his eyes. As i let my mask of 'a bubbly girl' fall and let my soul talk.  I remember his loving eyes telling me he would always be there for me.No matter what. 

  

We sat there for three hours or was it longer? We sat there oblivious of the people around us. Of the disapproving eyes..of the curious looks..of the stares..We smiled at each other when we saw couples hand in hand, while at the same time wondering how many of them would last..I remember thinking 'Will you and me last?' I remember saying this to him and he held my hand...he didnt say a word but just held on to my hand..he spoke through touch..he reassured me with his eyes...that we would last forever...

    

For a few minutes we were quiet,absorbing our surroundings and then we were lost in each other again. We sat there discussing everything under the sky, from the injustice meeted out to the vulnerable sections to the environment..We laughed... We talked about us, our future, hopes and dreams...

As we moved away from the tree towards the pond,little did we realise that, that tree and that place would be something we would cherish forever...where we felt a sense of togetherness..not just with each other but with our surroundings...